Chapter 11: Old Spring Terrace

Enjoy that bite?

After the arrow, wild sands rose.

Yan Rushi had poured in ten parts of her strength. She locked eyes on her opponent; sick as she was, bow and short blade were drawn to their fullest, every arrow clean and swift. Too fast to follow.

To You Fusang there was only a withered leaf hanging in the forest air — then an arrow’s fletching broke the wind and buried itself in an ancient tree ten arm-spans around.

Shff—

The arrow’s cold gleam flashed before her eyes; the heart of the great tree split and fell away, leaving a hollow, empty hole.

The arrow’s path had been off by a hair — yet the hole in the tree was a full arm-span wide.

You Fusang drifted back a few steps, and truly did feel like praising her: fine archery, Young Sect Master Yan.

In a lightning flash, Yan Rushi raised the bow and pressed in, the long bow becoming the keenest of blades, tearing the wind with a hunting rasp.

She closed in; You Fusang met her, one hand forming a seal.

A bow-blade, a mass of Devil Qi that crept through every gap — the two of them traded forms at blinding speed through the forest.

Their clashes rang sharp, then dull, both carrying the scent of blood.

A hundred years of cultivation in the mortal world. Since parting with the Yan Sect, Yan Rushi had grown a great deal. She ought not to sell herself short.

The only pity was that her forms still stopped at the boundaries of the Yan Sect — every move precise and by the book, as if sparring with fellow disciples at the Sword Pavilion: strength delivered, speed delivered, but give and take, all stopping at first touch.

Too refined. Too righteous.

But in the mortal world’s fight to the death, no one waits for their enemy.

Yan Rushi wielded the bow as a blade, the blade-wind crashing in — You Fusang’s reverse hand snatched up a broken arrow from behind her, and Devil Qi raced along the shaft, spreading like rising flames, burning a haze through the forest.

Yan Rushi faltered a beat, then recovered.

This Young Sect Master Yan had killing aura but no killing intent — which faintly surprised You Fusang. Could it be… she simply wanted a fight?

You Fusang had more one-move kills than she could count, but glimpsing the earnestness in Yan Rushi’s eyes, her playful side woke. Is it too unkind to toy with someone in a duel where fists are their only outlet?

It so happened that in a hundred years of cultivating the Devil’s path, the thing You Fusang had least learned was so-called “kindness.”

Within a hand’s breadth, ink-black and molten-gold eyes met — You Fusang’s fingers coiled, and suddenly wound around Yan Rushi’s bow-hand wrist.

With just that one coil, a perfectly good fight changed flavor.

Yan Rushi’s composure visibly shattered. You Fusang pressed in, fingertips sweeping light across her skin, the pads of her fingers stroking, carrying a barely perceptible seduction.

Yan Rushi’s lashes trembled, her ears went red, her palms as if dipped in water — suddenly she couldn’t even hold the bow.

“Too innocent, my little Young Sect Master Yan,” You Fusang held her, saying comfortably. “We Devil Cultivators are best at these heart-beguiling tricks. One touch of the hand and you’re showing your opening. What will you do when you meet something far worse, hmm?”

Yan Rushi was dazed. “S-something worse?”

“Mm. For example.”

And of course You Fusang escalated—

Yan Rushi only felt the Devil Qi at her side suddenly tighten; the world flickered bright and dark before her eyes, and a breath ghosted against her neck. The touch was icy, like a venomous serpent flicking past — You Fusang’s sharp teeth left a mark at the side of her throat.

Worse — she seemed… to have licked it.

“Ah…”

The numbness that bloomed from her neck nearly set all of Yan Rushi alight. An uncontrollable cry escaped her, and she shoved You Fusang away.

Then came the sudden, sharpened assault.

The long blade split into short knives; though red to the very roots of her ears, every one of Yan Rushi’s strikes was vicious. Done at last with any etiquette of give and take — one little bite, and it had actually drawn killing intent from Young Sect Master Yan.

“…Truly cannot take a joke.” You Fusang laughed as she evaded, and asked, helpless, “Young Sect Master Yan — didn’t we kiss just last month?”

She got only faster attacks in reply.

And far fiercer than before — the long bow wanted distance, to nock and draw, but the short knife? One lift of the hand and it fell.

In mere moments, she and You Fusang had clashed a hundred-odd times, fist meeting flesh, blade biting blood.

Skratch!!

In the instant the blade sank into flesh, You Fusang felt nothing — until the Devil Qi began draining away with her blood. Looking at Yan Rushi, she steeled her heart and struck hard.

A fist and a raised elbow struck her joints; in only three blows the short knife hit the ground, and unbearable pain welled from Yan Rushi’s wrists.

You Fusang pinned her — elbow and fingertips braced against either wrist. But in the instant of closing in, Yan Rushi lunged and sank her teeth into the web of her hand!

Pa—

You Fusang struck her away in fury, eyes narrowing, her blows landing harder. Her knee drove in between Yan Rushi’s legs; she bent sharply over her, and Yan Rushi was forced to buckle, brows knotted, coughing a few times.

You Fusang’s gaze traveled once around her blood-smeared lips, and she raised a smile that was none too gentle. “Feeling good, that bite? Enjoying the fight?”

Yan Rushi tried to push her away, but had no strength. The push failed.

“Venerable Lord…”

“Oh? Why is Young Sect Master Yan showing weakness?” You Fusang sneered. “Where’s that spirit of blade-bites-blood from before? Where’s that gumption that bit me?”

You Fusang raised her hands, gripped the shoulders of the one beneath her, and slowly, slowly pressed her body flat. Her gaze was stern; the pressure in her eyes went without saying.

She pressed down over her and tipped up her chin — as at their first meeting in Pagoda City — overlong nails dragging across that neck like spring snow, leaving red welts, not shallow, not deep.

Restrained beneath her, forced to tilt her head back, Yan Rushi’s eyes reddened until she looked on the verge of tears.

— Not on the verge. She was already crying.

As if utterly humiliated, Yan Rushi’s eyes slowly filled, and once wet past bearing, the tears broke free in a rush. The broken threads of pearls rolled down her cheeks, mixing with the threads of blood on her face, soaking half her face — and wetting a corner of You Fusang’s heart.

You Fusang froze. “What are you crying for?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Seeing the wound on You Fusang’s hand, Yan Rushi only cried harder. “Rushi didn’t… didn’t mean it… it’s only… only…”

The crying was so sudden that You Fusang was caught utterly off guard. She’d taken it for Yan Rushi’s heart-beguiling ploy, a stalling tactic — only to find the Little Peacock seemed truly, terribly sad.

“I just feel so useless…” she said. “I can’t do anything. I can’t do anything right…”

You Fusang froze, then sighed. “You are not useless.” It had been Yan Rushi who attacked without warning and she, You Fusang, who won — and somehow, in the end, even this closing consolation fell to her. “Weren’t you plenty sharp just now? Reading each form and answering it, rising stronger with every stronger foe. That was good.”

It didn’t sound like sincere praise — more like nursing a grudge, blaming her for the sudden attack.

Yan Rushi cried all the harder for it.

She apologized over and over: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry… Venerable Lord, am I truly useless? Hundreds of years on the righteous path, and I still don’t understand what ‘the Dao’ is. I can’t beat anyone — and instead I’ve grown a Devil Heart. I wanted to cultivate the Devil’s path, and you said I’m not worthy. Perhaps I truly am not worthy… not worthy of anything…”

“Don’t cultivate the Devil’s path.” You Fusang’s voice was quiet and level. “Anyone in this world may fall, Yan Rushi — anyone but you. You should not walk these crooked side roads. So many people claw their way upward with their lives. Yan Rushi, your starting point stood so high — others envied it so. You may not go seeking your own fall.”

Yan Rushi hiccupped and sobbed, whether she heard any of it or not.

The Little Peacock beneath her had cried until even her feathers were damp — eyes red-rimmed, nose and ear-tips flushed pink — and of course You Fusang’s heart went soft. She let go of the grudge over being attacked, helped her up, sat her down, let her lean against her leg, and said in all earnestness, “Yan Rushi, promise me: never let those thoughts stir again.”

“But…”

“No buts.” You Fusang cut her off. “We Devil Cultivators eat people alive. If you cultivate the Devil’s path, I will be the first to eat you.”

“…!”

Yan Rushi froze, as if frightened, tears hanging from her lashes, poised between falling and not falling.

After a long, long while, she murmured, “Then — will the Venerable Lord help me?”

Help her with what? Nothing but the affairs of the Yan Sect. The trip to the Qingming Banquet had made things somewhat more complicated, but You Fusang didn’t much care.

When she spoke again, she withdrew her hands and gave the most all-purpose of answers: “Whether I help or not depends on Young Sect Master Yan’s performance.”

“Performance?”

What performance?

Yan Rushi didn’t understand. You Fusang smiled. “Has Young Sect Master Yan forgotten? When you first arrived, a stranger in Pagoda City, and what made it so easy for you to stay — was because I lacked something at my side?”

“You lacked…”

You Fusang leaned closer and reminded her softly at her ear: “A Bed Attendant.”