Chapter Nine: Three Blades Seize the Laurels

Before long, it was Dong Chu’s turn to enter the arena.

Still steeped in the aftermath of Qin Cheng’s “unexpected” victory, Dong Chu’s spirits were low. He already understood that he had no chance of defeating Qin Cheng.

Suddenly, a thought struck him. Even if he could not overcome Qin Cheng, he could not allow himself to be underestimated. Otherwise, he would truly have no face left to show.

Resolved, Dong Chu strode onto the field with an air of bravado.

His opponent was a fair-faced attendant, delicate of feature. Notably, while all the other soldiers wielded long sabers, this pale youth held instead a wooden longsword.

Eager to impress Qin Cheng, Dong Chu saw at a glance that his opponent was slender and frail, his face as pale as a woman’s. In that moment, Dong Chu deemed him harmless.

So, after entering the ring, Dong Chu took it upon himself to display his saber technique. For a time, the arena was filled with the whirling shadows of his blade, fierce and vigorous like a tiger. After each flourish, he would let out a booming shout, “Hey! Hah!”—striking quite an imposing figure. When at last he finished the set, Dong Chu, still unsated, saw that the pale youth stood motionless, simply staring at him in a daze. Feeling reassured, and eager to show off, Dong Chu launched into another series of moves, again punctuating each with a spirited cry.

By the end, Dong Chu was slightly out of breath. Yet, when he glimpsed the crowd of soldiers below, all gazing at him in astonishment, he felt a surge of pride, believing his skill had left them all in awe.

He turned and grinned smugly at Qin Cheng, as if to say, “See? My saber work is nothing to scoff at!”

But when his gaze met Qin Cheng’s, he found the other man watching with a strange look in his eyes. Dong Chu simply assumed this was further evidence of his own prowess, and, stifling a laugh, turned back toward the pale-faced youth, ready to deal with him.

But as he turned, a shadow suddenly loomed before his eyes. Alarmed, Dong Chu realized too late that it was a foot; it struck him square on the nose, sending blood spurting uncontrollably and his body flying backward.

Yet, even in this moment, Dong Chu’s martial training saved him: twisting midair, he landed on one knee, sliding back but managing not to fall.

“You little wretch, you dare ambush me?” Dong Chu, having finally seized a chance to show off, was now both humiliated and enraged. He glared at the pale-faced youth and cursed furiously.

The youth spared him a contemptuous glance. “I merely remind you: when dueling, don’t perform a circus act and then flirt with the spectators. In the time you wasted, I could have killed you ten times over.”

“What did you say?!” To have his display of saber technique dismissed as monkey business was more than Dong Chu could bear. He roared in fury, raising his saber high and hacking at the youth.

“Hmph!” The youth snorted coldly. Facing Dong Chu’s aggressive attack, he advanced rather than retreated. With barely a motion, the wooden sword in his hand traced a strange arc, darting into the heart of Dong Chu’s seemingly formidable saber shadows.

Clang, clang, clang! As the wooden sword entered the melee, a flurry of weapon clashes rang out. Dong Chu, who moments before had been so fierce, lost all momentum at the first contact.

Finally, with a crisp crack, the youth knocked the saber from Dong Chu’s grasp. Seizing the opening, he closed the distance, lifted a foot, and kicked Dong Chu square under the chin. With another sharp sound, Dong Chu’s body was hurled backward, spinning through the air, and landed face-first in the dirt.

Before Dong Chu could rise, the youth’s wooden sword was already at his throat.

“You’ve lost,” the youth said coolly.

With that, he sheathed his sword, turned, and melted back into the crowd without so much as another glance at Dong Chu.

Dong Chu stared blankly after the youth, finally coming to his senses. He hurriedly snatched up his dropped saber, cheeks burning, and slunk back into the crowd with his head bowed.

Utter humiliation!

That was the only thought in Dong Chu’s mind. If there had been a hole in the ground, he would have crawled into it without hesitation.

In the matches that followed, Qin Cheng defeated all his opponents in just a few moves—never more than three or five, sometimes in a single blow. Not one of those vanquished by Qin Cheng escaped unscathed; some were even severely injured.

Qin Cheng had always approached every task with twice the effort required, a habit born of years spent living under the threat of death. For him, a single mistake meant death.

His saber technique had been forged in countless life-and-death struggles. Though not learned from any renowned master and perhaps lacking in flourish, it was supremely practical—each stroke aimed to kill. Combined with his background in hand-to-hand combat, Qin Cheng’s saber skills were not to be underestimated—certainly not by these frontier soldiers who had never truly faced the Xiongnu in battle.

But this left poor Dong Chu—who had always considered Qin Cheng a mediocre or even cowardly soldier—completely bewildered. With each of Qin Cheng’s victories, Dong Chu found himself repeatedly questioning: Is this really Qin Cheng? Could this possibly be Qin Cheng?

In the end, Dong Chu pinned all his hopes on the pale-faced youth who had so easily defeated him.

At last, Qin Cheng and the pale-faced youth, the two final victors of the camp’s saber competition, faced each other.

Qin Cheng held his saber angled toward the ground, his expression calm as ever, eyes fixed on his opponent.

“Pardon my offense,” the youth said with a cupped fist salute. Under Dong Chu’s hopeful gaze, he launched the first attack.

Elsewhere, General Li Guang himself was watching the match. Flanking him were two stalwart soldiers. On the left stood a man of about thirty, eight feet tall, sharp-eyed and expressionless—Li Guang’s personal guard captain. On the right was a much younger soldier, just over seven feet, perhaps seventeen or eighteen years old, staring intently at the dueling platform, his expression both arrogant and eager.

“This young soldier is quite skilled. If you two were to face him, would you have confidence?” Li Guang mused aloud.

“If I were to face him, I’d never let him act so arrogantly. Within ten rounds, I’d have him beaten,” the younger soldier replied, eyes still fixed on the stage.

“Young General, your valor far exceeds mine,” said the captain, his tone light and unconcerned.

At this, the so-called “Young General” radiated even more pride.

Li Guang smiled and asked, “Dare you challenge him, Gan’er?”

“I fight only the champion,” Li Gan declared proudly.

“He is the champion. Liu Lang couldn’t best him,” Li Guang said, a note of surprise in his voice.

“?!”

While Li Guang and his men spoke, the pale-faced youth had already launched a fierce assault on Qin Cheng. His wooden sword danced nimbly, and within three exchanges, Qin Cheng was forced back three steps.

But that was as far as the youth’s attack could go. Once Qin Cheng had steadied himself and found an opening, he was ready to counter. Just then, the youth suddenly leapt back several paces, held up a hand to signal a halt, and said hastily, “No need to continue. I can’t beat you. You’re first, I’ll take second.”

Qin Cheng was stunned—he conceded? But Qin Cheng’s stance remained guarded, his saber and footwork ready for anything.

The youth gave Qin Cheng a long, searching look, then, ignoring his surprise, leapt from the stage and strode away without a backward glance, leaving the assembled soldiers staring in disbelief.

Hell’s bells—he actually conceded? For the first time, Dong Chu felt his mind failing him. Without even showing any real sign of defeat, this youth conceded? Did that mean Qin Cheng was about to claim the championship in this year’s saber competition? And if so... wouldn’t that mean he was about to be promoted?

Dong Chu’s thoughts were a tangled mess.

At last, the officiating soldier announced in a loud voice, “The champion of this year’s saber competition is Qin... um, what’s your name again?”

“Hold!” A sharp cry rang out as a lithe figure vaulted onto the stage, his custom saber pointed at Qin Cheng—a deeply disrespectful gesture in those times. The newcomer declared with pride, “I’ll face you!”

This was none other than Li Gan.

Seeing him, the officiating soldier bellowed, “Next match: the champion faces Young General Li Gan!”

Young General? Li Gan? Li Guang’s son? The very man who, after stabbing Wei Qing, was later shot dead by Huo Qubing? It must be him.

So thought Qin Cheng, eyeing the saber Li Gan leveled at him. Standing tall, Qin Cheng’s own blade angled toward the stage, his face calm but his eyes now burning with a trace of anger.

Damn, waving that blade at me like that?

You think you’re something special?

You think you’re Li Guang himself?

Looking for death!

Even before the officiating soldier had finished announcing the start of the match, Li Gan swept his saber toward Qin Cheng.

Qin Cheng’s right hand traced a graceful arc with his own blade, channeling all his strength as he surged forward.

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PS: Referring to Li Gan as Young General is not strictly accurate, but lacking a better term, let’s leave it at that for now.