Dust swirled, banners broke, and the ring seemed to lean toward the two people in the middle: Tian Ruo, whose spear was wrapped in coiling wind, and Chen Ho, who was a calm line in the middle of chaos with Pionix, a bright ember, on his arm.
The referee's flag flew through the air. "Fight!"
1) The Wind Opens the Gate
Tian Ruo stepped—no, slid—as if the floor were a river and he was its favorite reed. His spear's silver blade made a crescent shape, and pressure came after it like a second weapon.
"Step by Gale." His voice was like a bell ringing in a storm.
The wind broke across Chen Ho's chest, cold and sharp. He didn't meet it; instead, he leaned with it, his toes whispering over the stone as the wind blew past where he wasn't. Pionix's claws got tighter. A single spark fell and went out.
"Are you scared to stand?" Tian Ruo teased, drawing lazy circles with his spear. "Let me give you a reason to bow down."
He lunged. "Wind Slice!"
The air squealed. A thin white scar that looked like it had been cut cleanly flashed across the ring rope behind Chen Ho.
Chen Ho's elbow lifted a finger's breadth, not to block, but to signal. Pionix came out, and the sun broke. Flame Peck hit the spear's flat, sending a burst of heat into the air. The slice changed shape and skittered off.
People in the stands whispered to each other.
"Fire riding wind..."
"Is he aiming his flames at the wind?"
Fatty Lin put his hands around his mouth like a town crier with very biased news. "Plan! It's called a strategy!
2) Different layers of rhythm
Tian Ruo's smile got smaller. He started to move in circles, with the butt of the spear tapping the floor in a steady rhythm: one, two, three, tap. Every time he tapped, a gust of wind blew dust off the ring boards. He always attacked on the fourth.
He hid it with his footwork and style. He hid it like a cat hides stillness: by doing it perfectly.
Chen Ho did see it. He let it go by twice, then cut across the circle half a beat too soon. Pionix flared—Fire Feather Burst—making a short, tight wall of heat that held the gusts together before they could break apart. The wind hit the wind and shook like cloth that had been wrung too hard.
"Annoying trick," Tian Ruo said, and at that moment he sounded like a kid who was too young to be offended by friction.
He changed the tempo from one to two to three to four, and the butt of the spear hit Chen Ho's ankle. Chen Ho's calf twitched, but it was almost too late. The iron kissed the leather and would have swept him away if Pionix's high-pitched trill hadn't stopped him.
The Cry of the Phoenix. Not a roar, but a sound that threads through the mind like a needle. For a half-breath, the world got smaller and slower, like how danger makes the heart beat faster.
Chen Ho raised just enough. The spear slid under.
The crowd let out a sigh.
Teacher He Ling's eyes were covered. He doesn't have a lot of power... He is bending the rhythm.
3) The Net You Can't See
"Enough," Tian Ruo said softly, and the wind that had been loosening like thread snapped tight.
He got up.
Spear: thrust, recover, hook, recover, and slash a net. Each step made an exit. Every exit brought in a new knife. It wasn't about hitting Chen Ho; it was about making him make the wrong choice and then punishing him for it.
Pionix dove down to hit the shaft. The wind blew it away. It shook violently and sparks flew everywhere.
The tip of the spear touched Chen Ho's sleeve and cut his skin underneath. Red welled up.
The world tried to push him into Healing. It would be easy to take the pain away, to close the skin with a thought, and to show the blood how to remember being whole.
His mother's voice was hidden until he was ready. It wasn't scolding; it was guiding.
He let the sting stay. He breathed the pain into a clock that ticked, ticked, and ticked, keeping track of Tian Ruo's pattern.
The spear came back. Chen Ho stepped the wrong way on purpose, making the line Tian Ruo wanted. The smile came and the thrust came, as fast as they agreed.
"Now," Chen Ho said softly.
Pionix didn't peck. It made a seam of fire along the spear's shadow that you couldn't see until you tried to pull. Heat rippled, not to burn but to bend.
The tip of the spear moved a finger's width. For a boy like Tian Ruo, who lived in a world of precision, a finger's width was a big deal.
He tripped.
Chen Ho didn't lunge to finish. He moved to the side and let Tian Ruo fix it. Tian Ruo made a mistake when he corrected. He showed the next angle and the next by committing.
Someone gasped, "Is he... fishing?"
"Not fishing," Master Yan Tianhe said in a low voice, suddenly serious. "He's listening with his whole body and giving the wind something to listen to."
4) Wind's Teeth, Fire's Breath
Tian Ruo's lip curled in anger, then smoothed out as pride took shape. He hit the butt of the spear. A ring of air popped out, and the ring rope shook.
"Step of the cyclone."
He was gone.
No, he broke into three afterimages, all of which were blurry from the wind and all of which were pushing different angles. The spear's whistle came from all directions.
Pionix screamed, and his small body lit up. Phoenix Cry rang out so loudly that it broke certainty. Chen Ho's peripheral vision got sharper, and the lines of motion got brighter, like chalk lines.
He picked the one to the left of center, which was the only one that threw dust where feet hit the ground. He stepped through it, and the wind that brushed his shoulder felt like combed glass. When the spear hit the fire, there was a clang and a whoof, and the afterimages ripped apart like paper that had been lit at one corner.
Tian Ruo rolled over and got up angry, with her hair all messed up. He made a line that went up and down. "Downburst!"
Hammered air. The ring boards jumped up. The first row fell back like wheat in bad weather.
Chen Ho got down on one knee. Pionix fell with him, his wings covering his head. The flames spread out and formed a dome, breathing with him. It was like an umbrella made of will, temperature, and trust.
The downburst ran out of steam. Steam wrapped around both of them, curling like a dragon that was thinking about something.
From the stands: "He protected himself with heat?!"
"He shaped the low-pressure pocket!" a scholar yelled with joy. "He's cheating physics!"
Fatty Lin: "He's giving the wind soup!"
5) Break the Circle
Tian Ruo didn't wait for the laughter to tell him what to do. He made the spear spin quickly, but not in a graceful or precise way. A column of air rose, pulling the banners toward it and threatening to pull the rope poles out of the corners.
A whirlpool. He would pull Chen Ho into the center and pin him there, spinning choice until there was no way out.
Chen Ho looked at the dirt.
Not the wind. The dirt.
The vortex left a narrow lane of stillness—a corridor where pressure was just right to walk through if a person trusted their feet more than their eyes.
He told Pionix to "come" without saying a word. The chick jumped up on his shoulder.
He walked into the quiet.
The crowd screamed because it looked like someone was going to kill themselves. Tian Ruo smiled because it looked like giving up.
Three steps. Four. The world roared, but Chen Ho's ribs stayed small and normal. On the fifth day, his heel touched the seam of the vortex, where the wind met itself and shook hands too hard.
"Now," he said again, this time in a softer voice.
Pionix set off Fire Feather Burst in a straight line down that seam.
The vortex hiccupped.
Gusts bit other gusts. The column bent like a rope that had been cut in the middle of a twist. The spear shook, and the wind pushed Tian Ruo half a step to the side, like betrayal always does before a fall.
Chen Ho didn't push. He just wasn't where Tian Ruo needed him to be to get better. The spear scraped against the rope, which burned, and Tian Ruo pulled back, showing his teeth.
The referee raised his flag and then stopped.
Not yet. Not enough.
Tian Ruo put his spear in the middle of the target and stood still. The wind settled around him like a dog at his feet.
"Okay," he said softly. "No more nets." No more games. Let's see if your bird can look up at the sky.
He lifted the spear point, and the ring seemed to lean toward him. There was a slate smell in the air. All of Chen Ho's hair at the back of his neck agreed on the word storm.
"Heaven-Piercing Thrust."
It wasn't fast. It wasn't power. It was honesty—a straight line from intent to action so pure it felt like a prayer the sky might answer.
Chen Ho's chest was empty. He saw himself blocking and failing, dodging and failing, burning and failing.
He could hear his mother say, "Some doors open when you knock." This one opens when you don't.
He lowered his shoulder to the side, not down, giving the thrust everything it needed and nothing it didn't. At the same time, Pionix sang the thinnest Phoenix Cry ever heard—no sound, just the memory of it—and a breath-width of heat followed the spear's path.
Metal slid through warmth, stretched by mirage, and got to where it wanted to be a finger late.
The tip went under Chen Ho's ribs without touching them. Tian Ruo went too far with a grain.
Chen Ho stepped in and grabbed the shaft near the end—not to pull it or steal it, but to say no to the last inch of the thrust. Momentum turned around his hand. Tian Ruo's wrists did what they were told. The wind stuttered.
And then, because the last stupid thing decides a fight, Chen Ho's heel nudged the burned rope-stake he had seen a few minutes before. It rolled under Tian Ruo's foot as he tried to get back up.
The boy's ankle bent. As he fell, the point of the spear dug a hole. Outside the rope, his heel kissed the ground.
The flag made a noise in the air. "Ring out! Chen Ho wins!
A breathless silence, then a sound like a market learning a miracle: roar upon roar, laughter punched out of chests, and curses turned into cheers in the middle of words because the throat changed its mind first.
"Fatty Lin screamed, "I always believed!" That was true for the last two seconds.
6) After the Storm
For a long time, Tian Ruo stood very still, looking down at his own traitorous heel print as if he could make it cross the line again just by being ashamed. He then raised his spear, gave a short, savage cut with the blade, and turned to leave.
He stopped at the rope and looked back. "You didn't beat my spear," he said, not angrily but truthfully. "You won."
Chen Ho bent down. "Thanks for the lesson."
A muscle in Tian Ruo's jaw jumped. "I won't make the same mistake next time."
Chen Ho said, "Next time."
Dean Mu Qing finally spoke up, but the stands were still shaking. "The school and the envoy of the Beast Tamer Academy of Magic City have chosen Chen Ho, Tian Ruo, and Bai Zheng to move on!"
Bai Zheng got angry and pushed his shoulders down. His eyes darted between Chen Ho and the girl who had made him doubt himself. Bai Yun yelled and put an arm around his brother's neck until the older boy pretended he couldn't breathe.
Instructor He Ling showed up at Chen Ho's side like rain on a sleeve—suddenly and obviously unavoidable. She put a jade tag in his hand that had a stylized beast carved into it.
She said, "Dawn drills." "You listen well." Learn how to talk."
He blinked. "To... beasts?"
"To the wind you keep borrowing." Her mouth moved, almost as if she were smiling. "And to yourself."
Master Yan Tianhe moved through officials like they were reeds and he was a boat that didn't believe in reeds. "Haha! You threaded the needle and taught the storm to eat its own tail. "Good boy." He took a whiff. "You smell like soup and spider silk." I agree.
Fatty Lin threw himself into a hug that turned into a side-cling when he remembered that public decency was a thing. "Hero!" I brought victory buns, but I ate them in a hurry, so now I only have apology buns.
Chen Ho said, "Apology accepted," because there were still two in the basket.
Pionix jumped from his shoulder to the ring rope, fluttering once—proud, then shy—and pecked an unburned corner of bun like it was a gift. Kids in the front row screamed at how cute it was and promised to always be loyal to fire.
7) Be quiet
The square slowly emptied, not wanting to let the moment go. Chen Ho quietly slipped away down the well-known path behind the practice hall, his feet remembering grooves that the sun hadn't touched that day. He stopped by the old tree in the courtyard and put his hand on the bark.
"Mom," he said softly, "I didn't show them more than I had to."
The tree didn't say anything. The wind brought a little coolness and the smell of buns and dust, as well as the sound of someone starting to sweep the ring boards, as if cleaning could keep the day from ending.
Four soft notes—Contract, Summoning, Healing, and Beast-Taming—hummed like a secret choir behind his ribs. He didn't sing along with them. He listened and felt the new line Pionix had written today wrap around the melody like a red silk ribbon tying two sleeves together.
The capital tomorrow.
The academy is tomorrow.
Tomorrow, a thousand sharper eyes than those in City H would try to figure him out, weigh him, and use him.
He shared a bun with his first friend under the tree that had seen him fail, learn, and learn again. Pionix put its head under one wing and acted like it wasn't going to fall asleep.
"Rest," he said.
He let himself go too.
Because storms do end. Boys change when they keep standing after the flag drops. Because the wind had teeth and he knew where to put his hands.
The road to Magic City would start in the morning.