Tales of the Teal Mountain Sect

Year 663 of the Stable Era,

Fifteenth day of the eleventh month

Ten fights into the 5th Inner Hour

"And begin!" the referee announced, striking the gong with a cry as the two opponents stared at each other, the tension between the two the furthest thing from mirrored. One gripped his blade with tense fingers, finally halting the staccato that he's been drumming into his grip, as his opponent simply smiled as he drew a fan.

With a single movement the cultivator of the Edge's Blade Sect drew his blade, a pale saber with an edge like a geode's core. Light fractured into myriad rainbows along its rough blade as he flew across the arena towards his foe, his sleeves flapping like dark wings.

"Ah, Ye Shi," Hou Jinyan declared, "let our exchange be as worthy as your name." He tapped his paper fan against his palm as he spoke, its golden filigree as ostentatious as his robes. They were a vibrant shade of red, its elaborate stitching depicting exotic beasts with gem-dotted eyes.

Clothes common to a cultivator of a noble pedigree, made strange by the frame of a loose cultivator such as himself. They made his opponent's plain robes appear far more rugged in comparison, the roughness of the black wool like the stone of his sect's namesake compared to his smooth silks.

"So, what do you have to say to commemorate this momentous occasion?" Jinyan continued, holding out his arms. "Or do you have nothing to offer me?"

Ye Shi's only reply was a shout—a sharp exhalation that rushed ahead of his blade.

"HAAH!"

His blow fell like a thunderbolt, flashing down only to be caught by the flat of Jinyan's fan. It was a silent impact, neither the hard clang of metal on metal nor the harsh thunk of a blade cutting into wood echoing from the blow.

The crowd gasped as an unmarred fan was revealed when he drew back his blade, not even the slightest nick visible on the smooth paper. It was a laudable display. While qi could allow a lesser material to overcome the weakness of its nature, a strong object would only be empowered further. To overcome Ye Shi's blade, tempered of will, stone, and qi, it would take something significant. Immense control, an overwhelming technique, or, perhaps, some incredible secret nature of the fan's construction.

"Surely you have something to add," Hou Jinyan said, flipping his fan open. Ye Shi leapt back, clearly anticipating an attack, but a flap of the paper fan revealed no array or incantation. Simply the words 'Great Master', written with smooth strokes bereft of splatter.

"Ah, there's no need to fear a talisman," Jinyan scoffed. "I need not resort to such artifacts to fight. Simple paper and wood are sufficient, though I do not begrudge you such a fine sword to bridge the gap between us."

"You dare!" Ye Shi growled, his fingers clenching around the handle of his crystal saber. Qi vibrated around its blade, and he sliced the air in three precise blows. A trio of glittering slashes hurtling towards his opponent, the air keening in their wake.

"I dare to what?" Hou Jinyan asked. "Speak up! At the moment your sentences are as incomplete as your techniques." With a flick of his fingers he snapped the blades of light into a burst of sparkling motes. His fan rose, blocking Ye Shi's saber as it stabbed towards his head. The fan gracefully flapped as he parried Ye Shi's furious barrage, the wood of the fan barely creaking as Jinyan sighed in disappointment.

"Ah, I was truly hoping for more from this exchange," he lamented. "Some wit, some verve! A true clash of cultivators!"

Ye Shi's only response was a furious roar, as he continued his onslaught, his blade growing sharper and sharper as his intent cut fierce furrows through the air. Hou Jinyan sighed again, more deeply this time, massaging his temples with his free hand.

"What truly matchless repartee," he sighed. "It is such a shame that your tongue is so dull, and yet still so much sharper than your blade." As quick as a whisper his hand rose, seizing Ye Shi's blade mid-swing.

The crowd gasped twice, the first soft like lightning followed by a second round that rumbled like thunder. Not a single drop of blood dripped from Hou Jinyan's hand. Instead, the crystal blade seemed trapped in his grip, its impossible sharpness somehow unable to find the slightest purchase in his skin. The tapestries of light around the arena focused in on his hand, each revealing the same impossible sight.

Gao Oma leaned in with the rest of the crowd as Hou Jinyan threw his opponent across the arena by his own saber, pondering what could have allowed him to resist Ye Shi's blade so completely. His swordsmanship, while far from the peak, clearly bore the weight of intent. And yet, despite that, Hou Jinyan was treating it so lightly, as if it was a simple sparring blade.

None of Ye Shi's moves seemed able to nick so much as a thread on Hou Jinyan's robes, and it took less than half a stick for the surly swordsman to be beaten into submission by more crushing words and bruising blows.

All in all, it was a particularly one-sided showing for the final match of the day. Ye Shi hadn't been particularly favored to win the Anything Goes Tournament, while Hou Jinyan had revealed himself to be a lurking dragon since his debut fight. He had been on a tear for the last three rounds, most of which had gone similarly to this one.

There was little sport in watching such a lopsided match, even if some in the crowd had clearly been hoping that the Edge's Blade Sect's blade arts would prove to be the weakness for Hou Jinyan's strange technique. The previous fights had been quite good, though, so she was sure that her seniors would enjoy watching them.

As Ye Shi was returned to consciousness in time to manage half of a poorly phrased insult at Jinyan's back, Oma said her goodbyes to the Sword Division disciples in the box before stepping out into the stone halls of Crag Fist Arena.

They'd been nice enough hosts, after the initial strangeness. She'd received a few odd looks when she'd arrived this year, her general disciple garb marking her as an outsider against their sword-patterned robes. When Oma had attended last year, she had done so in her festive garb, so they had probably assumed that she was just another member of their organization at the time, rather than an invited guest.

Which honestly wasn't unexpected. Given her seniors' nature, the seats set aside for the Sword Intent Club had likely gone unused for years, which was probably why they had been using the space with impunity. It might almost be stranger for a member of the Sword Intent Club to be in attendance than not, which probably explained why they'd taken her to be an intruder at first. Which, again, wasn't an entirely unreasonable assumption, even if they could have handled it with a little more tact.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Thankfully the senior that they had called in had been quite accommodating once he had learnt that she was there as a representative rather than an uninvited guest. He'd even been generous enough to offer her some complimentary snacks (which had been delicious), as well as several seats for a banquet that the Sword Division was hosting that night.

Her seniors would be overjoyed to learn that they could attend. The Sword Division's Blade Banquets were renowned for their deep discussions of swordsmanship, and it would be a rare chance for them to encounter other experts from the visiting sects.

It was a strange sensation to be wanted at an event like this. Less than a decade ago she had been barred from even joining the Sword Division, and now here she was being invited to attend one of their most exclusive events as an honored guest. It was enough to put a skip in her step, the soft soles of her shoes echoing faintly against the smooth stone of the arena.

Another honor, that she could walk this level of its hallowed halls. Only the most prestigious tournaments were hosted in Crag Fist Arena, and entry for even the lowest seats took hours of waiting. Its upper levels hadn't even seemed worth a daydream, given impossible as it had seemed for a talentless disciple like her to reach.

But now she was here as well, able to see the stone carved by the founder himself. It was so humbling to walk under those delicate reliefs of prancing beasts and bountiful landscapes, each detail formed by a myriad of precise facets. They formed a swirling geometric pattern, one that almost lent the carved animals a life of their own. Occasionally, out of the corner of her eye Oma could almost swear that she spotted them moving, gallivanting across the granite fields. But when she blinked they were still again. As immobile as the peak itself, at least in its current resting state.

Oma's good mood lasted all the way down the five flights of stairs it took to the backrooms, where the Sword Division handled the less glamorous aspects of tournament management.

She slowed her step as she reached the now-familiar corner, fixing her appearance before she rounded it. She straightened her scabbard, smoothing down her robes as best she could. They were still a bit stale from her early morning practice, so she retreated a few steps as she whispered a quick cleansing charm. Sweat and grime evaporated with a gentle breeze of qi, and she waited a moment for it to disperse before she approached again.

The disciple watching the door nodded in recognition as she came into sight, well used to her daily visits by this point. The one on the left knocked on the door as she approached, a complex staccato beat whose rhythm seemed to slip from her mind as soon as the last sound faded. After a moment, the senior from earlier emerged, a small box in hand.

"Greetings Instructor Yao Minzhe," Oma said, making sure that her polite bow was deep enough to show him the proper respect before she straightened. "Thank you so much for the jelly fruit cubes. They were delicious."

She had to make certain to show proper deference, especially after he had been so nice to her. Instructor Yao Minzhe, with his fancy golden hairpiece and his beautiful sword, was clearly an important member of the Sword Division, so she needed to be sure to properly reciprocate the kindness he had shown her earlier.

"I'm glad that you enjoyed them," Minzhe replied, the scar on his cheek twitching faintly as he smiled. "As promised, the jade slips of today's matches. And the invitations to our Blade Banquet…as promised." He repeated himself a little bit as he handed over the small box, clearly a bit tired from a long, tiring day of managing the tournament.

"I'll be sure to pass them on to my Seniors," Oma replied, accepting both items with another bow before dutifully stowing them in her spatial pouch.

"And…how many of your Seniors do you think will perhaps be…attending…tonight?" Minzhe asked, rubbing his hands together. "It is an open invitation, of course, but it would be helpful to know how many are attending in advance, so that we can prepare an…appropriate place for, er, you all."

"Oh, I'm not quite sure," Oma replied with a smile. "They're usually quite busy with their training, but I'm sure that most of them will attend once they hear about the tickets. They're always interested in a chance to further discuss the path of the sword, so I'm sure that they will appreciate the generous opportunity."

"So I've been led to believe," Minzhe said, forcing a half-smile. His scar twitched again, but he brushed back a stray hair to hide it as he finished raising the corners of his mouth. He looked expectantly at Oma, who looked expectantly back to him, clearly assuming that he had more to say.

After a few moments of awkward silence, she bowed again, thanking him for his generosity. Minzhe returned the gesture with a polite nod, watching her disappear past the arena's curved corridors. He followed her down the hallways with his qi sense, waiting until she had left the building before he let himself drop his smile. The door to the back office slammed shut as he pushed inside, barking orders the second the sound suppression array was back in place.

"I need a full list of the staff working the banquet tonight," he declared to the nearest disciple, who snapped to attention as he continued. "Inform them all that there is to be a special briefing prior to the start of the event, and to gather at the hall an hour earlier. You—send a messenger to the other Instructors to inform them that they need to watch their conduct tonight. And you—deliver a priority message to the Division Head that I will need an emergency meeting with him. Personally. Take my seal, and don't leave until you are sure that he hears it."

The third disciple froze as her two companions rushed out of the room, struck by the immense weight of his proposal. Spotting her hesitation, Minzhe sighed, grabbing the disciple's hand as he warmed the end of the jade cylinder with his breath.

His qi coalesced like thick, golden wax, a drop threatening to spill from it before he pressed it against the disciple's skin. In the instant it took for him to raise it, it had hardened, forming a metallic crest that flexed as the disciple inspected her hand in wonder.

"If you misuse that, it'll be your head," Minzhe snapped. "Now go! Hurry!" As the disciple fled the room so quickly that they left an afterimage in their wake, Minzhe turned to his secretary.

"Jing, tell Hui to prepare an additional table at the banquet for a surprise honored guest. Full show, but enough to the side to prevent them from causing a disturbance. And they cannot be left alone, so make sure that they have company. Good swordsmen, but not any of the ones that are too important for diplomatic reasons."

"Are you kidding me boss?" Jing exclaimed, looking up from the forms she had been filling out. "It took her a week to figure out the current arrangement! And now you want to add an entire table out of nowhere?"

"I don't care!" Minzhe growled. "Get her in and make it happen. Tell her that we'll pay her double overtime if necessary!"

"She's not going to like that," Jing replied, setting her pen carefully to the side. The rosewood handle gently bobbed over her inkstone, dripping the last of the ink into it as it cleansed its bristles.

"She's got family visiting for the first time in a decade, and she's been wanting to see her youngest brother before he attempts the sect's entrance exam next year."

"Triple overtime then. And tell her that I'll handle dinner for her family tonight. Give them my table at The Iron Slab. And give Li Yueling my regards along with...—" he trailed off as he dug around his storage ring for a long, long moment, before producing a thick hunk of wood "—this. He mentioned that he was experimenting with new skewer materials last time we talked, so he'll probably like it. It's a piece of three-thousand-year-old wood from a spirit maple, so it should make for a good gift to celebrate his latest victory. Tell him that it took me quite a while to track down. And make a joke about how I'd never forget to celebrate such an occasion, if you can think of a sufficiently witty anecdote and it fits the mood."

Jing shrugged as she accepted the piece of wood, blowing a cloud of dust off its whitened bark before she stored it in her spatial ring. She'd need to take a moment to properly clean it before she presented it to Li Yueling, as well as another to acquire a sufficiently tasteful box and cloth to present it in. She stretched her shoulders in anticipation as she left the room, and Minzhe waited until the door slammed shut again to settle into his chair, wearily resting head in hand.

Ancestors, why did this always have to happen to me? he lamented to himself, rubbing his eyes as his scar throbbed. The deal had been so good for so long, until its peaceful sleep had ended and it had seen fit to wreck constant hell on his life. Why couldn't those monsters just be someone else's problem?

He drew a small, worn flask from his ring with a sigh, tracing his fingers over the memory of a snarling tiger motif, long-since worn smooth by age. He listened to its contents gently swish for a moment, the sound soft in the quiet room before he took a bracing sip.

The rough alcohol burned like a familiar inferno as he swallowed its raging qi, before he quenched it against his own. He exhaled a steaming breath, gazing at the ceiling as he leaned back in his chair.

This…was going to be a long, long evening.