Chapter [B5] 22 — Blade and Shield

Chapter [B5] 22 — Blade and Shield

Gravity Chi was an altogether unfair advantage, whatever way you think about it.

I could fly using normal Chi, sure, but as we crossed the district at a light glide I couldn’t help but envy Zhang’s control and minimal power expenditure. It would cost me ten times as much power to do the same, and he barely even moved his hands to do it. Most of his control was through his breath now and the air let us set our feet down softly at each landing.

I looked toward Zhang, hesitant to break the silence but feeling like I had to. He hadn’t spoken the entire trip so far.

But what do I say?

Even as we stepped effortlessly through the sky, his shoulders were set tightly, as if he were already carrying weight for me. The light cut across his cheekbones and left the rest of his face unreadable unless you knew him well.

I knew him well enough to see the small tells: the tightness at the corner of his mouth that meant he was holding something in, the way his eyes tracked the ground just ahead rather than the horizon because it kept him from thinking too far forward.

Clearly, I needed to say something, but how should I approach things with Zhang? With Zhang, things were different than with my other friends. Zhang was one of my closest friends, one of my chosen brothers, but he was also someone who had sworn personal loyalty to me.

He bound himself to be my weapon and found enough purpose within it to repeat it without hesitation: I am, will be, and was your personal sword, brother.

He’d dedicated his entire path to being my weapon. So, losing his sole guidance in life…his situation wouldn’t be much different from Labby’s, would it? Except Labby at least had room for growth. She was very young, even by mortal ages, and spirits could live a very long time. Labby had a future that could branch on its own no matter how hard she tried to tie it to me. She had a body that still learned new strengths each week and a mind that grabbed at new tasks eagerly and intelligently.

If I stepped out of the path, he would stand looking at the spot I had left and keep his stance until something told him to move.

I calmed myself, taking in deep breaths. I knew I had to be the one to say something first. He would not ask me, would not risk sounding like he needed anything. The more he went quiet, the more it meant he was afraid his voice would shake.

But before I could make up my mind how to start, we had already reached Zhou Fang’s castle.

That was the problem with gravity Chi. With Zhang lightening our bodies, it didn’t take long to cross half the district, and then our chance at a private moment was lost.

The gate guards glanced after us once because of how quiet our approach had been. I felt the small tug on my bones as he lightened his Chi, letting us descend to the floor once more.

He touched the first interior lock and the thick bars slid quietly out of the way.

We walked inside and stopped a soldier.

“Where’s Lord Zhou right now?”

The soldier looked at us with wide eyes for a second, and then immediately bowed, recovering fast from surprise. “Lord Zhou is in his personal chambers, my lords. Please follow me.”

We followed him up the stairs, through the floors, past the meeting room I’d interrupted Zhou Fang in previously, to a rather shabby door. When it opened, it revealed a modest room, almost like a servant’s quarters, where Zhou Fang sat in a meditative posture.

The bed was narrow and well used, the mattress turned recently to even the wear. A simple stand held a pot of water and a cup. The wall rack had a plain robe folded on it with the same neatness as the bed, corners square, fabric lined up with the bar. The window looked toward the Divine Tree rather than the square. A small brazier burned low, more for keeping damp off the linens than for comfort, while a single lantern hung from a nail and cast an even circle of light.

As soon as he sensed us, Zhou Fang opened his eyes. His gaze moved first to Zhang as if checking the status of the man who had been carrying the district with him, then to me.

“A rather modest room,” I commented.

Zhou Fang chuckled. “Yes. The bigger rooms didn’t feel right—especially when this is not a time for luxury. But I must ask, what brings you both here?”

I sighed. “I have a few things to tell you, Zhou Fang.”

He raised an eyebrow. Our escort soldier slipped away, pulling the door in carefully so it would not bang against the frame. The quiet that followed had the steady pressure of a room designed for focus. Zhang stayed just behind my shoulder.

“Ki—” I swallowed. “Ki told me I’ll need to sacrifice myself. It’s more complicated than that, but it boils down to the same thing. The only way for me to stop the Demon God is to match its strength and empty us both of will, self…” I began going through the run-through of events for what felt like the hundredth time.

It did not hurt any less than before for having done it previously, however easily the words came to me.

I laid it out as I had for the others: the fight with the Shen Yang that resulted in his takeover by the demon god and my subsequent death, the visions, the Qilin, the path that demanded an inescapable cost. I told him of the time we had that was not as long as it sounded and might be less if the months I had spent in visions counted against us. Finally, I concluded: “And hence, I want to mobilize the army as soon as possible.”

Zhou Fang’s eyes had widened at some point, but then he nodded, his mouth steadying. “I expected it would be something like that. To take down the demon god, a sacrifice would be required. Would it be callous of me to say I’m happy there’s at least a way? We’ve already lost the Divine Beasts, what is there left to throw against it? I’ll not be happy to see you walk to your death, but… Till yesterday, I thought it would be impossible, and we’re all doomed whatever we do.”

“Nothing wrong with feeling relieved, even if there’s a high cost. It’s always better to have a way than not have one,” I admitted, smiling. It was refreshing to have someone treat my sacrifice with composure. Others had met it with grief or anger or denial; all of those were honest. This was honest too, and useful besides.

It should have made me feel complex, maybe. But I knew Zhou Fang would sacrifice himself just as I was, if given the chance. His next words proved that.

“So you’re the first one who’ll be walking in my father’s steps before me,” he said softly. “Always ahead of me, Lu Jie. I’ll follow you eventually, when the time is right.”

“I would prefer there not come a time where you have to do that—that the era after the demon god is one of peace.”

Zhou Fang smiled. “I would prefer that too.” He looked toward the window for a breath as if measuring the distance to the Tree and the stretch of the district it covered. Perhaps he felt his father was watching over him, from within the Divine Tree. Lord Zhou likely was. Not only watching over Zhou Fang, but me too.

I chuckled at that thought. “Yes, I would be making Lord Zhou proud, wouldn’t I?”

Zhou Fang inclined his head, accepting the line between grief and duty without trying to erase it. He probably knew what I needed right now was respect and acceptance—especially since I, of all people, would not make this decision lightly. He knew I did not throw myself into anything if I could build a bridge across it first. If I said there was no bridge, he took me at my word.

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“I will mobilize all the troops,” Zhou Fang said. “We will make plans.” He looked toward General Zhang. “I assume you’ll be staying, and we’ll be discussing this?”

Zhang nodded. I looked at Zhang, his stiff expression, then had an idea. A grin spread over my face as I asked Zhou Fang, “Can I have a duel with Zhang before you go to planning?”

“A duel?” Zhou Fang asked curiously, faint surprise breaking his calm for the first time.

Zhang also looked at me, slightly confused. “A duel?” He tilted his head as if he were not sure he had heard correctly.

“Nothing fancy, just spears. We’ll suppress our Chi and have a proper duel. What do you say, Zhang? It’s been very long since we’ve done so, hasn’t it?”

Zhang opened his mouth, then shut it again. He couldn’t seem to refuse and so finally nodded.

—

I held the wooden spear in my hand, its weight comfortable as I looked at Zhang. His heart and mind were clearly not in it. He didn’t want a duel. But what he needed was movement, so I would provide that.

We had chosen the inner yard because the ground there stayed level and packed even after the morning drills. The snow had been cleared to the edges and piled against the low wall, where it melted slowly under the steady warmth that bled from the castle stones. Someone had marked scuffs on the yard’s stones where earlier pairs had set their feet for balance drills.

The militia had left two racks of practice spears near the entry. The hafts were sanded smooth and oiled to keep splinters down. The heads were blunted, wrapped in layered cloth that had been bound with lacquered twine.

I spun my spear once to test balance, then settled into a simple guard. Zhang mirrored me, though his hands were a fraction too tight on the wood. He had suppressed his Chi as promised. Even so, the habit of his gravity field hung around him like an outline. I felt it briefly when I moved close—a tiny tug on the haft as the wood came into the reach of his stance, a counter-pull when he remembered to keep it from interfering.

I leapt at him, stabbing the spear toward him.

He deflected it clumsily. The block caught my haft farther from the head than he would usually take it. The angle sent a jolt along his wrist. He absorbed it by dropping his elbow and shifting his weight back a hair. It would have been a clean reset if his attention had been fully here. The spear lay wrong in his grip for a breath, then righted itself as muscle memory did its work. He wasn’t used to fighting with just his body any more, but the old reflexes were still there under it all.

His eyes slid past my shoulder for an instant, and that was all I needed. I pressed forward to keep him from retreating into that other place in his head where grief took the place of the opponent in front of him.

We exchanged blows. I pressed him a few times, but all he did was deflect, sometimes even taking on shallow injuries directly.

The blunt head thumped his ribs once when he misjudged the distance by half a hand. Another time, I raked his forearm lightly when he tried to parry and forgot to pivot his hips with the motion. He hissed, not from pain but from annoyance at himself. He swallowed it. His feet knew where to go even when his head was slow to give orders.

He stepped to the side on my third advance and let my momentum carry me past, then tapped my shoulder on the way out without following up.

Exceptionally sloppy, for Zhang of all people. The thought made me grimace.

“Is that all you have, Zhang?” I taunted. “I didn’t expect your skills to have degraded this much while I’d been gone.”

Zhang only chuckled wryly, still out of it. The sound had no bite to it. He shifted his grip again, rolled his shoulders once as if trying to shake his thoughts loose, and set his feet in a stance that would allow a forward drive or a retreat. It was the stance of a man who was ready to catch weight, not throw it.

Defensive, again. Goddamit.

“How will you protect the city this way, if you can’t fight well? I thought they’d be relying on you once I’m gone,” I pushed.

That seemed to strike a nerve. His jaw set. He shoved me back with a careful push that used my momentum against me, then leapt, stabbing at me.

“That’s more like it.”

His next thrust came with actual energy. The spear point cut a straight line toward my shoulder.

I stepped inside and knocked it down.

He recovered cleanly and used the recoil to circle the head low toward my knee.

I blocked with the lower third of my haft and turned the circle away from my leg, then snapped a short, fast jab toward his chest.

He deflected, the wood scraping near my head. The first hint of heat rose between us, the friction of two people finally present in their bodies instead of somewhere else.

“I’m not like you, brother.” Zhang chuckled, almost manic. “I can’t replace you. I can’t protect the city without you.” He said it between breaths, not pausing the flow of strikes and counters. The words came out with the same rhythm as his steps: left, right, advance, pull back. “I was meant to be your weapon. I was meant to be the one to sacrifice myself, to be strong, to be powerful, to take up all your dirty deeds. But instead you’re the one sacrificing yourself. And that’s because I failed in my duty.”

I raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. “No, Zhang. You’re the only reason the city is safe. You’re the reason we’ve gotten this far. You’ve always accompanied me on this journey. You can take care of the city even without me. You’re not meant to replace me, you’re your own person. Your position is invaluable. Irreplaceable.” I kept moving as I spoke so he would have no real time to argue.

I made him block high and then low, forced him to shift his weight, to feel the ground under his feet, to hear the sound of the wood and the breath between us.

I meant everything I said; this city only lived due to people who knew what to do without waiting to be told, people who stepped into gaps and held them until someone else arrived. Zhang had been that person again and again. He could be that person again.

“No.” Zhang shook his head as we continued to duel. “There are still debts I need to repay. Things I need to make up for. And now—now you’re just going to die.” He brought the haft up to catch my next advance hard enough to numb my hands. It was a good choice. He had seen me push the pace and had decided to interrupt it. He stepped in on the contact and shouldered me back. The move was clean and not at all clumsy now. He could fight like this all day when he wasn’t dragging around the weight of so many unspoken words.

“You’ve repaid all of it and done plenty more. My healing of you? You repaid that ages ago. At this point you’ve stayed beside me because you’re a good friend, Zhang, and I truly appreciate it.”

He knew I meant it. We had crossed too many obstacles and successes together to waste breath on smoothing phrases. He’d seen me choose directness even when it cost us the comfortable quiet afterward, seen me choose it with him most of all.

The debt he spoke of had become a habit long after it ceased to be a tally. He needed to be reminded of that.

Zhang opened his mouth, then closed it. Another two quick exchanges before he burst out, “I can’t do this.”

“But you can. You’re my blade, aren’t you?” I said with a smile. “You’re the one who’s supposed to protect the city. You’re the one who’ll help hold them together. You’re the strongest weapon of mine, aren’t you?”

His breath stuttered once. He took a step back and then another, let me press him, then chose a moment to stop giving ground. He planted his back foot and came forward with a thrust that would have been dangerous with steel.

Zhang gave a shaky laugh. “Even if… Even if I fail? What if I fail to uphold these duties you’re giving me?”

I knocked it aside and slid left, aiming for his side. “Then you’ll stand back up and try again. That’s very typical of you, isn’t it?”

At this, Zhang laughed for real. He rotated his hips to close me out and brought his haft down on mine with a crack that echoed off the yard wall. He lifted his spear to the sky, then looked at me, tears dripping down his face. The cold air took some of the heat out of them as they slid along his cheekbones and fell. He held my eyes without flinching. “All right, then,” he said, and leapt, spear thrust forward.

I met him. The hafts crossed and locked. We pushed without Qi, using weight and angle, hips and shoulders, legs set against stone.

He broke contact first and swept at my legs.

I hopped the sweep and came down with my head already moving forward for a jab. He turned his head and the jab clipped his shoulder.

He grunted, then grinned with the kind of expression that belonged on him. He began to move faster, not dragging thought behind each strike, just letting practiced patterns lead. He used the full length of the weapon now—head, haft, butt—each part doing what it was shaped to do. He used the yard’s lines, too, marking distance by the scuffs left by earlier drills, by the shadow of the wall shifting as the wind moved.

“You’ve already done more than enough, Zhang,” I said when the next separation came and we set our feet again. “I’m only asking more because I’m selfish.”

The spear in his hands dipped a fraction and then steadied. “And I will do my best to fulfill it,” Zhang promised.

We didn’t speak for a dozen exchanges. His breathing settled into the count we had used in the old training yards and mine fell into the same rhythm without even trying. He stopped trying to match me in a way that pretended we were the same size and shape and strength; he started using what he was and what I was, the way he always did when he wasn’t distracted by the world around him crashing down. When he was fighting just to fight, when he was fighting to win.

He pressed where I liked to step out, harried when I tried to change the fight’s tempo. He stuttered the rhythm once, enough to make me over-commit, then slid aside and tapped the side of my knee with the butt. Playfully, mischievously, clearly saying, ‘gotcha’. But he didn’t choose to end the battle, and so we continued.

Free of unspoken tension, just two men with our weapons, as if the world wasn’t about to end around us.