Tales of the Teal Mountain Sect

Year 663 of the Stable Era,

Fifteenth day of the eleventh month

18 minutes into the 10th Inner Hour

Haoran's shield slammed forwards, thick metal packed with even thicker intent. It met the wide edge of her opponent's heavy jade blade with a thunderous gong. The middle segments groaned under the weight as Haoran turned her defense into an attack, the outermost edges of the shield that weren't preoccupied with defending her from the weapon launching forwards into her opponent's chest. The force of the blow pushed Ruan Chen back, the Hexagram Shield Technique forcing her foe back by the chest to give Haoran enough space to unleash a stronger technique.

Unfortunately, her window was short lived. Ruan Chen drew the dagger from the buckle of her belt, the small blade brimming with intent as she used its intimate reach to slash at the hexagonal plates that were too close to her body for her sword to reach.

Haoran winced at the screech of shearing metal, calling her segments back before they could suffer any further damage. Five of her shield's segments ended up scored by the attack, deep lines exposing bright bronze ravines. They were still holding together, but only barely.

Ruan Chen's intent was just too quick. A natural extension of her swordsmanship that held the same sharpness no matter how lightly she grasped each of her many blades. Despite her use of such a wealth of weapons her fighting style was closer to that of an ascetic's—rigidly attached to the purity of the blade rather than melding it with other techniques. So different from Haoran's own swordsmanship, with its roots in the more esoteric branches of cultivation.

Not to say anything about her character.

"Good one," Raun Chen called, snagging one of her hook swords from the air, "but that sort of gap ain't enough." Her apparent enthusiasm remained unabated, so far past the typical ruse that such things were used for that Haoran could almost believe that it was genuine. As if anyone could take such a protracted fight so lightly.

The white blade caught its dark partner mid-swing, the arc of the crescent hilt entering a rapid perigee as it whipped around its orbit. Both blades extended like a whip as they did, elongating far beyond what mortal metal could imitate.

As the moon set the peaks rose to meet it. Haoran's Mountain(☶) blade was unyielding as it caught the conjoined blades, her own jian shifting to bear the sign of Heaven(☰) as it swept upwards in a counterattack.

The thick jade blade intercepted it again, and Haoran's core rang as it echoed the power of her swords' signs. Twin trigrams glowed along the surface of its board as she evoked the power of their union twofold.

The Twenty-sixth Hexagram: Major Restraint.

Mountains over the Heavens.

The land imposing its will in full.

Invisible power seized the swords midair, a breath from freezing her opponent in place before Ruan Chen let go of her handle.

"Close, but not quick enough," she laughed, her approach barely slowing as she drew her longsword from the air with lightning speed.

Haoran grit her teeth as she prepared to match her opponent's intent again, unwilling to let her best her in another clash. Her mind sharpened, focusing on the core of her swordsmanship.

The Imperial Blade was strong.

The Imperial Shield was unyielding.

There was no obstacle it could not overcome.

No foe that was its equal.

The air shook as their blades met, filled with the keening of will against will. The moment stretched far beyond its brevity, each moment of contact like minutes as Haoran's focus narrowed along every facet of her strike.

It took far too long for the exchange to end, a full three blows before she managed to interpose her shield. Now empowered by the full force of her will it met Ruan Chen's sword with ease, the once vulnerable scutes now as strong as a turtle's shell. She struck as the clang of her opponent's edge rang out against it, forcing her back with a snaking strike to her inner leg.

Her first palpable hit in a while, not that it remained for long. Ruan Chen let it brush against the blazing edge of her cleaver as she leapt back, her left hand reaching towards the handle of her longsword as the heat sealed the wound. Her robes still bore the cuts from Haoran's previous blows, but almost entirely unbloodied—a state as much a testament to her prodigious body cultivation as it was her fighting style.

Haoran, on the other hand, had had to do her damnedest to avoid lasting injury. Her right shoulder still ached from where she'd had to use her qi to close a stab, one of several serious strikes that she'd had to deal with so far. Even after Scholar Du Huang had signaled that she was to employ her full cultivation she'd been hard-pressed to gain any lasting advantage in this fight, and she could feel her face disintegrating with every passing minute.

"Amazing," her opponent applauded, as the two began to once again circle. "You Imperial Blade Scholars sure are built different. Two intents at once…what a feat!"

"You should know that it's hardly that complex," Haoran replied, refusing to fall for her opponent's false flattery. "I wield one weapon with one intent. No different than you and your many blades."

"Oh, I see, I see." Ruan Chen looked over to her shield, contemplating it with new eyes. "I hadn't thought of it that way. A sword is a sword is a sword. But the shield can be a part of the sword, can't it? Two parts of the whole, rather than an accompaniment. Perhaps I should start collecting a few, to explore this concept."

"Perhaps you should focus on what you currently have," Haoran replied, as her trigram blades fanned behind her like a peacock. She watched as her opponent's blades settled back into their sheaths, clearly preparing them for her draw technique.

Ruan Chen had been able to contest her with flying swords, with such an unorthodox array of blades no less, so this was clearly in preparation for another exchange.

A trait of her draw technique—which Haoran had identified as the Cerulean Cloud Swordsmanship's Mist Draw Technique after their fifth exchange—was the ability to empower both sheath and sword. It allowed for an intensely fast draw, one so quick that the weapons appeared to emerge from thin air as though it was thick fog. In its traditional style it was used to alternate between a mere two blades, but it would seem that her opponent had adapted it for her own purposes. Likely from a manual rather than a mentor, as nothing else of her swordsmanship resembled its style.

But that was to be expected of the Teal Mountain Sect, Haoran thought to herself, as she brought down Heaven(☰) and Earth(☷) on her opponent. Unified in purpose, but in little else. Nothing at all like the refined swordsmanship of Imperial cultivators, with its carefully honed techniques and comprehensive understanding.

Yet it was still capable of producing such a talent. A cultivator capable of pushing an Imperial Prefect like Haoran to her limit despite being well within her realm. The farthest thing from a hotbox flower. A triumph of wild, reckless growth over careful cultivation.

Haoran met a two-handed slash from her opponent's longsword, the blow scoring another line across her shield as she slid back from the impact.

She needed to take decisive action. The Empire had already lost too much face tonight, and it could ill-afford another loss. If she wanted to retain her rank after this, she was going to have to push the limits of what she was allowed to use in a duel.

"You're holding up against Cloud Straightener better than I thought," Ruan Chen laughed, faint wisps of qi crackling in a miniature storm as their blades locked again. "Especially given its nature."

"Perhaps I should change that," Haoran grunted, the top two lines of her jian's Heaven(☰) trigram splitting as the clouds gave way to Thunder. Split electricity crackled along its edge as her opponent's sky-defying blade parted it with ease, but it was just the prelude to her true attack. Water(☵) twitched from where it had been wedged into the ground twelve exchanges ago, its trigram glowing bright as she called on her technique. Drops of liquid, caught between the cracks of the arena's imperfect smoothness glinted in reflection of its power.

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Imperial Trigram Technique: The Echo of Inverse Fate.

Thunder(☳) and Water(☵)—the two trigrams she'd evoked at the start of their clash—shone, their positions reversed as she drew on their association to strengthen her technique. Its power enhanced by its predecessor.

The Fortieth Hexagram: Deliverance.

A decisive strike, to cut through a moment that had come to a head.

Opportunity through action, so long as she was unwavering in her resolve.

The meaning of the hexagram suffused her blade, her intent intensifying as she wielded a cultivator's most potent power against her foe: the power to carve her own fate. To defy whatever machinations the Heavens had laid before her. To make what she wanted of her own life.

Her next two moves were clear, like a reflection on a stilled lake. Her jian rose and fell, her opponent's grin widening as her intent swelled to match Haoran's strikes. Haoran pushed the offensive, her flying swords forming more patterns as she pressed the attack.

Wind(☴) forced Ruan Chen to leap back as it swept towards the back of her knees, brushing over the water coalescing around Lake's(☱) wide blade in a mist. It chilled the air in its passing, its coolness stabilizing Haoran's qi as she breathed it in.

The Sixty-First Hexagram: Inner Strength.

Power from within.

Truth from sincerity.

Earth(☷) struck the ground of the arena, forming blades in its own image from the stone as Thunder(☳) struck from behind, descending like a bolt of its namesake as metal turned electric. Ruan Chen drew her uneven twin jians as it did, twirling as each blade met an obstacle. The short blade she'd called Begonia met Thunder's(☳) edge with an arc of vines that linked towards the narrow trunk that had sprouted from where Willow's tip met the rising stone.

Roots sundered Earth(☷)'s assault, a slender tree forming between the two as it grounded the attack. But again, each trigram was but a fragment of her true intention. Their meaning incomplete without their union. The two blades met with a sound that rang out across the room, their meaning uniting.

The Twenty-Fourth Trigram: Repose.

Strength through clarity.

The ebb of pause rejuvenating the senses.

Haoran's mind cleared, the sound clearing the fog of fatigue that had begun to creep through the corners of her mind from their prolonged bout. The overlapping meanings of her hexagrams drew her sword to greater heights, auspicious fates clearing the path for her victory.

Thrust, strike, sweep—her sword moved danced between forms faster and faster as she unleashed the full might of her Trigram Blades Style. Each transition was clearer now, the gentle nudge of her technique guiding her sword. Her shield interposed more often, parting plates taking advantage of openings to strike at her opponent, feints forcing her to further split her focus.

Shield matched cleaver and longsword again and again, each clash leaving fewer marks from their meeting as the intent suffusing her shield reached a balance with her sword. She'd lost track of when she'd allowed herself to become so uncentered in their fight, but the clarity brought by her technique made it so easy to remember what she'd forgotten. She seized the sensation, to ensure that she wouldn't lose it once her technique ended.

"AH! This is it! To clash blades in earnest! The truth of our swords laid bare!" her opponent crowed, a savage grin on her face. Despite it all she was still somehow matching Haoran blow for blow, her defense still firm despite her onslaught. "More! Show me more!"

How? Haoran thought to herself, as she felt the strength buoying her begin to fade. Concentric hexagrams were a taxing technique to use for too long, as the burden of twisting fate compounded by the moment. It was one of the most difficult applications of the techniques of the Trigram Blades Style Swordsmanship, one that took centuries to utilize properly. And her opponent had just pushed through it, as if it was some ordinary strengthening technique.

How was she still able to push on like this? It was like her opponent was being fueled by their battle, energized by the exertion of every swing of the sword, every slash of their blades.

What else did she have left to use now? The only techniques that she had left were those reserved for life-or-death situations. The techniques that the Xan Empire had been developing in secret for the next time open conflict arose. It was her duty to keep them secret until the time was right, especially at such a turbulent moment of history.

But what did that leave? There was little else that she could do to change her fate now, unless…

There was that, wasn't there?

The technique at the root of her cultivation, born from the origin of the Trigram Blades' technique.

True divination. Not the manufactured twists of cause and effect that she relied on her trigram blades to produce, but the thing that her techniques sought to emulate. Prophecy that could shape the present as easily as the future.

It was an immensely risky technique. But at moments like this a true cultivator needed to make that choice themselves, rather than surrender themselves to their present. And she needed it. Needed to know if there was a path to victory.

Haoran hissed as she drew in qi, the sharpness of her breath whistling through her teeth as she readied herself for what was coming. Her core spun, the eight trigrams engraved into it burning white hot. The seams of her shield shifted and glowed, its three concentric rings of hexagons aglow with qi filled them with strength. Her jian flicked forwards, knocking her opponent's blade aside as she threw her left arm into the air.

"Imperial Trigram Technique: Casting the Coins," she cried, letting her words ring with power as she pushed her qi into the technique. Eighteen hexagonal plates flew into the air, only the central segment of her shield emblazoned with the character of Xan remaining. They spun as they flew into the air, their revolutions erratic with deliberate chaos.

Ruan Chen slashed at one of the segments as it fell, the silvered edge of her longsword intent on interrupting Haoran's technique. But as the sword made contact its spin twisted, the odd fall of the improvised coin catching it at an angle and sending it tumbling to the ground unmolested.

Haoran lunged as her opponent attempted to slice at another segment to the same result, the momentary distraction almost allowing her to get in a stab with her jian. Once cast, only fate could determine the coins' fall. The first clinks rang out as metal met stone, declaring Haoran's fate.

An unbroken line appeared in the air, its dark form mirrored sixfold as the first line of her divination began to orbit Haoran, its path unbothered by the dancing blades that surrounded it.

Yang.

A second line appeared below it, and then a third, accompanied by the clatter of a metallic downpour.

Yang, and then Yang again. Her first trigram was Heaven(☰). A strong start. Her blade redoubled in ferocity as she felt a surge of hope flood through her.

The next line was Yang again. Could this be it? A pure Yang hexagram? A sign from the heavens that she would triumph?

The next line appeared and Haoran felt her blood run cold as it was followed not even a heartbeat later by the sign that sealed her fate.

Two broken lines.

Yin and Yin.

Mountain(☶).

And the Thirty-Third Hexagram: Retreat.

The six hexagrams condensed into one, their form hanging in the air before Haoran for a moment before it disappeared in a puff of smoke. Just like her chances.

Not a sign of victory, but one of defeat. That her only success would be through submission. To yield now and allow herself a chance to press forwards again at another time.

A bitter irony, to be brought low by such a sign. Here, of all places. As though the very ground beneath her feet was conspiring against her.

So, this was it. This was where her path had led her. All her struggles, all her work, to lose here, at this critical moment. Perhaps with a chance for greatness later, but only the Heavens were sure of that. All she had now was what was before her, the certainty of the duel's outcome that she herself had cast in metal.

The only success that remained was through surrender. Only defeat remained in her desperate struggle. This was the optimal outcome. To ignore the advice of fate was to court disaster.

"What else you got?" her opponent called out, as Haoran felt herself flag. She had drawn another sword from her back, a claymore with a blade of reddish-gold that shone in the light.

What else…did she have? She could minimize her loss. Concede on proper terms, to save face.

That way she could still hold her position, even if it would be lower in comparison to her peers. Maybe that way—

Haoran stopped, as she met Ruan Chen's eyes. They were so clear, so earnest. Focused entirely on the duel, and nothing more. And in them she saw herself, as Ruan Chen did.

Not as an Imperial Prefect, an envoy of a tenuous relationship, or an enforcer of the Empire's will, but as an opponent. A cultivator that she was meeting in earnest combat—nothing more, and nothing less.

She'd said so herself, hadn't she?

That there was no introduction better than the clash of blades, nor one more true.

Haoran laughed, for the first time that night. How could she not? Ever the scholar, but still ever the fool. Her blade was too bound for this.

Duty.

Responsibility.

Propriety.

Manners.

Appearance.

Prestige.

Reputation.

These didn't have a place in such a match. A cultivator chose their fate. Forged it in defiance of the Heavens' machinations. To allow oneself to be bound by chains, especially of one's own making, was no different than rejecting that fundamental truth.

So she would fight. And she might lose. But it would be on her own terms. The Empire could withstand her failure to it. Her disgrace would be but a grain of sand in its history. But her cultivation could not bear it she disgraced herself, especially such a core tenet of her own cultivation.

She felt her core grow warm as she realized this, her body in an eerie state of calm following her resolution. She grasped her jian in both hands, facing her opponent and her fate as her fingers tightened. The hexagram may have faded, but she could still see it. Her fate. The translucent lines floating in the air around her.

"I must apologize," she said, speaking to the only person that mattered. "This has been a sorry display. But not one that will stand much longer."

Her blade rose, then fell, her qi surging as she moved with a technique that she had never been able to grasp until this moment.

Xan Style Swordsmanship: Cleaving a Single Line of Fate.

Her blade met her fate, passing through it without a ripple until it reached its final bar. Yin became Yang as her blade cut through the emptiness between it, a wash of burning passion to match the newly formed trigram rushing through Haoran as she embraced her new fate.

Fellowship, the thirteenth hexagram, blazed as it formed behind her, its shape proud as she rushed to meet her opponent, her blade rising in earnest for the first time in too long.