Chapter 32: Child's Play Is No Child's Play

Over on the other side, after Wang Zhaojing had won, he clasped his fist in a very polite salute to everyone. By all rights, facing an opponent like this should have made Chen Sheng excited and happy, but there was no joy to be seen on Chen Sheng's face. He just stood there and said, "I heard my grandpa say that wealthy families who practice martial arts don't just hire masters to teach—they also hire people to spar and drill against, because that's the only way to truly train. Looks like he's exactly that type."

Zhao Jin turned his head and shot Chen Sheng a glance; he could tell Chen Sheng was getting a little nervous.

Chen Sheng wasn't the only one nervous. The few other youths who had a shot at the top eight all grew cautious. In past tournaments, the livelier ones would even toy with their opponents for fun, but today, without exception, everyone ended their fights as fast as possible. They were all saving their strength for a potential match against that Wang Zhaojing.

Only Zhao Jin didn't care. Still, Wang Zhaojing's appearance today struck him as very interesting, and he wanted to watch more, so after just two rounds he stopped fighting and focused entirely on observing.

Drawing lots from the clay pot was highly random. Once they entered the top eight, it was always the same few youths—just you bumping into me and me bumping into you. It couldn't exactly be called coincidence when Chen Sheng and Wang Zhaojing drew each other.

After so many days of fighting, some matches drew no attention at all, but the match between Chen Sheng and Wang Zhaojing was naturally surrounded by a crowd three rows deep on every side.

The two youths had just taken their stances when Wang Zhaojing smiled and made a suggestion: "I've heard that Brother Chen used to practice saber techniques with a short stick, and only switched to fists and feet because of the tournament rules. As it happens, I also train with weapons using a short stick. Why don't we take up equipment and see how we compare?"

Chen Sheng trained specifically in the single saber and was used to wielding a short stick as a wooden blade—this was his strength. The moment he heard this, his interest was immediately piqued. Over this past month, however, Chen Sheng had already formed a habit: on the tournament ground, Zhao Jin was in charge, and everything had to go through him. The habit had become so natural that even Chen Sheng himself hadn't noticed it.

"What do you think?" Zhao Jin asked Chen Sheng. After getting an affirmative answer, Zhao Jin smiled, nodded, and said, "Since neither side objects, then it's fine. But when you spar with wooden sticks, treat them as if they're sharp blades in your hands. Stop at the touch—don't injure anyone excessively."

Hearing this instruction, Chen Sheng nodded. Over on the side, Chen Hong had already eagerly scurried over with the short stick for him. Wang Zhaojing, however, gave Zhao Jin a surprised look. Among all the youths, the steady Zhao Jin didn't seem particularly outstanding, yet he could lay out such a clear and logical arrangement. In Wang Zhaojing's impression, even some adults couldn't manage that.

"Brother Xiaojin, can he beat Chen Sheng?" The little girl Mu Shulan had appeared at some point and asked from beside Zhao Jin. Chen Hong overheard the question and rushed to answer first: "My brother's definitely going to win!"

"Hard to say." Zhao Jin truly couldn't make a judgment.

The start was called. Chen Sheng gripped the lower end of his short stick with both hands, as if holding a saber hilt, raised it level with his shoulder, and slowly took a step forward. Wang Zhaojing smiled and said, "So it's the single saber."

After speaking, Wang Zhaojing gripped his short stick with one hand, turned sideways and held it level with his chest, his body crouching low. Both their expressions turned stern and cold as they locked eyes and faced off in silence.

In the past, the watching youths would always shout and jeer, creating a lively ruckus, but seeing this scene, everyone involuntarily fell quiet, caught up in the tension.

The silence didn't last long. Chen Sheng leaned his body forward, took a great stride, then followed through with explosive force—his short stick came howling down in a chop. Almost at the same instant, Wang Zhaojing slid forward in a lunge, twisted his body to generate power, his left palm bracing his right fist as his short stick thrust out with a piercing jab!

Both fighters' movements came to an abrupt halt. Many of the spectating youths hadn't even registered what had happened. Once they saw clearly, a burst of startled cries erupted.

The tip of Wang Zhaojing's short stick was less than two inches from Chen Sheng's throat, while Chen Sheng's own short stick had yet to complete its downward chop.

From what Zhao Jin had said earlier, everyone could figure out the implications of this match. If the two had truly been holding sharp blades and swords, Chen Sheng would already be dead. Only Zhao Jin, however, recognized what this really was—Wang Zhaojing was using swordsmanship. As expected of a child from a wealthy family, he had learned high-class techniques like sword-fighting.

Chen Sheng's face immediately turned very ugly. He was just about to concede when he heard Zhao Jin shout out again: "Again!"

A match like this had too many random factors, and the rules Zhao Jin had just laid out didn't actually specify any win-or-loss conditions.

Hearing Zhao Jin say this, Wang Zhaojing shot him another surprised look, while Chen Sheng took a deep breath. The skill level of these two youths far exceeded that of the other boys on the training ground, and they quickly re-entered their fighting state, once again posturing and locking into a stalemate.

Chen Sheng chopped; Wang Zhaojing thrust. Only this time, Chen Sheng changed his move with extreme speed, directly knocking Wang Zhaojing's short stick aside and charging forward right up to him. Wang Zhaojing had no time to retract his short stick. He threw his left fist at Chen Sheng's stomach, but Chen Sheng turned sideways and rammed him with his shoulder. Chen Sheng had a considerable strength advantage, and Wang Zhaojing was sent staggering back two steps. Before he could react, Chen Sheng's short stick had already stopped near his neck.

Chen Hong shouted out loud cheers from the sidelines. The scene went quiet for a moment, then the cheering suddenly erupted with force. In the eyes of the training ground youths, Chen Sheng was one of their own, and Wang Zhaojing was an outsider. If Wang Zhaojing had won, they would all have lost face.

Everyone understood the situation now. If Chen Sheng had been holding a real blade, Wang Zhaojing's head would already have been cut off. Wang Zhaojing straightened his body, the smile gone from his face, replaced by a measure of gravity.

"Again!" Zhao Jin called out with a laugh.

The two of them had four exchanges like this, two wins and two losses. Counting the first two rounds, it was a draw. Did they need to keep fighting?

"Both of you, toss the sticks aside and settle it with fists and feet!" Zhao Jin suggested.

Chen Sheng and Wang Zhaojing exchanged a glance, then both threw their sticks to the side. The start was called again. This time there wasn't so much posturing and feinting—the two charged straight at each other. Wang Zhaojing was indeed well-trained. Chen Sheng rained down fists and kicks, yet Wang Zhaojing managed to block and deflect most of them and quickly counterattacked.

But while Wang Zhaojing fought well, he lacked a certain wild ferocity—something the youths who brawled and sparred on this training ground had in abundance. Chen Sheng took four or five hits, his features already twisted in pain, yet he still fought through it and managed to grab hold of Wang Zhaojing. Earlier, another youth had tried the same method, only to have Wang Zhaojing break free and counter. But Chen Sheng's move was different: he twisted his wrist in reverse, locked Wang Zhaojing firmly in place, and threw him straight down.

Wang Zhaojing landed heavily on his back. He had lost.

"Chen Sheng wins!" Zhao Jin shouted. The cheers of the youths immediately followed. Zhao Jin, however, noticed that the sturdy man who had come with Wang Zhaojing looked somewhat tense and hurriedly stepped forward a few paces. Just then, fortunately, Wang Zhaojing got up from the ground. The young master from a wealthy family clutched his waist, a pained expression on his face. After twisting a few times, though, he broke into a smile and said, "That was really fun, really satisfying. I'm coming back to fight again tomorrow—count me in for the snacks!"

After that, he said to Chen Sheng, "I underestimated you today. Tomorrow, I'll definitely take it back."

Chen Sheng, still standing there grimacing in pain, heard this and said dismissively, "Tomorrow you'll just get beaten again."

The expression of that sturdy servant from the Wang household had already relaxed considerably. He stood where he was and made no other moves. The youths on the training ground also found their impression of this young master Wang improving. A match was a match. If someone got angry and wanted revenge, then no one could keep playing.

They had assumed a rich young master wouldn't be able to handle losing, but to their surprise, he was just as tough and resilient as the rest of them, which naturally earned their appreciation.

This time, Zhao Jin didn't hurry back. He stayed until the end of the matches. Chen Sheng had taken quite a beating in his fight with Wang Zhaojing as well. In the semifinals, he faced Shi Manqiang, but his strength and speed couldn't keep up, and he was flipped to the ground by his opponent. In the end, Shi Manqiang took first place.

There were wins and losses, but in the end, it was a satisfying outcome for everyone. Chen Sheng's face was alight with excitement—at last, a worthy opponent had come along, someone he could fight to his heart's content. The other youths, however, wore rather serious expressions. They had always thought their own family styles were impressive, but today, seeing this Young Master Wang's martial skill, they finally understood what true martial skill really was. If they wanted to hold onto their rankings, there was still much to learn.

A smile remained on Zhao Jin's face the whole time, looking no different from usual. As always, he led Mu Shulan away.

Halfway down the road, the little girl wanted to say something to Zhao Jin, but when she turned her head and saw his expression was very serious, she stuck out her tongue and kept quiet.

The middle-aged man and woman who brought Mu Shulan had timed it perfectly—or perhaps they were just waiting nearby—and met them halfway to take the thoroughly unwilling little girl away. Only then did Zhao Jin snap out of his deep thought, waving to bid the girl goodbye.

"Second Uncle, if I fought them now, could I guarantee a complete victory?"