Chapter 63: TO GIVE UP

CHAPTER

63

TO GIVE UP

JIEYUAN

—∞—

As the call echoed throughout the venue, the proctor got off the stage in a blur of movement.

Daojue broke into a run, Gleaming End held straight to the side, flat against the length of his right arm. Across the stage, Xianjun exploded into motion—only to drop low and stay rooted, thrusting his halberd in rapid bursts at the empty air ahead.

The halberd glowed a faint green now—and each thrust loosed a nearly invisible streak that tore through the air.

Wind… Jieyuan leaned over the guardrail, squinting, stilled-space already up around him to track the movements. Bullets?

Not even a third of the way in, Daojue snapped Gleaming End up just as the first streak—projectile?—reached him.

Without breaking stride, Daojue spun his spear, meeting the first strike head-on—it vanished in a ring of metal and a burst of green. Daojue followed up by twisting Gleaming End to the side, blocking the second attack. And then the third, the fourth, the fifth—all without stopping, less than a second’s space between them.

Xianjun had first used his halberd’s prime skill two days ago to secure his fifth round win. It’d caught his opponent by surprise, and Xianjun had capitalized on it. Then, since the gold had already spilled out of the purse, Xianjun had used it plenty yesterday on his duel against Baisenzhou Houliao—enough for Jieyuan to get a rough grasp of how it worked.

Each of the halberd’s blades—the axe blade at the front, the spearhead at the tip, the curved spike at the back—could shoot out wind projectiles. But all such projectiles up to now had been wind blades, produced by wide, slashing moves.

But this—this was something else. Thrusts were faster than slashes, and if you needed any proof of that you only needed to look down below. Xianjun moved fast enough to thrust his halberd several times in the span of a second. The result was an almost unbroken barrage bullets flying at Daojue. And Xianjun was smart with it, stabbing high and low, front, left, and center.

Soon Daojue’s spear was a blur, twisting and flashing so fast it looked like chaos. But the ringing bullets being blocked kept coming so quickly there didn’t seem to be any gap between the sounds, and the accompanying little green bursts grew so numerous and constant that it looked like a vague, greenish barrier of sorts had formed in front of Daojue.

Jieyuan leaned further over the railing, eyes wide. Not one bullet was getting through. Random was the furthest thing from what Daojue was doing—he was reorienting Gleaming End several times each second, so fast he was practically spinning it, but each and every twist and turn was perfect.

And throughout all of that, Daojue kept on advancing. At a slower rate than his earlier full-throttle run, sure, but making good progress all the same. Barely a moment had passed, and he was already halfway through the stage.

Daojue kept it up. Two-thirds of the way to Xianjun now, and not a single wind bullet had hit home yet. By now, Jieyuan was sure none ever would. Xianjun was probably counting on getting at least one lucky hit in. It wouldn’t have been an unreasonable expectation—had he been facing any fourth-sign other than Daojue.

Jieyuan grimaced. In Daojue’s place, he wouldn’t have been able to last more than a couple of seconds before he ended up riddled with holes all over, like some a honeycomb. He might have been able to pull it off with Fatebloom Intuition, and even then he’d have still needed to practice it a bit first. He’d never really thought to include high-speed-projectile-deflection days in his training regimen. He’d never needed to.

And if he didn’t have the option to cheat by predicting the future? He’d have to have had to spend thousands of hours simulating the fight to have a chance at being able to perfectly block each bullet like that. He’d have to experience it over and over, die tens of thousands of times in his mind, until every block became instinct.

Daojue was doing it on the fly.

“That’s quite the contrite look you have on, for the one who beat both my son and daughter.” A soft voice, coming from behind.

Jieyuan turned around. There was a woman just behind him. Tall, willowy, with the Liangshibai sharp, fine lines, and bright, faceted orange eyes. Not much older than he was. Protector Yuyan. Yongyi’s mother, Meiyao’s stepmother. The sect leader’s wife—the remaining one, at least.

She moved to stand to his side, leaning against the brightgold railing. She moved her gaze to the stage, and gave an appreciative little hum. “He’s something else, isn’t he?”

Down on the stage, the rings of bursting wind bullets kept on coming.

Jieyuan looked from her, to where the rest of the Liangshibai were standing. Meiyao and Yongyi were both looking over at the two of them, but weren’t making moves to approach. Yongyi had a look somewhere between resigned and amused. Meiyao, for her part, looked contrite.

There was a beat in which he stared at them, and they stared back—and then they both looked away, back down at stage. Jieyuan had little doubt, though, that most of their attention remained on him and the protector.

Ah.

He turned back to Protector Yuyan, who was facing him again.

She smiled, topaz eyes gleaming. “What? Am I not allowed to talk to my children’s friends, now?”

“It’s hardly up to me to say what you are and aren’t allowed to do, Protector. I’m just a lowly inner disciple.”

He’d only really talked with Yuyan once—about a month ago, when she’d picked him, Meiyao, and Daojue up and taken them to Topaz Square, where the sect’s delegation for Radiant Gold Summit had gathered. Since then, they hadn’t done much more than exchange simple greetings the few times they came across each other. Still, she’d always seemed pretty easygoing, and it looked like that hadn’t changed.

She scoffed, even as her smile widened. “So says the future Greensoul.”

Future Violetsoul, if I have any say about it. “I might be a merchant’s son, but I’m not that keen on gambling on future prospects like that.”

“Oh? That doesn’t quite match what I’ve heard about you.”

The ringing sounds from the stage below suddenly stopped. Jieyuan immediately looked down.

Xianjun must’ve realized he wasn’t getting anywhere with those wind bullets, because he’d stopped with the thrusts and was now going for cuts.

A wind blade—unlike with the bullets, this one Jieyuan could clearly see a green-tinged crescent of air like a half-moon—surged from the axe blade. Several others followed it as Xianjun fully shifted gears, slashing again and again in a frenzy.

This new volley of attacks didn’t give Daojue so much as a pause. As the first of the wind blades reached him, he simply changed his grip on Gleaming End, spacing out his hands, and held it across him, perfectly matching the wind projectile, letting it land harmlessly across the spear’s shaft.

Daojue didn’t slow—if anything, he was gaining speed.

Only a fourth of the stage stood between Daojue and Xianjun now.

“I don’t think we’ve ever had anyone quite like him,” Protector Yuyan said. “Though it’s not like Daojue’s really the Gleaming Stone Sect, is it? We’re just a stepping stone, as far as he’s concerned. A temporary stopping point. And the same goes for you, no?”

Jieyuan could only shrug. He didn’t have enough presence of mind to summon a proper answer, not when the duel below was on the tipping point.

Daojue getting closer, and closer, advancing—and then they were within striking distance.

Just like that, there was a shift, as Daojue struck at Xianjun, who parried with his halberd.

That should have been the moment that really kicked things off. The moment that started the duel in earnest.

Barely a few seconds later, though, Jieyuan realized that strike had been instead the beginning of the end.

They’d barely exchanged a few blows, and already Xianjun was being pushed back. It was painfully, glaringly clear that Xianjun wasn’t Daojue’s match.

Suddenly Xianjun’s figure seemed to shimmer, and his movements grew faster.

Finally. Sibilant Wind Blessing. Jieyuan was too far away to hear its signature hiss, but the faint shimmer and the increase in speed were clue enough. Jieyuan wouldn’t be forgetting it any time soon, not with his duel against Xiyunfeng Caoluan still so fresh in his mind.

Jieyuan held his breath, putting all he had into watching the fight, unwilling to risk even a single detail. Sibilant Wind Blessing probably wouldn’t be enough to turn things around altogether, but it should still force Daojue to…

To…

Jieyuan lost that line of thought as Daojue visibly sped up.

Xianjun blurred into movement under the effects of Sibilant Wind Blessing. He was faster now, more agile, and not by a small margin.

But somehow, so was Daojue. And with him, there was no tell-tale sign of realmskill usage. It just looked like someone ramping up. Which would mean Daojue had been holding back and was just now getting serious.

Sibilant Wind Blessing hadn’t changed the picture at all—the gap between Xianjun and Daojue remained practically unchanged.

Jieyuan tried to make sense of just how Daojue was doing it—and as he watched Daojue moved to parry a strike barely a moment after Xianjun had started to make it, Jieyuan realized the truth. Daojue hadn’t actually gotten faster or stronger.

This wasn’t a matter of physicality, but skill. Physically, Daojue was a monster, straight and simple, but Jieyuan didn’t think that in terms of raw ability, raw strength and agility, Daojue was Xianjun’s match. Without Sibilant Wind Blessing, maybe—which would already be enough to put Daojue well into inhuman territory—but not when a realmskill like that came into play.

But there was something about Daojue even more monstrous than his body—his skill.

When you pitted halberd against spear, polearm against polearm, skill gaps became more apparent than ever—and Xianjun didn’t come close to Daojue’s level. Jieyuan was starting to suspect that nothing could, really. It bordered on predictive—as if Daojue had his own Fatebloom Heart, his own Fatebloom Intuition.

There and then, Jieyuan’s interest in the duel died a sharp, ugly death.

It wasn’t that he’d overestimated Xianjun. Rather, despite everything, he’d still managed to underestimate Daojue. His hands gripped the railing, hard, the brightgold cold and smooth under his palms.

A hand landed gently on one of his. Smaller, but not at all softer—heavily calloused, rather. He looked up at Protector Yuyan—and found that she hadn’t been watching the duel.

She’d been watching him, studying him, with those intent, burning orange eyes.

She said, “Envy sure is a cruel mistress, isn’t it?”

He stared at her, at a loss for words.

Protector Yuyan didn’t take her eyes off his. “It just pushes and eats at you, over and over. There’s no rest, no respite, until you’re better than them. And what happens when the one you’re chasing after is unreachable? When no matter what you do, you can never close the gap, never mind beat them? Then there’s no satisfaction, no realization. You’ll just keep toiling away, fruitlessly, chipping away at diamond with a metal chisel.”

She removed her hand from his. He slacked his grip on the railing, staring at her.

“Most people don’t really know what that’s like, to chase the impossible. But we do, don’t we? For you, it’s Daojue. For me…”

She turned her head. Jieyuan followed her gaze—to the sole white-robed woman in the venue. Wanxin. The sect’s paramount protector. Protector Yuyan’s sister.

She looked back at him. “I can’t say our circumstances are exactly the same, but I do have an idea of what it’s like. But here’s a word of advice. Don’t give up.”

That caught Jieyuan off-guard, and it must’ve shown, because Protector Yuyan broke out into a grin.

“What? You thought I’d tell you to let go of it, to find peace in yourself, or some other such nonsense? Please. Inner peace? What good is that? We’re cultivators. The goal’s not peace. It’s power. Power, and power, and power—that’s all that really matters in our world.”

She stepped in closer, her expression alight. “I’m the strongest cultivator in the sect, did you know? I don’t have my sister’s talent, but she can’t beat me in a fight—not when both of us are at the same realm. Nor can my brother, my husband, my father, or my sister’s husband. They’re all regarded as the sect’s best, and still I’m better. I could take on any two of them on my own and come out on top. And what do I have to thank for that? Wanxin. Wanxin and her obscene talent. And my need to outdo her.”

She held out her hands, palms up. They were sprawls of callouses and scar tissue. “Make no mistake, Wanxin’s still far beyond me. She only needs to say the word, and she’ll get picked up by a Yellowsoul sect, and soon become more powerful than I can even imagine.” Yuyan’s hands balled into fists. “But that’s the whole point of it, isn’t it? Chasing the impossible. So even now, I keep on working, keep on training, keep on practicing, because it’s not enough. It’s never enough. Not compared to her. It’s like mining a quarry that’ll never run dry—you’ll never get to the end of it, never be able to move on from it, but you also won’t ever run out of ore.”

Somehow, she sounded both bitter and triumphant. “So, take it from me. An ever-moving goalpost? That’s just about the greatest motivation to us of bitter, envious ken. So don’t let go of it, keep pitting yourself against Daojue, keep chasing after the unreachable.”

And here Protector Yuyan leaned forward, her voice growing quieter, but more intense. “Because if you want to keep up with my daughter, you’ll need every little bit of motivation you can get—because you’ll find that she’s in no way inferior to that stuck-up pretty boy down there. You won yesterday, I’ll give you that. But if you get too comfortable, she’ll leave you in the dust. You don’t know half of what she’s really capable of.”

Jieyuan understood, then, what this talk had been about all along. And as he did—as Yuyan’s words finally struck home—he felt that familiar heat rising in his chest. That all-consuming spark he knew too well. Envy, ambition, and desire, all in one blazing, burning rush, feeding into each other. His heart thundered, blood thumping in his ears.

She nodded to where Meiyao was standing next to Yongyi. “That girl likes you, more than she’s willing to admit. She doesn’t let others close to her, not anymore, but you’ve managed to get through to her somehow. She won’t have anyone where she’s going—but I hope she’ll be able to count on you. Because she’ll be watching out for you, and I won’t have you dragging her down.”

Jieyuan was still getting his thoughts in order, thinking up an answer when the bright, ringing clatter of metal snapped him out of it.

He turned.

Down on the stage, Xianjun’s halberd lay on the floor. Daojue had disarmed him.

It was over.