Li Chi faced the young general before him, fully clear in his own mind: in experience, in technique, he was no match for this man who had never lost in the Northern Reaches. He had watched the exchange between Zhuang Wudi and Luo Jing clearly enough — in every respect, Luo Jing was already close to perfection.

Over the past year and more, whenever Li Chi had fought, he had relied almost entirely on his fists rather than a blade, and he had a fair degree of confidence in his boxing. But in the moment just past, he had recognized with certainty that his own fist technique — for all its merits — still fell short of Luo Jing’s. Luo Jing’s style was plain and unadorned on the surface, yet every single strike was aimed to kill, honed to a near-perfect edge. Li Chi’s own boxing still carried traces of jianghu cunning.

In that same moment, Li Chi also realized: his own technique still sought, at times, to outsmart the opponent. Luo Jing’s had returned to the unadorned and essential.

Luo Jing was a born warrior. Li Chi’s experience was limited and he could not say Luo Jing was the most naturally suited fighter in all the world — only that he was the strongest Li Chi had ever seen.

Ordinary techniques. Ordinary forms. In his hands, their destructive force seemed to expand without limit.

Even as Li Chi was thinking through all of this, Luo Jing still could not recall where he had seen this face before. But he did not particularly care. If he could not remember, he could not remember — every opponent was someone not worth his attention.

Luo Jing made no further gesture of yielding the first move. It was not that he cared about a hundred taels, but that he did not want to give the man across from him anything else to seize on and use to provoke him.

So he simply asked: “You first, or me?”

Li Chi answered: “You’re spending money. You go first.”

So Luo Jing said nothing more. He stepped forward and threw a punch — simple, straightforward. Li Chi retreated half a step with his left foot, heel lifting slightly, weight on the ball of the foot; right leg bent slightly at the knee. When that punch came straight at him, Li Chi threw a punch in return.

*Boom.* The two fists met head-on, and in that moment, both men’s expressions changed. After fist met fist, neither pulled away immediately — as though both were stuck there.

Neither pulled back at once because it hurt. Both of them were in pain.

In terms of raw force, the two men were closely matched. Li Chi knew perfectly well how rich Luo Jing’s combat experience was — far richer than his own — and he knew that Luo Jing’s art was the military killing technique, refined to a near-perfect edge. Li Chi’s own technique still carried a certain jianghu reliance on clever angles; simple blocking had no meaning against a military killing art. The killing technique was endless in its attack — so long as the opponent was not subdued, the blows kept coming.

The only way to stop Luo Jing’s chain of attacks was to meet force with force — what looked like defense was in fact a direct, head-on collision.

In the next breath, both men withdrew their fists simultaneously. Both gave their right hand the smallest, almost imperceptible shake.

“Good.”

Luo Jing had already conceived a complete follow-up the moment he sent that first punch — in the instant of striking, a whole sequence of attacks had taken shape in his mind. But he had not expected Li Chi to meet him fist-to-fist, and the subsequent moves had stalled.

So he had no choice but to start again. He sent another punch — right hand again. A man of his pride and competitiveness could not allow his opponent to think he had any hesitation about using that right hand after the pain.

Li Chi was of exactly the same mind. So his right fist flew out as well.

*Boom!*

The two right fists collided again, and hung in the air just as before — and just as before, both men were in pain. More pain than before. In that instant, both had the fleeting impression that their fists might have gone to ruin.

Each time Luo Jing threw a punch, Li Chi received it just a hair late — but that hair was enough for him to read the angle of Luo Jing’s strike.

Luo Jing looked at Li Chi. Li Chi looked at Luo Jing.

After a short silence, Li Chi asked: “Does it hurt?”

Luo Jing maintained his dignity and gave only a grunt.

Luo Jing thought: this cannot go on. The man across from him was answering every punch with a punch of his own, and he appeared to have an innate physical strength capable of absorbing two — perhaps three, four, five punches in a row. If the man simply kept countering like this, there would be no quick resolution.

So Luo Jing chose to overwhelm him with a storm of blows — press him down and break his guard. He gave a short grunt and erupted into motion, no longer one punch at a time but two fists crossing and driving in alternation at ferocious speed.

Li Chi maintained his defensive posture. Luo Jing threw a punch and Li Chi answered with a punch. Both men’s fists became a storm — but not a single blow went wide. Every punch landed against every punch.

Li Chi counted as they exchanged: “Three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…”

In a brief span, the two had traded fourteen blows. Counting the first two, that made sixteen — sixteen punches absorbed without giving ground. Luo Jing could not advance. Li Chi did not retreat a single step.

After fourteen consecutive strikes, Luo Jing finally stopped. Both his hands were trembling slightly; so were Li Chi’s. Both pairs of fists had gone red and swollen. The trembling was beyond control — the body’s own involuntary response.

Li Chi said, “Sixteen punches. Many thanks to General Luo for sixteen hundred taels.”

Luo Jing, in that moment, was somewhat at a loss. Why had he fought like that? He had ten thousand techniques for close combat — why had he been fool enough to trade punch for punch with this man?

The realization came over him: the opponent had appeared artless, but possessed a steady temperament and a precise mind. Without his noticing, the opponent had drawn him into fighting on the opponent’s own terms.

“You attack,” Luo Jing said.

Li Chi shook his head. “I won’t.”

Luo Jing frowned. “Why?”

Li Chi said, as a matter of plain fact: “I’m expensive.”

Then Luo Jing remembered — this man had made a boast earlier: if Luo Jing took one of his moves, he would give Luo Jing a thousand taels. So he had never intended to attack at all; the boast had been pure bluster.

What he could not understand was how this man could have such speed of response. No one had ever managed to keep receiving his punches in an unbroken string like this. He did not know, of course, that Changmei the Daoist had designed the flowing formation array specifically to hone Li Chi’s reaction speed. The mechanical devices within that array, with their chain-attack speed, surpassed even Luo Jing’s punching tempo.

Why could Li Chi keep up so well?

He had been beaten fast.

After Li Chi’s reply, Luo Jing was for once at a loss for words. To say anything at all seemed somehow beneath the level of the man’s shamelessness — the opponent had dragged him down to the level of a clumsy, punch-for-punch brawl, and now was dragging him toward an equal shamelessness. That, Luo Jing truly could not manage.

After a moment, Luo Jing let out a slow breath. He realized that the man across from him had thrown off his composure, and he had to steady himself.

He looked at Li Chi, took a half-step back, breathed in and out several times in succession. Then he said: “Since you have no intention of attacking, I will resume. Before, my technique was limited to what comparison requires. Now I intend to use what battle demands. You understand what that means.”

Li Chi nodded. “I understand. General Luo is going to use his full force.”

Luo Jing gave a sound of acknowledgment. “Ready yourself.”

Li Chi said, “I’m ready, General Luo… I admit defeat.”

Luo Jing’s eyes snapped wide. “What do you mean?!”

Li Chi said, “Would you please have someone settle the accounts? I’ve about reached my limit for today. If the General’s fighting stage runs for multiple days, I’ll come back in a couple.”

Luo Jing, truly unable to hold himself back this time, erupted: “How can you be so shameless?! The contest has not been decided! And you’re just stopping?!”

“Yes,” Li Chi said. “Why does General Luo think this is shameless? Must I be beaten to death, or half to death, before you are satisfied? You’d be satisfied, but I would have taken the beating and felt the pain — not to my liking at all.”

Luo Jing turned slightly pale with rage — but he had no way to compel the man to stay. This was a fighting stage, not a duel to the death. The man had admitted defeat. There was no justification for striking further. If he forced the issue, he would have already lost in bearing.

He breathed deep again, and let out a cold laugh. “The spirit of Jizhou men has quite astonished me. Something of an eye-opener.”

Li Chi said, “My thanks, though I should mention — I am not from Jizhou.”

Luo Jing: “……”

Li Chi extended his hand. “I admit defeat. I took sixteen of the General’s punches. Please have the funds settled.”

Luo Jing gave a sharp grunt and turned to give the order: “Bring him his money.”

His subordinates looked immediately pained. On one hand, handing the silver over like this — they couldn’t stomach it. On the other, the crowd below was already making noise, the whistling sharp and grating.

Luo Jing’s brow creased. “Are my words nothing to you?”

They hurried to prepare the silver and brought it to Li Chi. But Li Chi did not extend his hand to take it. He lifted his arm and gestured for them to tuck the pouch under it, then jutted his chin toward his own fists. It was only then that the two soldiers noticed: both of Li Chi’s fists had swollen to the size of buns.

They could not help laughing. They looked over toward General Luo with an expression that seemed to say — *look at this, General, both his hands are like this, no wonder he didn’t dare go on, turns out he already couldn’t go on.*

But when they turned toward Luo Jing, their laughter died. They stood still and stopped smiling. Because Luo Jing’s fists were in precisely the same state — the same red swelling, still trembling without cease.

Li Chi tucked the silver under his arm, mimed a cupped-fist salute as best he could: “Many thanks, General Luo.”

Luo Jing returned the gesture. He held nothing but contempt for Li Chi’s manner of fighting — yet he knew such an opponent was a rarity. This was the strongest man he had met in many years of martial practice. Two fighters raising their swollen fists in mutual salute — this was etiquette, propriety, and bearing. And so four red, swollen fists were presented together before the world, all equally ugly, none of them in any position to laugh at the others.

Li Chi tucked the silver under his arm and jumped down from the stage. Zhuang Wudi lowered his voice and asked, “How was it?”

Li Chi was silent for a long moment. “I once told someone that I don’t mind if my hands swell up — swollen hands look bigger. Now I understand: the bigness that comes from swelling is hollow bigness, and hollow bigness is worth nothing.”

Zhuang Wudi found this faintly awkward, though he could not quite put his finger on why.

“You!”

Li Chi heard Luo Jing call after him from behind. He turned and looked back. “Is there something else, General?”

“What is your name,” Luo Jing said, “and when are you coming back?”

Li Chi answered without hesitation: “My surname is Qu — the *qu* of winding roads. My given name is Qian — the *qian* of going forward.”

With that he turned and walked away, he and Zhuang Wudi departing quickly. The crowd had grown denser; Li Chi did not want to be recognized by any more people, though he knew it was already somewhat inevitable.

Luo Jing thought about it for a moment before the name’s meaning sank in. His jaw twitched involuntarily with irritation.

*(The name translates roughly as: twists-and-turns, going-forward — or in other words, “no straight answer.”)*

Li Chi and Zhuang Wudi had barely pushed through the crowd when the gathered people broke into applause and cheering, as though sending off a returning hero. Li Chi thought privately: *this is entirely against my nature.* He genuinely wanted to be the sort of person so formidably impressive that no one in the world could touch him — yet he also wanted to keep a low profile. He wanted to be quietly, invisibly unmatched under heaven. Clearly, there was still a very long road ahead before that goal was within reach.

Just then, Xiahou Zuo and Xiahou Yili came running over in haste — they had gone to the transport firm to visit, heard that Li Chi had rushed to the fighting stage, and come tearing after him.

Xiahou Zuo spotted Li Chi’s swollen fists at a single glance and his expression shifted. “That big!”

Xiahou Yili leaned in for a closer look, then let out a breath of relief. “It’s fine. I can get them back to normal size.”

Li Chi: “Really?”

Xiahou Yili smiled. “When we sparred that one time, there was one thing we never got to. Do you remember?”