Of Hunters and Immortals

The moment Jiang stepped into the duelling ring, he realized he didn't know the rules. No one had explained them. No Elder had stepped forward to recite the usual structure or offer a signal to start. Honestly, he'd half expected to have the fight right there outside the sleeping quarters.

The other aspirant, who he'd learned was named Zhao Feng, was standing with easy confidence across from him. Unfortunately for Jiang's chances of victory, the man hadn't seemed surprised or concerned at his acceptance of the duel.

Jiang checked his surroundings quickly - a flat stone platform with raised edges, no weapons. Small mercy, that. Bruises would heal quicker than cuts. A few other aspirants stood nearby, most of them trying to look disinterested. He wasn't sure how many of them were hoping to see him embarrassed, but he had a guess.

He tried to mimic the way Zhao Feng stood, feet braced, posture loose. No point in looking like more of an amateur than necessary.

Jiang wasn't sure if he had missed some kind of signal, but between one instant and the next, Zhao Feng was moving.

Fast.

Jiang barely managed to lurch aside before the other boy's fist shot past his head. The motion hadn't been graceful—it was a reactive dodge, his body moving quicker than his mind. He stumbled back, regaining balance just in time to see Zhao circle around him, not quite wary but at least cautious.

Jiang took the opportunity to reach out with his senses, something he should have done before the fight even began. Pressed for time and trying to split his attention between his Qi senses and his physical ones in case of another attack, it was more challenging than usual.

Unsurprisingly, Zhao Feng was stronger than him. Still, the gap wasn't quite as massive as he'd initially thought – at a guess, the other aspirant might be at the late third stage or early fourth.

Which meant… something. Jiang wasn't even sure what the information did for him – even if the other aspirant was at the first stage, the man clearly knew how to fight – but then, when he'd first started hunting, he hadn't known what to pay attention to either. As much as he hated this whole farce if he was going to be forced into duels, he might as well use it as a training opportunity.

Zhao came in again, this time with a low sweep that caught Jiang's ankle. He hit the stone hard, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. He rolled, kicking out blindly, trying to create distance. Zhao let him.

Jiang pushed upright, weight on his back leg, arms raised without any real understanding of how to block. He'd been in fights before—brief, chaotic brawls in village streets—but nothing like this. Nothing clean. Nothing formal.

Still, he knew how to think under pressure.

Zhao darted forward. Jiang sidestepped, barely avoiding the punch, and lashed out with a quick strike to the ribs. His fist connected, but it was more like slapping a tree than hitting a person. Zhao grunted, more annoyed than hurt.

Jiang backpedalled fast, trying to buy space. He had to change tactics.

Think like a hunter.

He focused on movement, watching Zhao's hips and his shoulders, looking for the signals beneath the feints. He could track movement. He'd done it for years. Knowing which way a deer was going to leap was often the difference between feeding his family and going hungry.

Zhao surged forward again. Jiang ducked under the first swing, moved into the blind spot, and drove his knee up into Zhao's thigh. It connected. Zhao's leg buckled slightly, but only for a moment.

Unfortunately, knowing what an opponent was going to do didn't necessarily mean he could stop them from doing it.

Jiang saw the elbow coming but simply couldn't move fast enough to avoid it catching him clean across the jaw. Jiang's vision blurred. He staggered, but stayed upright, trying to shake the ringing from his head.

The duel wasn't over. At least, no one had said it was.

He didn't know how long it was supposed to last. First blood? Until someone surrendered? Zhao clearly wasn't going to explain.

So Jiang did the only thing he could—kept moving.

He darted to the left, low and fast, trying to draw Zhao in. When Zhao lunged, he sidestepped and slammed his forearm down toward the back of the boy's neck. It was the kind of strike that would drop a deer if you hit the right spot.

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It landed. Zhao grunted again, more surprised than injured.

Then he turned and punched Jiang in the gut.

All the air left his body. Jiang hit the ground a moment later, vision dimming. He tried to rise. Zhao kicked him back down.

The pain was new. Not unfamiliar, but different. This wasn't scraping a knee or taking a glancing blow. This was weight, momentum, and training all wrapped into a single brutal impact.

He rolled to his side, dragged himself halfway up again.

A fist caught him across the temple.

Everything tilted.

He blinked, trying to get his bearings. Zhao stood over him now, breathing lightly, waiting.

Jiang spat blood and tried to sit up. He knew this fight was over. He had nothing left. But no one had called it, and he hadn't surrendered. Didn't know if he was supposed to.

He got one foot under himself.

Then the next blow came, and everything went dark.

— — —

Jiang came to slowly, dragged back to consciousness by the dull throb in his skull and the sting of something sharp in his nose. His mouth was dry, with the coppery taste of blood lingering on his tongue.

He was lying on something too firm to be comfortable, with a scratchy blanket pulled up over his chest. His head rested on a stiff cushion, and faint sunlight filtered in through slatted windows overhead, casting narrow bars of warmth across the tiled floor. The sound of soft footsteps echoed from somewhere nearby, quick and purposeful.

He tried opening his eyes only to immediately regret it.

A hand pressed firmly against the side of his head, palm warm and faintly glowing. He noticed a soft hum of Qi gently emanating from the hand, threading through his head and bringing relief. It felt vaguely like the forest, though he couldn't say why.

He blinked blearily upward.

A woman leaned over him—middle-aged, lined face, sharp eyes under a rough bun of greying hair. Her robes were plain brown with the insignia of the Sect's medical hall stitched over one shoulder. Her mouth was set in a flat line, and she looked like she'd already been sick of his shit long before they'd ever actually met.

"Tell me, are you actively trying to get yourself killed, or are you just naturally gifted at it?"

He licked his lips. "Can it be both?" he asked blearily.

The glow didn't stop. Her expression didn't shift. "Without cultivator healing, you'd be dead. Or drooling in a corner with a soft spot in your skull. Boy hit you in the head three times after you were already down."

Jiang shifted, testing his limbs. Everything hurt. His ribs felt bruised, and his face felt like it had been used to test paving stones, but nothing felt broken. He stayed still anyway. "I think I kept trying to get up."

"Yes," the woman said flatly. "That was part of the problem."

Jiang grunted. "No one told me when a duel is supposed to stop. Figured if I gave up too early I'd just make it worse."

Her hand finally lifted. The light faded. She leaned back on her stool and folded her arms, looking him over like he was a piece of faulty furniture.

"Most duels end when one side's clearly lost," she said. "Usually by choice. You don't need an Elder to step in and hold your hand. If you're sprawled out sucking wind, it's expected you'll know when to quit."

"I didn't want to get called a coward."

"Congratulations," she said. "People aren't calling you a coward. They're calling you an idiot instead."

Jiang sat up slowly, wincing as his back protested. "At least it's more accurate," he said.

The healer didn't seem to appreciate his attempt at humour. She stood and moved to a nearby shelf, rooting through ceramic jars. The room around him was broad and clean, sunlight filtering in through slatted windows high on the wall. He was one of maybe three patients in the open ward, and the other two were asleep.

"You'll live," she said without turning. "Healer's miracle, that. You missed today's lessons, by the way."

Jiang blinked. He'd actually forgotten those were supposed to be a thing. "Huh. I think I missed yesterday's, too."

The woman snorted. "Impressive."

"Laundry duty," he said. "Didn't think they'd want me showing up dripping on the floor."

As far as excuses went, it wasn't his best, but then again it was better than just saying 'I forgot'.

"If they'd wanted you there badly enough, you'd have been expected to show up even if you were naked and half dead." She glanced back at him. "Lucky for you, they don't care. You'll just look dumber than the rest."

He rolled his shoulders carefully. "I'm pretty used to that already. As long as they don't get in my way, people are welcome to call me whatever they want."

"Wonderful," she said dryly. "In that case, I'll call you a simpleton."

"Maybe one day I can aspire to be a dullard," Jiang snarked back.

"Ha!" Her laugh almost seemed to surprise the healer. "I suppose all you can do is aim high," she recovered with a scowl that felt a little hollow. She finished whatever she was doing—probably organizing supplies for someone who wouldn't thank her—and came back over, giving him one last look like she was checking for cracks.

"You're fine. Get out."

Jiang stood, a little slower than usual, but not unsteady. He glanced around for a moment, not quite sure what time it was, or if anyone was waiting. Probably not. Zhao Feng had gotten his win. The others had gotten their entertainment. No point in lingering.

He started toward the door, then paused.

"Thanks," he said, nodding to her. "Really."

The woman squinted at him like she wasn't sure if he was being sincere or mocking her. "Don't make a habit of it."

He offered her a half-wave and stepped outside.

The sun was higher than he expected—maybe mid-afternoon. His body ached in slow pulses, but at least his head was clear. Still, he didn't exactly feel like sitting cross-legged in a quiet room focusing on his breath right now, so cultivation was out. Technically speaking, he shouldn't need the points from completing tasks, and he was stuck with menial jobs thanks to his 'punishment', but…

Well, it's not like the jobs were particularly hard anymore, even at only the first stage. And he felt a lot more comfortable hanging around the servants than he did spending time with the other aspirants, so he may as well pick up a task to pass a little time before settling down for some more cultivation.

Hopefully nobody would try tracking him down to challenge him to another fight.

He didn't think the healer accepted excuses, even good ones.