On the way back to the carriage depot, Xiahou Zuo glanced at Li Chi’s two swollen, battered fists and suddenly couldn’t hold back a laugh. Li Chi shot him a look, and Xiahou Zuo stifled his grin. “I’m not laughing on purpose… it’s just that your two hands together look like steamed buns that came out of the oven and got a coating of chili sauce slapped on top.”

Li Chi: “Where’s your compassion?”

Xiahou Zuo said, “For you? None whatsoever.”

Li Chi glanced sideways at him. Xiahou Zuo looked at Li Chi’s fists again, then said with perfect seriousness: “When I was little and bumped or scraped myself, my mother would say ‘come here, let me blow on it, blow on it and it’ll be better’—want me to blow on it for you?”

Li Chi shook his head hurriedly. “No thank you.”

Xiahou Zuo said, “Why are you being so formal with me?”

With that he turned around, presented his backside to Li Chi, and forced out a fart. Li Chi raised his foot to kick Xiahou Zuo in the rear, but Xiahou Zuo seemed to have sensed it coming—he twisted his hips aside just in time. Once he’d settled back down he asked Li Chi, “Well? Did it work?”

Li Chi said, “From the accent alone, clearly a local.”

Xiahou Yili hadn’t caught on at first, but when she did, she turned to Li Chi and asked in all seriousness: “You can even tell that from a fart—is it because you’ve all come out of the same academy?”

Li Chi fell silent.

Xiahou Zuo glanced at his sister, then let out a sigh.

Xiahou Yili hurriedly said, “I genuinely couldn’t hear a regional accent in that fart… Yinyinshan did teach me dialects from all over, but not that particular category. The academy really is remarkable…”

Xiahou Zuo sighed. “I just passed wind. How did that end up filed under dialects?”

The group rode the carriage back to the depot. Along the way, Xiahou Yili had applied some medicinal ointment from her pouch to Li Chi’s hands, and said that for best results they should also be wrapped. Once bandaged, Li Chi’s two fists looked even more like a pair of large white steamed buns.

He stepped down from the carriage holding up his two bandaged fists, and Yu Jiuling—who had just returned himself—saw the sight and stared. “Did a dog get you? Both of them? Were you trying to pry its jaws open?”

Li Chi: “……”

Gao Xining noticed Li Chi’s hands wrapped up like that and her expression visibly changed, but with so many people around she couldn’t very well rush over. Suppressing the ache she felt, she walked to Li Chi’s side and bent to look. Li Chi quickly said, “It’s nothing, just a little swollen. Miss Xiahou put some ointment on—she said wrapping them would help it work better.”

Xiahou Zuo interjected from nearby, “Right, wrapping them helps the marinade soak in faster.”

Gao Xining didn’t believe Li Chi’s reassurances—even if he were badly hurt he would never tell her how bad it was; he would always wave it off. But Xiahou Zuo’s manner suggested it wasn’t serious, and she quietly let out a breath.

Yu Jiuling asked Xiahou Yili, “Miss Xiahou, how is it that you know medicine as well?”

Xiahou Yili said, “You don’t know much about Yinyinshan, so it’s natural you’d find it odd. I’ve trained there for many years—what I’ve studied includes martial arts, medicine, music, calligraphy and painting, and even mechanism arts.”

Li Chi listened with curiosity, wondering just how capable the person behind Yinyinshan must be to master so many fields.

“There are things about Yinyinshan I’m not at liberty to tell you much about,” Xiahou Yili continued. “But whatever you wish to learn, you can learn it there—wide-ranging but never shallow. If you ever have the chance, go and see it for yourselves; you’ll understand once you’re there. I cannot take you, though—that is the rule of the sect.”

Li Chi nodded. He was growing increasingly fascinated by the founding master who had created the Yinyinshan sect. Until now, the only person he knew who was proficient in many different fields of learning was the Master Li he’d met in the archive tower of the Four-Page Academy—but ever since they had parted ways at Yanshan, there had been no word of him. The last time Li Chi had seen him, Master Li had been riding an enormous wild boar king weighing something near a thousand catties, and Li Chi hadn’t found it the least bit incongruous. A man like Master Li—never mind riding a boar—if one day Li Chi suddenly saw him riding a bear, or a tiger, or wolves and leopards, or even a fish, none of it would surprise him.

Xiahou Zuo sat down, looked at Li Chi, and said, “You need to think of a plan. Unless something unexpected happens, Luo Jing won’t let this go—he’ll either beat you and kill you, or try to recruit you into his ranks.”

Li Chi made a sound of acknowledgment. There had been a great many spectators around the fighting platform, and a fair number who recognized him—after all, he was the young gentleman of the Yunzhai Teahouse. The only consolation, if it could be called that, was that the men who recognized him weren’t so numerous; the name of the Yunzhai Teahouse’s young gentleman circulated more widely among women.

“Prince Yu’s estate will also send people looking for you.”

Xiahou Zuo reached over and grabbed an apricot from the nearby fruit dish, bit into it, then grimaced at the sourness. He looked at the apricot and asked, “Is someone in your establishment expecting? Why do you have such sour things out?”

He looked at Yu Jiuling. Yu Jiuling, alarmed at the implication, grabbed an apricot and bit into it to prove his innocence. It was so sour his mouth watered all the way down his chin. He grimaced and said, “See? Not me.”

Just at that moment, Mister Yan arrived from the academy. Coming inside, he reached quite naturally for an apricot and bit into it. He sat down with perfect composure, and after finishing one seemed to find it rather satisfying, and reached for another.

The young woman named Ruoling came in from the doorway, her face faintly flushed, and said with a shy, bashful air: “Knowing that Mister Yan has a fondness for sour things, and seeing that the green apricots in the courtyard were just right—I figured if they weren’t picked soon they’d turn sweet—so I picked some for you.”

Xiahou Zuo: “If they weren’t picked they’d turn sweet…”

Mister Yan smiled awkwardly and gave Ruoling a cupped-fist salute. “My thanks, miss.”

Ruoling hastily returned the bow, then left with a red face.

Only then did Mister Yan notice that both of Li Chi’s hands were bandaged. He looked around at everyone, hoping someone would explain. Yu Jiuling said, “Li Chi went to the fighting platform—the one Luo Jing set up.”

Mister Yan’s expression shifted. He looked at Li Chi and said, “You must not go again.”

Li Chi smiled. “I certainly won’t go again. That man’s strength is unfathomable—had the bout gone another three rounds or so I would have lost. The title of the North’s foremost martial artist is no idle boast.”

Mister Yan said, “I know something of him. At the academy there was once an instructor named Master Zhan, with whom I was on fairly good terms. His learning and his insight both surpassed mine—he was the finest teacher the academy had. A few years back, Luo Geng sent men to offer him extremely favorable terms, inviting him to Youzhou to tutor Luo Jing. At first he was reluctant to go, but as you all know, being an instructor at the Four-Page Academy may look dignified, but the salary isn’t enough to buy property in the city. Luo Geng went ahead and purchased him an estate in Jizhou outright, and another in Youzhou—so Master Zhan packed up his entire household and went to Youzhou.”

Mister Yan continued, looking at Li Chi: “Last year Master Zhan came back from Youzhou and made a point of inviting me out for a drink. When we talked about Luo Jing, his assessment was this: *Not of this world’s people, yet walking in this world—but so long as he walks in it, none in this world can match him.*”

He looked at Li Chi. “You fought him bare-handed—that is not where his strengths lie. Master Zhan said Luo Jing has three absolutes: his spear technique is unrivaled; his horsemanship and archery are unrivaled; and the third, Master Zhan didn’t know, though everyone in the Luo household speaks of it. His bare-fist work isn’t even counted among his three absolutes, and still he pushed you this far.”

Li Chi nodded. He had no doubt whatsoever about Luo Jing’s greatness. People in this world were simply made differently, and he himself was one of those different ones.

Mister Yan said, “Master Zhan also told me that when Luo Jing was a child, up until the age of seven or eight, he was sickly and frail. One time he fell gravely ill and lost consciousness, and when he came around, he suddenly told his father he wanted to learn martial arts. Once he recovered, he began training in spearmanship, and by his teens he was already unmatched throughout the Youzhou armies. So the people of the Luo household all say he is heaven-gifted.”

In the western regions there were many accounts of heaven-gifted talents, and Li Chi had heard such stories before.

As they spoke, Tang Pidi sat to one side listening quietly. When he heard the words *none in this world can match him*, his eyes flickered almost imperceptibly—but no one noticed. Tang Pidi’s father had once been a renowned martial master, and Tang Pidi himself had trained in martial arts since childhood, then passed through countless life-and-death battles on the steppe, and had never once been defeated.

While Mister Yan was still speaking about Luo Jing, Tang Pidi rose and walked toward the door. Li Chi noticed, excused himself to Mister Yan, and followed.

“Old Tang—you’re not thinking of going to that fighting platform, are you?”

Tang Pidi shook his head. “I’m not.”

Li Chi exhaled. He knew Tang Pidi’s nature well: if he said he wouldn’t go, he wouldn’t go. Tang Pidi was a man whose words and deeds were one—whatever he said, he would neither take back nor waver from.

Before Li Chi had even finished his exhale, Tang Pidi smiled slightly and said: “Not now. His hands are probably as battered as yours—going now would be an ignoble victory.”

With that he clasped his hands behind his back and walked off.

Li Chi sighed. “I think you are also heaven-gifted. A lot of things that sound incredibly impressive—I just can’t think of them.”

Tang Pidi smiled and kept walking, hands behind his back. A short distance on, he turned back and said, “Oh—one more thing I forgot to tell you. I’ve cleared the Flowing Cloud Formation.”

Li Chi’s eyes snapped wide open. “When?!”

Tang Pidi said, “Last night, while you were all at the military arsenal. Clearing it in the daytime would seem too easy; the dark makes it harder to see, so I chose the night.”

Only now did Li Chi understand why he hadn’t seen his master during the day—Changmei had certainly still been asleep. He must have been up with Tang Pidi seeing him through the formation last night, and who knew how late he’d slept.

Tang Pidi seemed to sense Li Chi’s train of thought and shook his head. “The Daoist wasn’t up very late. I cleared it on the first attempt, so it didn’t take long. He stayed up to drink with me afterward—had a bit too much, which is why he’s still sleeping.”

Li Chi stood rooted to the spot for a long moment, then let out a long breath. Smiling, he asked, “Did my master have anything to say about it?”

Tang Pidi replied in an even tone: “As it happens, the Daoist said—*he is not the sort who should belong to this world, yet he was born into it; therefore in this world, Tang Pidi ought to be called Tang Wudi.* I feel the Daoist’s praise is perhaps somewhat excessive—though not by very much.”

With that he strolled off toward where the divine eagle was kept, saying as he went, “Time to feed the eagle.”

Li Chi stood there with his mouth hanging open. He looked back at the people in the room, then back at Tang Pidi.

Here was one who was unrivaled in this world—and over at that fighting platform was another who was unrivaled in this world. So which one was the real unrivaled?

Just at that moment Changmei stretched lazily and came shuffling out of the side room. He rubbed his eyes, saw Li Chi’s two bandaged fists, and tentatively asked, “Did a dog get you? Both of them? Were you trying to pry its jaws open?”

Li Chi: “……”

He leaned toward his master and asked, “Last night you said Tang Pidi was unrivaled?”

Changmei nodded. “At your respective ages, you’re genuinely not his equal.”

Li Chi pressed further: “Mister Yan just told us that within his generation Luo Jing is unrivaled, and you say Tang Pidi is unrivaled—so in your opinion, who is stronger, Luo Jing or Tang Pidi?”

Changmei said with the utmost seriousness: “Tang Pidi, naturally. Luo Jing never bought me a drink.”

—