Heaven's Golden Finger - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Entering Ganzhou required money, a fact fake Shirong hadn't realized at all. The silly fool had just wandered out of the sect, without funds, with barely any food and not a single weapon. Well, not a single weapon but that damned Chosen One's luck.
That luck, no doubt, meant their Shizun had given Shun plenty. Too, the ring that'd given fake Shirong power over Mo Qingshe held funds as well as other useful items. There were weapons too, though none of a sort Shun or fake Shirong wanted to use. They were all far too big for them to carry. Besides, Shun already had his sword.
Once they'd paid their entry fee, Shun led the way to Xiaolian Flower Palace. He'd been there once with his elder sect brothers. Shizun didn't approve of such contests but Leifeng sect members often joined in. The temptation of a few extra bells of silver was more than enough allure for the others.
Shun had engaged in a few rounds himself. Not for the reward, because he'd little need for money, but for the experience. Up until then all he'd ever fought had been his fellow students. How was he to know if his sword could match an outsider's if he didn't try them in the arena? Shizun had been furious, making him swear to never to show off his sword technique in public again.
Xiaolian Flower Palace stood at the far edge of the Willow district. It was poorly named, given the upper levels were a badly maintained inn. The walls looked like a stiff wind would knock them down and the hangings were ragged and stained with food and blood. It was the sort of place where one didn't need to look for trouble to find it.
When Shun and his companions arrived the staff were in the midst of cleaning up after a fight. Someone, a big fellow in poorly tanned leathers and a fur vest, was rubbing his head embarrassedly as the skinny little manager totaled up the damages. One could brawl in the inn's dining area if one was willing to pay the price. From the looks of things, the 'gentleman' would be paying heavily for his entertainment.
Behind Shun, fake Shirong's stomach growled. Shun gazed straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge he'd heard the sound. They'd eaten just three hours ago. The faker couldn't possibly be hungry already. Oh, but real Shirong hadn't gotten around to practicing inedia yet. That was probably why.
Without bothering to say anything to his Shidi, Shun went to the front desk, where a little blind girl in green waited. "Is there a clean table?"
The girl smiled cheerfully, writing a few words in chalk on a little board she carried. 'How many?'
"Three."
The girl wiped off her board. Wrote, 'Follow.' She hopped off her stool, bamboo stick tapping as she led them through the ruined main dining area to smaller room towards the back. 'Three silver for pork and greens. Tea and rice come free. No wine. All drunk up.'
At a guess, it was the big fellow awaiting his doom who'd done the drinking. He had smelled strongly of alcohol when they'd passed. "No need."
'Then going now. Please enjoy.'
They sat down and Shun noticed an oddly amused look on fake Shirong's face. "What is it?"
"I never thought about what happens to an inn after a big fight. And I swear that man looks like Black Whirlwind."
Shun had no idea who Black Whirlwind might be and frankly didn't want to. This was more of the nonsense fake Shirong came up with. Whatever life he'd lived before this time was completely beyond Shun's comprehension. He shifted the subject. "Once we've eaten, we'll buy a pass downstairs. We need to find the arena's master."
Fake Shirong agreed without argument. "Do you know his name?"
"Liang Xie Rao." The name obviously didn't mean anything to fake Shirong, but then it shouldn't. Shun only knew a bit about the man himself. Mostly rumors and obvious lies. Oh, it was possible the man was some sort of Immortal. Spirit, demon, cultivator; it could be anything. But Shun doubted such beings would waste their time with a relatively small and unimportant battle arena in a relatively small and unimportant town like Ganzhou.
The food came quickly and fake Shirong examined the meat with a slightly nervous expression. "It's really pork, right?"
The question made Aunt Qingshe laugh. "But human meat is so much tastier...." At Shun's dark look, she added defensively, "I haven't eaten a human in centuries. Our clan keeps the pact."
"Ah, pardon for my stupidity, but pact?"
Shun only knew a bit about it himself, so fake Shirong's ignorance wasn't surprising. "The Demon Emperor made a bargain with the Empress of Heaven. She created a place for their kind to live and they leave humans alone. Rogue demons ignore it, of course."
"So do rogue humans, nephew mine," Aunt Qingshe pointed out, smirking at his expression. "So like your mother. Always siding with mortals."
Shun knew nothing of his mother and precious little about his father. This also wasn't the time or place to discuss his parentage. "Never mind that," he snapped. "Eat your food. It's pork, Shidi. This isn't that sort of inn."
An oddly grateful expression suffused fake Shirong's face. Only later did Shun realize it wasn't the reassurance that'd pleased him, but Shun's calling him Shidi. Because, really, the boy was pathetically obvious in his desire for Shun's approval.
The question was, why did it matter so much to him?
The part of Xiaolian Flower Palace housing the battle arena was a great deal more attractive than the inn above. Its architect had dug deep into the bedrock to create a spacious open area, marked with a protective array. The stands were carved from the bedrock as well, then covered soft silk padding. Wool carpet covered the floor, woven with elaborate stylized lotus flowers and designs so old no one recognized their origin anymore.
Right then a pair of wrestlers were testing each other's skill. One small and light-boned, the other tall and broad shouldered. Despite the size difference they seemed evenly matched. The little one outdid his sparring partner for speed and agility, the big one struck fast and hard. When he did hit, he sent his opponent flying, almost over the edge of the ring.
The audience was as varied as the pair on stage. Some, the ones in the boxes surrounding the edges of the ring, wore fine silks, elegant brocades and watched with polite hauteur. Up towards the top of the stands, where it was harder to see the fight, the audience were in rags, rowdily betting with each other on which of the pair would be winning this time.
"Is that the owner?" fake Shirong asked suddenly. For a wonder he had the sense not to point, just glanced towards the finest of boxes, where a figure in dark blue brocade sat, apparently bored and disinterested in the show.
Though tempted to ask who else it would be, given his location and manner, Shun chose to be charitable. "Yes. I believe so." It was certainly the same man who'd given Shun his reward for defeating the arena's top swordsman, the last time he'd been here.
"Shall I fetch him for you, Master?" Aunt Qingshe asked, smirking.
Luckily, fake Shirong had the sense not to take the demoness up on her offer. Her idea of fetching would probably mean breaking into Liang Xie Rao's box, grabbing the man up, and dragging him straight to fake Shirong's side. That would not go over at all well.
"No." Fake Shirong watched the fight end in a draw, to the annoyance of over half the crowd. Apparently only a few considered the wrestlers so evenly matched neither could win. "Shun Shixiong? Am I right in thinking he isn't going to talk to us willingly? That we're going to have to get his attention?"
The probability was quite good. "That fighting style of yours will probably win."
Fake Shirong considered that. "It might. Though I'd like some time to get my muscles used to it. I pulled something, fighting Mo Qingshe."
"I wish I'd known that."
Shun waved his auntie's complaint off. Fake Shirong was the Chosen One. He probably couldn't lose if he tried. "Even so...."
"Even so, there's another problem." Fake Shirong pointed at the board hanging against the wall. "If I read that right, the next competition is swordsmanship."
Shun didn't bother checking the board. He should have known better than to expect this to go smoothly. "I told you to pay attention to sword classes," he muttered. The real Shirong hadn't, though, and from fake Shirong's expression, his training hadn't included swordplay either. Shun turned to his aunt. "Do you...."
"I'm no swordswoman, Young Lord. That was your mother." She smiled. "It looks like it's all up to you, nephew."
Which, of course, meant breaking his promise to their Shizun. At least it isn't for showing off, this time, he thought wistfully, as he went to sign up for the competition. Shizun can't mind it if I'm doing it for a good cause. Right?
He just hoped Shizun would agree if he found out. Or, rather, when.
Having won the sword contest before, Shun had automatic entry rights. That didn't mean he could enter for free, but he didn't have to join the score or so first timers in the proving arena. That meant he didn't have to tire himself out, fighting his way to the top of the heap. It also gave him time to meet his rivals.
There were ten others, most of whom seeming uninterested in conversation. Not that Shun cared, because he was there to compete, not socialize. He did scan the group, looking for familiar faces and seeing none. It'd been a year since the last time he'd competed, of course, so he wasn't surprised. He could tell how long the others had been at this by how much attention they paid to the fighters below. Like him, they were scrutinizing each other, analyzing their future opponents' strengths and weaknesses.
"Your sword is where?"
That came from a tall woman carrying a silvery crescent. He recognized it immediately as living metal, meaning she had to come from the southern lands. It'd be a gift from her God, then, making her one of the warriors of the Dreamer. She was a handsome woman, with the curly dark-red hair and deeply tanned skin of a southerner. Her eyes startled him, being intensely blue. Part farlander, then?
"You might see it when I fight," he told her.
Another voice, this one from a skinny man with a needle-thin blade, interrupted before the woman could answer. "If he has a sword at all. You're Shu Shun, right? I saw you last time you were here. No one ever saw your blade."
"Few ever do," Shun noted calmly, ignoring the woman's disbelieving expression. Politely, he added, "I am Shu Shun of Leifeng Sect and one of Master Quan Lei's senior disciples. Might I know who it is I might face in the arena?"
"Priest of the Dreamer, Housu," the woman stated. "Sent to acquire strength and knowledge."
"And not the Flame Lotus?" the man asked, a little mockingly. From the way Housu glanced at him, he'd obviously scored. "Tong Si of Xian. Looking for money, mostly. And the Flame Lotus, of course, because why not aim high."
Shun frowned. "This one seldom leaves his sect, so hasn't heard of this Flame Lotus?"
"Really? Well, it's true you cultivator types like to sit atop your mountains disdaining the world outside." Before Shun could take offense, Tong Si added, "The Flame Lotus is a magical device created by the Sorcerer Feng Xi. It's said to possess the ability to add the element of fire to a cultivator's base."
Leifeng sect seldom used such devices. Rushing cultivation, by alchemy or magical device, could result in a weak foundation. One might reach a new level, yes, but the cultivator would have to spend as much or more time consolidating their bases before they could move on again. One might just as well have taken the time to cultivate properly in the first place.
"Interesting," Shun said. "But not relevant to me. Is it the award for this contest?"
They, and others, looked at him with peculiar expressions. Clearly they wondered how he didn't know such an important detail. He ignored their confusion and disdain, keeping his eyes on Tong Si.
"The Flame Lotus is being auctioned in Zhou city. Winning this contest will get you a pass into the auction."
Shun considered that. "I see." He was tempted to offer the pass up to anyone who wanted to pay the price, but knew better. The arrogant assumption that he would win would only create problems later. Besides, he knew who the Sorcerer Feng Xi really was and if she was at that auction her husband, Master Zhan Kui, the Revered Predecessor himself, might be as well. "This disciple thanks you for the knowledge."
By this time the last seven of the first timers had been selected, rounding the number of participants to sixteen. One was wasting his energy doing flips, obviously pleased with himself for his success. Shun eyed the young man thoughtfully, recognizing traits belonging to one of Spirit blood. Green-tinted brown hair. Eyes that seemed to glow greenish gold when he became excited.
He was particularly excited now, leaping and somersaulting as he flipped his twin blades around. He was singing as he danced, a vulgar ditty about the black mountain fox and a chicken.
Noticing him looking at the boy, Tong Si murmured in his ear, "That's Liang Ren, our generous host's own son. Quite a challenge, wouldn't you say?"
From the looks of Liang Ren, he certainly would be. Still, Shun intended to win this contest. He just hoped Liang Xie Rao wouldn't take offense if Shun had to beat his obnoxious brat black and blue to do it.