Chapter 29 — The Final Four

The next day the sun rose as it always did. When the Dazhu Peak party arrived at the square, they found that four of the eight platforms had already been dismantled and the remaining four arranged to face east, south, west, and north.

Tian Buhui and Su Wan walked in front. Zhang Qingyue's injuries seemed to have healed overnight; walking among the crowd, he who had never received such attention wore a look of flattered surprise. Glancing back, he whispered to Du Bi beside him: "Sixth Senior Brother, is Eldest Senior Brother badly hurt? How is it he can't even walk?"

Du Bi said: "Master examined him this morning. He says that in yesterday's bout with Senior Brother Chang Jian of the Changmen faction the fighting was too fierce—one all attack, the other all defense, and they battered each other into a draw that left both wounded. His meridians are damaged; I fear his cultivation has suffered no small harm."

Zhang Qingyue was greatly startled. "Even Eldest Senior Brother couldn't beat him—then today, when I face Senior Brother Chang Jian, won't I—won't I be scattered like windblown blossoms and running water?"

Du Bi said: "By common sense, yes. But by that same common sense, when you fought the last two days, most of your senior brothers wagered on you to lose!"

Zhang Qingyue was left speechless and could only shut his mouth.

Beneath the largest platform in the north, the crowd was a mountain and a sea. It went without saying that Lu Xueqi was fighting there today. Tian Buhui cast a glance that way and gave a snort; for the one who had defeated his daughter he naturally had no fondness. Then he led his disciples toward the western platform.

They had gone only a few steps when Zhang Qingyue's body jolted. He saw a group approaching from an angle ahead, headed by an old man with an aged face; walking shoulder to shoulder beside him was none other than Zeng Shuyan, and behind the two of them came a full hundred or more disciples of the Fenghui Peak. Zhang Qingyue spotted Senior Brother Gao and his group, but Pang Chang was nowhere to be seen.

As though he had noticed Zhang Qingyue's searching gaze, Zeng Shuyan said as the two parties passed each other: "Senior Brother Pang didn't come. He's resting at his quarters, nursing his wounds."

Zhang Qingyue managed a strained smile, but saw that Zeng Shuyan's face was stern, and the look he cast over seemed cold as ice.

The aged old man at their head was, of course, Zeng Shuchang, the seat-holder of Fenghui Peak. He glanced at Zhang Qingyue, and Zhang Qingyue felt that though the old man's gaze held no sharp edge, it was profoundly deep, as if in a single glance he had seen straight into the depths of his heart.

He shrank back involuntarily. Just then he heard Tian Buhui say: "Good day to you, Senior Brother Zeng."

Zeng Shuchang returned the courtesy: "Good day, Senior Brother Tian. I hear a prodigy named Zhang Qingyue has emerged from your faction, wondrous in his arts. Yesterday he had a bout with my unworthy disciple Pang Chang and left him gravely wounded, hovering at death's door."

Zhang Qingyue's expression changed and he blurted out: "What? Senior Brother Pang is hurt that badly?"

At these words the Fenghui Peak disciples broke into an uproar, thinking this fellow truly venomous—having wounded the man, he now feigned surprise, whether to show he had meant no harm or to mock Pang Chang.

A flash of anger passed through Zeng Shuchang's eyes, but against a junior of the younger generation he could do nothing; he only gave a cold laugh and said to Tian Buhui: "Senior Brother Tian, a fine disciple you've raised!"

Tian Buhui had been frowning deeply, thinking this stinking brat Zhang Qingyue had no gift for speech at all; but hearing Zeng Shuchang put it that way, it smacked of mockery. Tian Buhui's temper was always competitive and protective of his own, so at once he smiled at Zeng Shuchang and said: "Not at all, not at all. Senior Brother Zeng flatters us. Xiaofan, come and pay your respects to Uncle-Master Zeng."

Zhang Qingyue froze. Zeng Shuchang's face changed; he flicked his sleeve and said coldly: "That won't be necessary." With that he shook his sleeve and stalked off.

Zeng Shuyan said: "I never saw how deep you hid your depths. And to think I begged Senior Brother Pang to go easy—never imagined I'd be the one who harmed him."

Zhang Qingyue's heart lurched. "I didn't—"

He had spoken half the sentence when Zeng Shuyan had already turned and walked away, the Fenghui Peak crowd following, every look they cast back cold as ice. Zhang Qingyue's heart ached. Just then he suddenly saw Senior Brother Gao pass before him in the crowd and, of a sudden, wink.

Zhang Qingyue was stunned for a moment, but Senior Brother Gao had already moved on.

Tian Buhui shot a glance at the Fenghui Peak group and gave a cold laugh; with a wave of his hand he led his people on toward the western platform where today's bouts were held. Drawing near, they found the place ringed by two hundred or more, a surging sea of heads; by the look of it, apart from Lu Xueqi's platform, this was the liveliest spot on the Yunhai Square.

Zhang Qingyue drew a sharp breath and whispered to the senior brothers beside him: "So many people—that Senior Brother Chang Jian must be formidable, eh?"

They all laughed. He Dachuan said with a straight face: "That Senior Brother Chang's cultivation runs deep, that goes without saying. But I'd say most of these people have come to see you, little junior brother!"

Zhang Qingyue was greatly startled. "How—how could that be?"

He Dachuan gave a chuckle. "As of today, only eight remain in the Seven Peaks Martial Meet, and the biggest dark horse is none other than you. Who wouldn't want to come see just how many mouths or how many arms you've got?"

Zhang Qingyue was struck dumb.

Tian Buhui led them to the foot of the platform. Along the way, when the crowd saw they were of the Dazhu Peak line, they parted and opened a path. Tian Buhui looked around and saw no small number of Changmen disciples in the surrounding crowd—likely because Chang Jian of the Changmen was fighting today, more of them had come to watch. But he saw scarcely a few Changmen elders, and Daoyan Zhenren, sect leader of the Canglan Gate, was not here either.

Tian Buhui frowned and said quietly to Su Wan beside him: "Why hasn't the sect leader come? Are there other Changmen disciples fighting?"

Su Wan shook her head. "None. This year, for some reason, the Changmen disciples' endowments are all rather poor. Only Chang Jian is left now."

Tian Buhui mused a moment, then walked to the center at the foot of the platform, where five or six chairs had been set out, though only a white-bearded old man sat there. Seeing Tian Buhui and the others arrive, the old man rose as well.

Zhang Qingyue started; he recognized this white-bearded old man as the one who had sat below the platform two days ago when he fought Chu Yuhong.

The white-bearded old man clearly remembered Zhang Qingyue too. His gaze drifted over him, then he said to Tian Buhui: "Senior Brother Tian, I never thought your faction would produce a talent this year."

Tian Buhui seemed on good terms with the old man; he chuckled and said: "Senior Brother Fan flatters me. Please, sit, sit."

Just then the bell and cauldron sounded from behind the platform. Tian Buhui turned and said to Zhang Qingyue: "Old Seven, go up."

At once several hundred gazes in the grounds swept over and settled on Zhang Qingyue. Never in his life had Zhang Qingyue been stared at by so many; his face flushed hot. He answered: "Yes." Then he turned his head, not daring to look behind him, and walked toward the platform.

He had gone only a few steps when Su Wan caught hold of him. Somewhat surprised, Zhang Qingyue said: "Master's wife, what is it?"

Su Wan smiled faintly, but concern showed on her face. "Does your body still pain you?"