Elder Shan didn't sit. He just stood there, looking down at Wuya with the kind of expression someone might wear while examining an unusual piece of jade - trying to determine if it was valuable or just pretty.
Liya had gone very still beside Wuya. Meeting an elder from a mid-tier sect wasn't something merchant families took lightly.
"Elder Shan," Wuya said, not bothering to stand. His legs were tired from all that dodging.
"You didn't use qi," Elder Shan said. It wasn't a question.
"Didn't need to."
"Against Yan Feng. One of my best disciples." The elder's voice was calm, but there was something sharp underneath. "You made him look like a child playing with a stick."
"He's not a child. His technique is solid."
"But?"
Wuya shrugged. "He broadcasts his intentions. Gets frustrated when things don't go his way. Relies too much on power, not enough on precision."
Elder Shan was quiet for a moment. Then he laughed - a short, sharp sound. "You just described half the disciples in this Assembly." He tilted his head. "Clearwater Sect. I've traveled the jianghu for thirty years, and I've never heard of it. Where is it?"
"Yanmist Mountains. Three days north of here."
"And how many disciples does Clearwater Sect have?"
"Right now? Just me."
That got a reaction. Elder Shan's eyebrows rose slightly. "Just you. And your master sent you here alone to compete in the Autumn Assembly."
"He thought I should see the world."
"The world, or the martial world?" Elder Shan glanced at Liya, then back at Wuya. "That match should have lasted thirty exchanges minimum. It lasted less than ten, and you spent all of them avoiding. Then you ended it with a finger strike that sent Yan Feng flying without causing any real damage. That kind of control doesn't come from nowhere."
Wuya said nothing.
"Your master," Elder Shan continued. "What's his name?"
"Elder Feng."
"Just Elder Feng? No family name, no title, no reputation?"
"Just Elder Feng."
Elder Shan studied him for another long moment. Then he shook his head slowly. "I don't know whether you're being deliberately mysterious or genuinely this straightforward. Either way, you've made things interesting." He turned to leave, then paused. "A word of advice, Jin Wuya. You're going to draw attention now. The wrong kind, from the wrong people. The great sects don't like unknowns. They especially don't like unknowns who embarrass their allies."
"Noted," Wuya said.
Elder Shan walked away, his green robes swaying.
Liya let out a breath she'd been holding. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"
"Won a match?"
"You've made yourself a target! Emerald Peak has connections to half the mid-tier sects in the region. And the great sects watch these preliminary matches to scout talent - or threats." She shook her head. "You should have lost. Or at least made it look harder."
"Why would I do that?"
"Because now everyone's going to want to test you! To see if you're the real thing or just got lucky." Liya ran her hand through her hair. "Gods, you really are from the middle of nowhere, aren't you?"
Before Wuya could respond, a group of disciples in blue and white robes walked past. Azure Sky Alliance. One of them, a young man with a sword almost as tall as he was, glanced their way and smirked.
"That's the Clearwater nobody?" he said loudly to his companions. "Doesn't look like much."
"Bai Chenfeng," one of his friends said. "Elder Sister told us not to provoke anyone before the matches."
"I'm not provoking. Just observing." Bai Chenfeng's smirk widened. "Though I hope I get matched against him. Would be fun to see if he can dodge when someone's actually trying."
They walked on, laughing among themselves.
Wuya watched them go. "Friend of yours?"
"Hardly. Bai Chenfeng is Azure Sky Alliance's rising star this year. Twenty-four years old, reached Master realm last year, and hasn't lost a tournament match since." Liya grimaced. "Also an arrogant ass, but that's half the disciples from great sects."
"Seems pleasant."
"You're really not worried, are you?"
Wuya considered the question honestly. "About the matches? No. About politics and attention?" He shrugged. "Can't do much about that now."
"You could withdraw. Say you're injured or—"
"I'm not injured."
"I know, but—" Liya stopped, studying his face. "You're not going to withdraw no matter what I say, are you?"
"Probably not."
She sighed. "Stubborn. Fine. At least let me help you understand what you're walking into. Come on."
"Where?"
"The betting houses. If you're going to be the center of chaos, you might as well know what people are saying about you."
Wuya stood and followed her through the crowded Assembly grounds. They passed training areas where disciples practiced, food stalls selling everything from dumplings to roasted meat, and gambling tents where the sound of dice and loud arguments spilled out.
Liya led him to a larger establishment with a painted sign reading "Golden Fortune Betting House." Inside, the walls were covered with boards showing odds for various matches. Wuya's name was already up there.
"Jin Wuya versus Yan Feng - COMPLETED. Winner: Jin Wuya." Below it, new odds were being chalked in. "Jin Wuya, second round - odds thirty-to-one against."
"Still terrible odds," Liya muttered. "But better than yesterday."
"People think I'll lose?"
"People think you got lucky. Or that Yan Feng had an off day. That's how it works - one victory means nothing until you prove it wasn't a fluke." She pointed to another board. "Look. Bai Chenfeng is five-to-one odds to reach the final eight. Zhou Ming from Crimson Blade Hall is three-to-one for the same. You're... not even listed for the final matches."
Wuya looked at the boards with mild interest. Numbers and predictions. People trying to make sense of uncertainty. It reminded him of something Elder Feng used to say: *The river doesn't care what odds the stones give it. It just flows.*
"Does any of this actually matter?" he asked.
Liya looked at him like he'd asked if the sky was real. "Does it— Yes! This is how reputations are built in the jianghu! How sects gain influence, how disciples get recruited by great sects, how—" She stopped. "You really don't care about any of this, do you?"
"Not really."
"Then why are you here?"
It was a good question. Wuya thought about Elder Feng's last words before he'd left Clearwater Sect. *Go see the world, Wuya. Test yourself against it. And remember - the river flows because it must, not because it wants to impress the fish.*
"My master thought I should," Wuya said finally. "So I am."
Before Liya could respond, a commotion erupted outside the betting house. Shouting. The sound of something breaking.
They stepped outside to find a small crowd gathering near one of the practice rings. In the center, a young disciple in plain brown robes was on the ground, blood running from his nose. Standing over him were three disciples in crimson and gold - Crimson Blade Hall.
"Know your place, trash," one of them said. "Minor sects don't use the main practice rings. That's for actual martial artists."
The disciple on the ground - couldn't have been more than seventeen - tried to stand. One of the Crimson Blade disciples kicked him back down.
Wuya felt something tighten in his chest. Not anger, exactly. More like... recognition. He'd seen this before. Different faces, different robes, same scene. The strong pushing down the weak because they could.
"Don't," Liya said quietly beside him. "Wuya, don't. That's Crimson Blade Hall - they're a great sect. You can't afford to—"
But Wuya was already walking forward.
The crowd parted for him. Conversations died. People recognized him from the arena match - the nobody who'd beaten Yan Feng.
Wuya stopped a few feet from the Crimson Blade disciples. "He can use the ring," he said.
The three disciples turned. The one who'd done the kicking - built like a bear, with a scar across his cheek - looked Wuya up and down. "And who the hell are you?"
"Someone who thinks you should pick on people your own size."
Scar-face laughed. "Big talk from—" He stopped, recognition dawning. "Wait. You're that Clearwater nobody. The one who got lucky against Emerald Peak."
"Didn't feel like luck," Wuya said.
The disciple's expression darkened. "You want to test your luck against Crimson Blade Hall? Because we're not Emerald Peak. We don't play gentle."
His two companions spread out slightly, flanking Wuya. The young disciple on the ground scrambled away, smart enough to remove himself from the situation.
"I'm not looking for trouble," Wuya said. "Just saying the kid can use the practice ring if he wants."
"And I'm saying he can't. You got a problem with that?" Scar-face stepped closer. His qi flared - strong, aggressive, like heat from a forge. "How about this. You want him to use the ring? You go through me first. Right here, right now. No rules, no refs, no ring-outs."
Liya pushed through the crowd. "Wuya, this is insane. Your next match is this afternoon. You can't—"
"I can use the practice ring," the young disciple called out from the edge of the crowd. His voice shook. "I'll use a different one. It's fine."
Wuya glanced at him. The kid's eyes were downcast, shoulders hunched. Resigned. Like this happened all the time and he'd learned it was easier to just accept it.
Something Elder Feng had said echoed in Wuya's mind: *The strong exist to protect the weak, Wuya. Not to crush them. If you forget that, you're not a martial artist. You're just a thug with qi.*
Wuya looked back at Scar-face. "Alright," he said quietly. "Let's settle it."
The crowd erupted in whispers. Someone ran off, probably to fetch officials or elders. This was about to get messy.
Scar-face grinned. "Finally. Someone with—"
Wuya was already moving.
Not attacking. Just walking forward, hands in his sleeves, closing the distance between them with that same steady purpose.
Scar-face's grin faltered. His hand went to his sword.
And Wuya stopped, standing directly in front of him, close enough that their faces were inches apart.
"Well?" Wuya said softly. "Draw it."
The practice grounds had gone completely silent.
Scar-face's hand trembled on his sword hilt. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Up close, facing Wuya directly, he could feel... something. Not qi, exactly. Just presence. Like standing at the edge of a very deep, very still pool of water.
"I said draw it," Wuya repeated.
Scar-face's hand fell away from his sword. He took a step back. Then another.
"That's what I thought," Wuya said. He turned to the young disciple. "Ring's yours. Use it."
He walked away, leaving Scar-face standing there, face red with humiliation and relief.
The crowd parted for him like water.
Liya caught up, grabbing his arm. "Do you have a death wish? That was—"
"Necessary," Wuya said.
"That was stupid! When the elders from Crimson Blade Hall hear about this—"
"Then they'll hear about it." Wuya looked at her. "Would you have preferred I let them keep beating that kid?"
Liya opened her mouth. Closed it. Finally sighed. "No. But I also prefer you alive."
"I'm still alive."
"For now," a new voice said.
They both turned. A girl in crimson and gold robes stood there, maybe a year or two older than Wuya. Unlike the thugs from earlier, she carried herself with real confidence - the kind that came from skill, not bluster. Her sword hung at her side in a scabbard marked with gold inlay.
"Liu Yanmei," she said, nodding slightly. "Crimson Blade Hall. Senior disciple."
Wuya nodded back. "Jin Wuya."
"I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are now." She glanced toward where Scar-face and his friends had slunk away. "Those three are idiots. They deserved to be humiliated. But they're still Crimson Blade Hall disciples."
"So?"
"So now there will be consequences." Liu Yanmei's expression was unreadable. "My sect doesn't forget embarrassments. You should have walked away."
"Probably," Wuya agreed.
That seemed to catch her off guard. She studied him for a moment, then shook her head. "You're either very brave or very stupid."
"I've been told both today."
Liu Yanmei almost smiled. Almost. "Watch yourself, Jin Wuya. The preliminary rounds are easy. The real matches start tomorrow. And after today, you've painted a target on your back that wasn't there before."
She walked away, her crimson robes flowing.
Liya groaned. "This is a disaster."
"Could be worse," Wuya said.
"How? How could this possibly be worse?"
Wuya thought about it. "I could be hungry. Is there food around here?"
Liya stared at him. Then she laughed - a slightly hysterical sound. "You're impossible. Come on. There's a noodle stall near the south gate that doesn't completely rob you."
They walked through the Assembly grounds, Liya muttering about politics and consequences while Wuya mostly thought about noodles.
Behind them, in the shadows of a tea house, an old man watched them go. He pulled out a small jade token, hesitated, then put it away.
"Not yet," Old Merchant Gu murmured to himself. "Let's see how deep this river really runs first."
He disappeared into the crowd, leaving only the faint scent of incense behind.