The noodles were actually good.
Wuya sat on a wooden bench outside the small stall, working through his second bowl while Liya picked at hers. The afternoon sun was warm, and the sounds of the Assembly drifted over from the main grounds - announcements, cheers, the occasional clash of weapons from practice rings.
"You eat like someone who doesn't know where their next meal is coming from," Liya observed.
"Clearwater Sect isn't wealthy," Wuya said between bites. "And these are really good noodles."
"They're adequate noodles."
"Better than what I'm used to."
Liya set down her chopsticks. "Can I ask you something?"
"Why didn't you use qi against Yan Feng? Or just now with those Crimson Blade idiots? You clearly have cultivation - I saw you move. Normal people don't move like that."
Wuya finished his noodles and set the bowl down. "Didn't need to."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I have." He looked at her. "Why waste energy when you don't have to? Elder Feng always said qi is like water in a well. You can draw from it freely, but if you empty it for no reason, you're just making yourself thirsty."
"That's... actually wise." Liya tilted her head. "Your Elder Feng sounds interesting."
"He is."
"Is he a master? What realm did he reach?"
Wuya shrugged. "Never asked."
"You never—" Liya blinked. "You trained under someone and never asked what level they reached?"
"Didn't seem important. He taught me what I needed to know."
"That's insane. The whole point of having a master is to follow their path, to reach their level and surpass it. How can you do that if you don't even know—"
"Preliminary round two participants, report to the staging area!" The announcer's voice boomed across the grounds.
Wuya stood and stretched. "That's me."
"Already? Who are you fighting?"
"Don't know yet. Guess I'll find out."
Liya stood too, leaving coins on the table for the noodles. "I'm coming to watch. Someone needs to document your inevitable humiliation."
"Thought you said I'd die."
"That was before the noodles. Now I think you'll just get badly hurt."
They walked back toward the arena complex. The crowd had grown since morning - word of Wuya's match against Yan Feng had spread, and people were curious about the nobody from Clearwater Sect. Some pointed as he passed. Others whispered.
At the staging pavilion, officials were calling out names and assignments. Wuya found his name on the board.
"Jin Wuya versus Feng Hua of Wandering Mist Sect. Arena Three."
"Arena Three," Liya read over his shoulder. "That's one of the smaller rings. They're not giving you the main arena this time."
"Makes sense. First match was against Emerald Peak. This is just another preliminary."
"Wandering Mist Sect..." Liya frowned. "I don't know much about them. Mid-tier, I think? Somewhere in the eastern provinces."
They made their way to Arena Three. It was smaller than the main arena, with maybe a few hundred spectators in the stands instead of thousands. The crowd was a mix of curious onlookers and what looked like Wandering Mist disciples in pale gray robes.
Wuya stepped into the ring. The surface was packed dirt, worn smooth by countless matches. Across from him, a woman in gray robes entered from the opposite side.
Feng Hua was maybe thirty, with her hair tied back in a simple braid. She moved with the careful economy of someone who'd spent years refining their technique. Her sword was slightly curved, designed for swift draws and cuts.
The referee - a middle-aged man in official robes - stood between them. "Standard rules. Yield, incapacitation, or ring-out. Are both fighters ready?"
"Ready," Feng Hua said. Her voice was calm, professional.
"Ready," Wuya said.
"Begin!"
The referee retreated. The small crowd leaned forward.
Feng Hua didn't charge. She took a measured stance, her hand resting on her sword hilt but not drawing. Her qi circulated visibly - not a massive display like Yan Feng's, but controlled and precise.
"I watched your match this morning," she said. "Impressive footwork. Clean movement. But you fought someone who relied on power over technique."
"You're different?" Wuya asked.
"Let's find out."
She drew her sword in a flash - fast, almost too fast to see. The blade sang through the air in a horizontal cut aimed at Wuya's midsection.
Wuya leaned back. The sword passed inches from his chest.
But Feng Hua was already moving, her blade redirecting mid-swing into a downward slash. When that missed, she flowed into a thrust, then a rising cut, each strike building on the last with minimal wasted motion.
*Better,* Wuya thought, watching her technique unfold. *Much better than Yan Feng. No telegraphing. No excess movement. Just clean, efficient strikes.*
He wove between her attacks, hands still in his sleeves. Unlike Yan Feng's aggressive barrage, Feng Hua's style was more measured. She wasn't trying to overwhelm him with power - she was testing, probing, looking for openings.
After a dozen exchanges, she leaped back and lowered her sword slightly. "You're good. Really good. But you're still not using qi, and you still haven't drawn your sword."
"Don't need to," Wuya said.
"Pride?"
"Practicality."
Feng Hua's eyes narrowed. Then she smiled - a small, genuine expression. "Alright. Let's see how practical you are."
Her qi surged, but instead of another direct attack, she moved laterally, circling around Wuya. Her sword traced patterns in the air, creating what looked like afterimages - Wandering Mist technique, probably. The images multiplied, making it hard to tell which was real.
The crowd murmured appreciatively. This was proper technique, not just brute force.
Wuya watched the afterimages, noting how they moved. *The real sword drags slightly. Creates a small distortion in the air. There - that's the real one.*
Feng Hua struck from three directions simultaneously - or seemed to. Wuya stepped through the gap where none of the images were, and suddenly he was behind her guard.
She spun, blade coming around in a defensive arc. Fast reflexes.
Wuya tapped her wrist - the same move he'd used on Yan Feng - but Feng Hua was ready for it. She released the tension in her arm, letting the tap slide off harmlessly, and immediately countered with a low sweep.
*Smart,* Wuya thought, hopping back. *She adapted. Learned from watching the first match.*
They exchanged another series of moves, Feng Hua's technique growing more complex as she tried different approaches. She was clearly skilled, with years of training behind every strike. But there was something... limited about it. Like she was following a script she'd memorized perfectly but couldn't deviate from.
Wuya found himself analyzing her style almost unconsciously. The way she committed to each strike just a fraction too much. How her weight shifted predictably before certain moves. The slight pause between combinations where she reset her stance.
*There,* he thought. *When she finishes the triple-thrust sequence, she always steps back with her left foot. Leaves her right side open for half a breath.*
Feng Hua launched into the sequence. Three rapid thrusts, each one forcing Wuya to dodge. Then she stepped back with her left foot, exactly as predicted.
Wuya moved forward, his hand emerging from his sleeve to tap her shoulder - gently, barely contact.
Feng Hua froze. She'd felt it too - if that had been a real strike with qi behind it, the match would be over.
They stood there for a moment, Wuya's hand still extended, Feng Hua's sword mid-guard.
"I yield," Feng Hua said quietly.
The referee rushed forward. "Winner - Jin Wuya of Clearwater Sect!"
The crowd applauded - more genuine this time, appreciating the technical display. This hadn't been a fluke or luck. This had been pure skill.
Feng Hua sheathed her sword and bowed. Wuya returned the bow.
"You're better than I expected," she said. "A lot better."
"You're very skilled," Wuya said, and meant it. "Your technique is clean."
"But predictable?"
"A little. You follow your forms exactly. Nothing wrong with that, but it makes you readable."
Feng Hua considered this, then nodded slowly. "My master always said I was too rigid. I thought he was just being critical." She smiled. "Thank you for the match. And the lesson."
She walked toward the exit. Wuya followed.
Outside the arena, Liya was waiting with an expression somewhere between impressed and exasperated. "Two matches. Two victories. Still haven't drawn your sword."
"Still haven't needed to," Wuya said.
"People are starting to talk. Really talk. The betting houses are going crazy trying to figure out what odds to give you." She pulled out a small pamphlet. "Look - someone's already written up an analysis of your fighting style. They're calling you 'The Phantom of Clearwater' because you don't leave traces of qi."
"That's a terrible name."
"I didn't pick it." Liya tucked the pamphlet away. "Your next match is tomorrow morning. Round of sixteen. The opponents get serious from here."
"How serious?"
"Very. The great sects start sending out their real talents. People who've been training their whole lives for tournaments like this." She paused. "You should probably actually use qi for the next one. Maybe even draw your sword."
"We'll see."
"We'll see," Liya repeated, shaking her head. "You're going to give me gray hairs."
They walked back toward the main grounds. The sun was starting to sink toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and red. Around them, disciples were finishing their practice sessions, heading to tea houses and restaurants to discuss the day's matches.
"Jin Wuya."
They both turned. A young man in blue and white robes stood there - Azure Sky Alliance. Not Bai Chenfeng, but someone who looked similar. Same proud bearing, same expensive sword, same expression of casual superiority.
"I'm Feng Chen," the disciple said. "Azure Sky Alliance. I watched your matches today."
"Alright," Wuya said.
"I'm in the round of sixteen tomorrow too. Different bracket, so we won't face each other yet. But I wanted to tell you something." Feng Chen stepped closer. "You're good. I'll acknowledge that. But you're playing games - not using qi, not drawing your sword. Maybe that works against mid-tier disciples, but it won't work against Azure Sky Alliance. When we meet in the later rounds, you'll need to fight for real."
"I am fighting for real," Wuya said.
"No, you're showing off. There's a difference." Feng Chen's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Just wanted to give you fair warning. Azure Sky Alliance doesn't lose to nobody sects. Ever."
He walked away before Wuya could respond.
Liya let out a long breath. "You've really caught their attention now. Azure Sky Alliance doesn't usually bother acknowledging smaller sects at all."
"Should I be worried?"
"Yes! That's what I've been trying to tell you!" Liya grabbed his arm. "Look, I know you're talented. That's obvious now. But there are levels to this. The great sects have resources you can't imagine - ancient techniques, pills that enhance cultivation, masters who've reached heights that..." She trailed off, looking at his calm expression. "You're not listening to a word I'm saying, are you?"
"I'm listening. You're worried."
"Of course I'm worried! You're—" She stopped. "Why am I even worried? I barely know you."
"Maybe you're just a good person," Wuya suggested.
That seemed to catch her off guard. She looked at him for a moment, then shook her head with a small smile. "Or maybe I've just bet too much money on you winning your next match."
"You bet on me?"
"The odds were good! And you keep winning!" Liya's smile turned sheepish. "Forty silver on you making it to the quarterfinals."
"That's a lot of money."
"It'll be four hundred if you win. So please, for my finances if nothing else, try not to die tomorrow."
Wuya couldn't help but smile. "I'll do my best."
They found a quiet tea house - a real one this time, not the overpriced tourist trap from yesterday. The tea was good, the atmosphere peaceful, and for a while they just sat and watched the sky darken.
"Can I ask you something?" Liya said eventually.
"Sure."
"What's your goal here? What are you actually trying to accomplish at this Assembly?"
Wuya thought about it. "Honestly? I don't know. My master said I should come, so I came. Said I should test myself, so I'm testing myself."
"That's it? No dreams of joining a great sect? No ambitions to make a name for yourself?"
"Not really." He looked at her. "Is that strange?"
"In the jianghu? Yes. Very strange." Liya sipped her tea. "Everyone wants something. Fame, power, revenge, justice. Something. But you just... are."
"Is that bad?"
"I don't know. Ask me again after tomorrow's match."
They sat in comfortable silence as the first stars began to appear. Somewhere in the distance, someone was playing a flute - a melancholy tune that drifted through the evening air.
Wuya finished his tea and stood. "I should get some rest."
"Good idea. Tomorrow's going to be harder."
"Probably."
"Definitely," Liya corrected. She stood too. "I'm staying at the Plum Blossom Inn near the east gate if you need anything. And Wuya?"
"Yeah?"
"Try to survive. I'm getting used to having you around."
She walked away into the evening crowd, leaving Wuya standing outside the tea house.
He made his way back to his small inn, nodding to the suspicious innkeeper who still didn't seem to believe Wuya belonged at the Assembly. His room was exactly as he'd left it - simple, clean, quiet.
Wuya sat on the bed and closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. His qi circulated naturally, following the pathways Elder Feng had taught him. Smooth. Steady. Like water flowing through familiar channels.
He thought about the matches today. Yan Feng's aggressive power. Feng Hua's technical precision. Both skilled in their own ways, but both... limited. Following paths laid out by their sects, their masters, their traditions.
Was that wrong? Wuya didn't think so. Structure had its place. But there was something about being unbound, flowing like water around obstacles instead of trying to break through them, that felt more natural to him.
*The river doesn't ask permission from the rocks,* Elder Feng had said once. *It just flows. And eventually, the rocks learn to accommodate it.*
Wuya lay down and stared at the ceiling. Tomorrow would bring new opponents. Stronger ones, probably. More skilled.
Good.
He closed his eyes and let sleep take him.
---
Across the city, in a luxurious room at the best inn Silverpeak had to offer, Bai Chenfeng sat reviewing reports from his sect's information network.
"Jin Wuya," he read aloud. "Clearwater Sect. Unknown origin. Two victories without using qi or drawing his sword. Minimal background. No notable achievements before this Assembly."
His attendant, a junior disciple, stood nearby. "Should we be concerned, Senior Brother?"
"Concerned? About a nobody from a nobody sect?" Bai Chenfeng laughed. "No. But we should be prepared. Azure Sky Alliance doesn't take chances."
"What should we do?"
"Nothing yet. Let him advance. Let him think he's special." Bai Chenfeng set down the report. "When we finally face each other, I want him at his peak. I want everyone watching. And then I'll show him - and everyone else - the difference between a prodigy from a great sect and a lucky peasant with decent footwork."
"Understood, Senior Brother."
Bai Chenfeng dismissed him with a wave and returned to his meditation. Tomorrow the real tournament would begin. And when it did, he'd show this Jin Wuya what true martial arts looked like.