Chapter 10: Challenging All of You Alone

The young man blinked, sizing up Li Zaixing from head to toe for a moment, and began to feel uneasy. Even faced with more than a dozen of them, Li Zaixing showed not a trace of nervousness, appearing utterly confident. Perhaps what Li Mi had just said was true—this poorly dressed youth possessed formidable martial skills. Still, he was unwilling to give up. That Teler yellow steed was simply too magnificent; to ride it through the streets of Chang’an would be the height of prestige.

A duel was out of the question; he knew his own abilities well enough. A group attack? That wouldn’t work either—Li Mi stood by, clearly close to this youth. If they lost, how would he ever lift his head among his circle of idle friends?

While signaling his men with his eyes, the youth replied half-heartedly, “What of it if it’s a duel? What of it if it’s a brawl?”

“A duel—I’ll take on all of you alone. A brawl—you all attack me, one versus many.”

“What did you say?” The youth’s eyes suddenly lit up; without thinking, he blurted, “Say that again.”

“I believe I’ve made myself perfectly clear.” Li Zaixing curled his lip with disdain, casting a calm glance at the eager noble youths. “Let Third Young Master Li serve as witness. In a contest of arms, injury or death is inevitable. If someone is unlucky—breaks an arm, loses a leg, or even their life—it can only be blamed on lacking skill, not on others. Agreed?”

The youth was overjoyed. “Excellent! A gentleman’s word…”

Li Zaixing finished the phrase, “Is more binding than four horses.”

“My good brother, you mustn’t!” Li Mi was truly alarmed, striding quickly to stand before Li Zaixing and shooting him urgent looks. “Brother, how can you kill so carelessly under the Son of Heaven’s gaze? Do you take the laws of Great Tang as mere words on paper? If something happens, and the magistrate investigates, none of us will escape responsibility.”

Li Zaixing only smiled, saying nothing. The youth, however, grew impatient and waved his hand. Two mounted youths dismounted, hurried over to Li Mi, and, with firm yet polite insistence, pulled both Li Mi and Lu Hu aside, preventing any further persuasion. Li Mi, though clever, lacked physical strength and was no match for the two. Frustrated and flushed, he was helpless.

The youth, radiant with excitement, raised his bow, drew an arrow from his quiver, and smiled. “This is your idea—fate decides life and death, fortune lies with heaven. If anyone is injured, it’s only due to lack of skill. Rest assured, if you injure me, the magistrate won’t trouble you. I, Wei Third Young Master, have that much standing. If I injure you… well, you have only yourself to blame.”

Li Zaixing nodded. “Don’t worry. A man’s word, once given, is never taken back. Come on!”

The youth nocked the arrow and, his expression hardening, shouted, “Attack!”

At his command, the dozen or so noble youths shouted and spurred their horses forward. Each held the reins in one hand and a blade in the other, charging at Li Zaixing with excitement.

But Li Zaixing was fully prepared. All along the road, he had practiced horsemanship daily, and he and the Teler steed were already in perfect harmony. As the youth’s words faded, Li Zaixing leaned forward, nudged the horse’s belly with his toe, and the once-still steed neighed sharply and shot forward. Worthy of its reputation, the horse was as still as a maiden at rest, as swift as a startled hare in motion; in just two strides, it reached an astonishing speed.

The Teler horse, a pale yellow blur, flashed past Li Mi and Lu Hu. The youth had just drawn his bow and hadn’t yet loosed the string when Li Zaixing’s long staff was already before him. The staff’s tip trembled slightly, striking his hand and sending a sharp pain through his arm. With a cry, he dropped the bow. In the next instant, a blow landed in the hollow of his shoulder, rendering it numb; his whole body spun sideways, flipped twice in the air, and crashed heavily to the ground.

A cloud of dust rose, blurring his vision.

Through the swirling dust, he saw Li Zaixing, mounted like a dragon, sweep through the crowd like a tempest. Wherever he went, men and horses tumbled; none escaped unscathed.

Lying prone, the youth waved his hand to clear the dust from his eyes, trying to see more clearly. But to no avail—his vision grew even blurrier, and the dust choked him, making it hard to breathe. He began coughing violently, and only then did he realize his right shoulder throbbed with a pain that pierced to the bone, half his body numb. Even such a simple act as getting up became excruciatingly difficult.

Li Zaixing leaned forward, thighs gripping the horse’s flanks, the balls of his feet pressing into the stirrups. Power rose from his legs, strength from his waist; hands steadying the spear, he wielded it like a dragon, striking with uncanny precision at his opponents’ vital points.

Eight years of hard practice, intensified by a month of rigorous training, now exploded into a storm of lethal blows.

In tales told generations later, spearplay was always described as miraculous—protracted duels of three hundred rounds. In reality, that was all fabrication. When mounted, there was rarely time for a second move; victory or defeat was decided in a blink. All schools of spear technique were, in essence, much the same—only the training methods varied. In use, the principle was simple: deflect the opponent’s weapon and strike true.

Thus, the spear’s art was actually straightforward. The spear moved in a straight line; its reputation as king of weapons lay in its ability to deliver a thrust almost impossible to dodge in such a brief instant. To strike a vital spot with accuracy from a jolting saddle required years of arduous training—plus courage and nerves of steel.

Li Zaixing, in his second life with the spear, if not yet a grandmaster, was more than a match for these pampered scions.

His companion of eight years, the sturdy staff, lashed and thrust with lightning speed. In moments, he had struck down several men. Ten or so warhorses thundered past him, but not a single adversary remained mounted—either felled by a vital blow, knocked off balance, or weapon deflected.

Amid the thunder of hooves, screams of pain rang out one after another. Young nobles in splendid attire fell, wounded and groaning. One rolled to a halt before the youth, managed a feeble struggle, then lay still. Reaching out to push him, the youth’s hand came away slick and warm. He froze, realization dawning, terror rising like ice up his spine. Tears burst from his eyes with a shrill cry.

“Ah—!”

“Silence!” a cold voice barked above his head. The youth looked up through a blur of tears, gazing at the imposing figure astride the horse, feeling as though a mountain pressed down on him, suffocating his breath. Glancing around at the scattered bodies, he no longer knew how many of his men were dead or injured. Only one thing was clear: today he had encountered a ruthless foe.

He stared at the wooden staff tip barely a foot from his throat, watched as blood slowly dripped from its end, and felt a formless terror clutch his heart, squeezing the breath from his lungs. Eyes wide, tears streaming, he dared not utter another word.

Li Zaixing gazed down at the terrified youth, sneering, “Wei Third, you look impressive but are useless. It seems you won’t be taking my horse after all.”

“I…” The youth had barely spoken when Li Zaixing’s staff flicked out, jabbing him in the chest. Pain wracked his features; he curled up, clutching his chest, biting down hard so as not to cry out.

“A defeated man has no right to speak.”

Li Mi and Lu Hu stood gaping, stunned. From start to finish, the battle had lasted only a few exchanges and a single charge. Yet every noble youth had been unhorsed by Li Zaixing, a few seriously wounded and bleeding. Li Zaixing had won with such ease it defied belief.

But before they could catch their breath, Lu Hu saw a noble youth rise from the ground, pick up a long saber, and creep toward Li Zaixing. His face twisted with hatred, he raised the blade as if to cleave Li Zaixing in two. Lu Hu cried out, “Li Jun, behind you!”

Li Zaixing was already aware and needed no warning. He glanced over his shoulder. The youth, cowed by that icy gaze, shuddered. The saber clattered to the ground, and he instinctively took two steps back.

With a snort, Li Zaixing turned his attention to Wei Third, who lay curled on the ground, covered in yellow dust. He said coolly, “With skills like yours, you dare cause trouble? You’ve no sense of life or death. I’ll spare you today; go home, train hard, and, when you’re ready, come find me at Bodhi Temple in Pingkang Lane for revenge. But if you’re still a weakling, don’t embarrass yourself again.”

With that, he flicked his wrist; the staff’s tip, guided as if by magic, struck the youth’s money pouch at his waist. The pouch flew up and landed in his hand. Squeezing it, he chuckled. “Consider this the price for your life.” He turned to the dazed noble youth and barked, “You—search them all and bring me every pouch. Leave out a single coin, and I’ll take your head.”

Startled into action, the youth rushed to his fallen companions, gathering all their pouches and presenting them with both hands to Li Zaixing. Weighing them in his palm, Li Zaixing found the haul satisfyingly heavy. With not a penny to his name and having relied on Li Mi’s hospitality, he had worried about finding money in Chang’an. Now, a band of idle scions had delivered themselves to his door—how could he not accept?

Li Mi fretted, “Brother, isn’t robbing people in broad daylight a bit much?”

“What’s robbery? I killed three of them already,” Li Zaixing replied indifferently. “We agreed—life and death left to fate, fortune to heaven. If I’d killed them all outright, that would have been that. Compared to that, what’s a little money?”

Li Mi was speechless. Was this still the passionate youth determined to save the nation? This was a veritable desperado, a killer without remorse.

Li Zaixing ignored him, turning to the crestfallen youth. “My name is Li Zaixing, from Mount Nan. I’ll be staying in Chang’an for a while. If you want revenge, I’ll be waiting—openly or in secret, I’ll accept any challenge.”

“I will,” the youth replied. Two of his fingers broken, a spear wound in his shoulder, he was drenched in cold sweat from the pain but refused to admit defeat. He glared at Li Zaixing. “My name is Wei Yingwu, of Weiqu. Today I owe you a life. One day, I’ll repay it in full.”

Li Zaixing threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing for a long while before faltering. He stared at the youth, suddenly struck by something. “What did you say your name was?”

Face flushed, the youth replied loudly, “A man’s name and surname are never changed—Wei Yingwu of Jingzhao. Did you hear me clearly?”