As the referee signaled for us to begin, Bao Bao leaned in with a sneer. "You should surrender while you still have the chance. I won't be holding back."
I swallowed hard but refused to yield. My upbringing and pride forbade me from backing down, even though this was no longer a friendly match. It was a trial of survival, one I hadn't chosen but was now trapped in.
We bowed, and before I could even raise my guard, Bao Bao launched into the air. His foot came down in a sharp arc, aiming straight for my shoulder. I spun to avoid it, but he immediately followed with another kick, his movements fast and unrelenting.
For the next minute, I was on the defensive, barely dodging his blows. His attacks came primarily from his feet—lightning-fast kicks that left little room for counterattacks. My arms and ribs throbbed from the few strikes I failed to block, and my breath came in ragged gasps.
I parried another strike with my stick, but the force of his kick sent me skidding back several feet. Sweat dripped down my face as I steadied myself, glaring at my opponent.
Bao Bao smirked, his confidence unwavering. "Just as I thought. You're all talk. One more hit, and you're done."
I clenched my jaw, refusing to let him see the doubt gnawing at me. My energy reserves were nearly depleted, and my body screamed in protest with every movement. One more mistake, and I'd be down for good.
Ruan Yanjun's voice carried from the sidelines, cool and taunting. "A-Fan, don't toy with him too much. End it already. He's not worth the effort."
I shot him a glare, silently cursing his audacity.
Bao Bao's face twisted with fury at Ruan Yanjun's words, and he surged forward with another spinning kick aimed at my head.
But this time, I saw an opening.
Steeling my nerves, I shifted my weight and pivoted, narrowly avoiding the attack. As his momentum carried him forward, I raised my stick and struck the base of his spine with a sharp, concentrated blast of energy.
The impact sent him stumbling, and before he could recover, I surged forward, channeling every last ounce of my strength into a precise palm strike to his chest.
The air seemed to still as Bao Bao staggered backward, his eyes wide with shock. Then, with a heavy thud, he fell to the ground, coughing and gasping for breath.
The crowd erupted into stunned silence.
I stood there, panting and swaying, barely able to remain upright. My stick trembled in my grip, and my chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath.
I glanced at Bao Bao, now curled into a pathetic heap on the ground. His body convulsed with pain, his face frozen in shock. For all his earlier bravado, he was now unable to speak, much less move.
Ruan Yanjun's laughter broke the tension, rich and unrestrained as he sauntered toward me with the poise of a man utterly untouchable. He surveyed the crowd with a smirk that oozed disdain. "This?" he began, gesturing casually to the defeated Bao Bao. "This is the pride of your town? The so-called god-given miracle destined to rival the venerable Ruan Yanjun in a mere decade?" He paused dramatically, his smirk deepening. "He can't even handle a half-blind, sickly level one. How utterly disappointing."
The crowd stirred uneasily, whispers turning to murmurs, murmurs to growls. I sighed deeply, already anticipating the chaos his words would incite. Could he not leave things alone for once? No, of course not—this was Ruan Yanjun. If there was an opportunity to provoke, he'd seize it with both hands and a gleeful heart.
As expected, his words were like a spark to dry tinder. Someone in the crowd yelled, "Cheaters!" and the tension snapped. A wave of men lunged forward, their fury palpable.
Ruan Yanjun didn't even flinch. With a single, elegant sweep of his hand, shimmering strings of energy arced through the air, striking the would-be attackers squarely in their chests. They were hurled backward with such force that they landed near the distant shade where the women and children had been standing. Those who hadn't been caught in the strike froze in their tracks, terror written plainly on their faces.
"It's the Devil of the South!" someone shrieked. "Sect Leader Ruan!"
And then pandemonium. The crowd scattered like leaves before a storm, scrambling to escape the very mention of his name. Only a few wide-eyed children remained, staring at him with something closer to awe than fear, until their mothers dragged them away.
Ruan Yanjun laughed amidst the chaos, a low, amused rumble that sent shivers down my spine. "I haven't even done anything serious, yet they scatter like frightened rats," he said, his tone dripping with mockery.
I sighed heavily, rubbing my temples as I felt the onset of a headache. "Lord Ruan, I'm starting to understand why the world insists on painting you as the devil."
He turned to me, his smirk playful, his tone laced with feigned innocence. "Starting to? A-Fan, I am the devil. Why are you still unconvinced?"
I rolled my eyes. "Let's just leave. I'm about to pass out."
His smirk shifted into something sly. "Do you need this devil to carry you?"
"No," I snapped, taking a step forward, only to stumble as exhaustion and pain caught up with me.
Before I could fall, his arm slid around my waist, steadying me effortlessly. "Stay still," he said, ignoring my protests as he pulled my arm over his shoulder. "Unless, of course, you'd like me to carry you like a princess for all to see. Shall I?"
My face flushed. "Absolutely not."
"Good." His grip tightened, and we began to move slowly through the emptying street.
He had to shorten his strides to match mine, his pace deliberately unhurried. "At this rate, it'll be sundown before we reach the carriage," he teased, his voice light and casual as if we hadn't just caused a town-wide uproar.
"The carriage isn't that far," I muttered. "You're exaggerating."
"Shall I leave you here to fetch it? But then…" His tone grew mockingly serious. "I'd hate to find you strung up by an angry mob when I return."
I exhaled sharply, conceding defeat. His arm around my waist was both comforting and disconcerting, the weight of his presence simultaneously steadying and suffocating.
"Lord Ruan," I said after a while, breaking the silence, "does it truly amuse you to see me struggling like this? All of this—your provocations, your taunts—it always seems like a game to you."
He turned to me, his expression softening just slightly, though the amusement in his eyes never wavered. "Amuse me? A-Fan, I'm proud. You defeated that deluded level three brat, even in your condition. Is it wrong for a master to feel pride?"
"I never agreed to be your disciple," I countered, glaring at him.
"And I never agreed to take you as one," he shot back smoothly, his lips curling into a smirk. "You're far from worthy of that honor."
I clenched my jaw, biting back a retort. Every time I thought I'd cornered him in an argument, he twisted his words to leave me flustered and frustrated.
"Then why did you call me your disciple?"
"Would you prefer I call you my servant instead?"
I looked away, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a response.
His laughter was rich and deep, echoing through the empty street. "My A-Fan, you truly never fail to amuse me."
As much as I wanted to make him stop calling me his A-Fan, I preferred to stay silent, knowing that anything I said would only add fuel to his fire. Some battles, I'd learned, simply weren't worth fighting.