Chapter Twenty-Six Sparring

“Uncle, who is this?” The young man arched an eyebrow slightly, looking at Magistrate Feng with a hint of confusion.

“You’re always pestering me to find you a sparring partner—this is the one,” Magistrate Feng replied with a broad grin, gesturing toward Qi Jun.

From the moment the young man had entered, Qi Jun had been sizing him up. The youth’s upright posture and the well-defined muscles along his arms betrayed a solid foundation in the martial arts and impressive physical prowess.

The young man paused, glancing at Qi Jun with a look of surprise and skepticism. “Him? Uncle, you must be joking! With that scrawny frame, I’d be afraid of killing him with a single blow!” He shook his head, flicked his hand dismissively, and turned to leave, convinced that his uncle, annoyed by his persistent requests, had simply plucked a random young man to humor him.

Magistrate Feng only smiled, casting a knowing look at Qi Jun before returning to the dining table and pouring himself another cup of wine, settling in with obvious anticipation for the spectacle about to unfold.

Qi Jun understood Magistrate Feng’s meaning well enough—he was to show all his skill and give this nephew a proper demonstration.

The youth’s dismissive tone and look had kindled a fire in Qi Jun’s heart. He clenched his fists and strode after the young man toward the door.

Magistrate Feng’s eyes brightened at the sight, his face alight with expectation as he took a sip of wine.

“Please wait, young master!” Qi Jun called after him.

The young man froze, turning around to see the frail-looking scholar catching up to him. He frowned.

“Go back! I won’t fight you.” His voice was tinged with impatience as he gestured for Qi Jun to stop. “I know what you’re after—if it’s silver you want, I’ll give it to you. There’s no sense risking your life for it. Even if I win, I’d be ridiculed for bullying a weak scholar.”

With a yawn, he turned to leave, but even after several steps, he could feel the gaze lingering on his back. He looked over his shoulder to find Qi Jun still standing there, hands clasped behind his back, regarding him with a strange smile.

“This is your last warning! Get lost, unless you’re looking for a beating!” the youth snapped, annoyance growing. How could this fellow be so stubborn? With a huff, he fished a couple of silver pieces from his pouch and tossed them at Qi Jun’s feet.

Qi Jun didn’t spare a glance at the silver, instead watching the youth’s retreating figure with amusement. Clearly, the boy, though born to an official’s family, had a decent nature. Even as he devoted himself to martial arts, there was no cruelty in him, no urge to use his strength to bully the weak.

With this in mind, Qi Jun was curious to test the youth’s abilities—perhaps fate might make them allies yet. He took a running start, launching himself off his left foot and whipping a powerful right kick at the youth’s nape.

The youth had already made up his mind to leave, but after just a few steps, the sound of rapid footsteps behind made him whirl around, just in time to feel a fierce gust aimed at his neck.

Startled, he crossed his arms in front of his face to block the blow. The impact sent a tingling numbness through his arms and forced him several steps back.

Steadying himself, he glared at the frail scholar before him, now realizing he had vastly underestimated his opponent. He immediately bent his knees, arms outstretched, taking up a fighting stance.

“Master Deng, be careful!” Qi Jun called, realizing the youth was now serious and resolved to finish things quickly. His eyes turned cold as he leapt, bringing his foot down directly toward his opponent’s face.

The youth quickly raised his arms to block, catching the powerful downward strike, but the force nearly buckled his arms and sent his body sinking. He gritted his teeth, summoned his strength, and with a shout, flung Qi Jun’s leg upward, then lunged forward with a punch aimed at Qi Jun’s face.

Qi Jun leaned back just in time to avoid it, then hooked his right hand into a claw, seizing the youth’s wrist and flinging him backward.

Caught off guard, the youth stumbled several steps, barely staying upright, only to feel another surge of wind at his back.

He turned to block, but his footing was unsteady. Qi Jun’s kick caught him square in the chest, sending him sprawling onto his back.

His head struck the flagstone, stars bursting before his eyes. But there was no time to nurse his aching skull—he rolled aside just as Qi Jun’s knee crashed down where he’d lain.

Qi Jun’s attack missed, his knee slamming into the ground, sending a jolt of pain up his leg. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain, and aimed a kick at the youth’s head before he could rise.

Magistrate Feng watched the match, so captivated he forgot the cup of wine in his hand.

Qi Jun’s ruthless moves filled him with delight and admiration. Seeing Deng Fang faltering, nearly struck by Qi Jun’s knee, he started in his seat and spilled wine down his robes.

“Stop!” Magistrate Feng could bear it no longer as Qi Jun’s foot shot toward his nephew on the ground.

Qi Jun pulled his kick at the last second, the gust of wind stopping just short of the youth’s nose. The youth stared wide-eyed at Qi Jun, cold sweat beading on his brow.

Qi Jun withdrew, cupped his hands to Magistrate Feng in salute. The magistrate nodded in return.

Qi Jun let out a breath, then crouched and offered his hand to the youth, intending to help him up.

But the youth, unwilling to concede, glared at Qi Jun and turned away, ignoring him. Qi Jun grimaced, spreading his hands in resignation and sighed, preparing to rise.

But the youth seized the opportunity, grabbing Qi Jun’s ankle and yanking hard. Qi Jun, caught off guard, toppled to the ground.

The youth executed a kip-up and pounced, intent on grappling with Qi Jun on the ground. Qi Jun read his intention at once, braced his knee against the youth’s chest, and pushed him back, then used the momentum to spring to his feet.

“Hey! Trying to sneak attack me now? That’s hardly honorable,” Qi Jun retorted as he brushed the dust from his clothes, recalling a saying from the internet in his past life.

The youth, catching his breath, flushed with embarrassment.

It was only that, having been pressed and overwhelmed for so long, his frustration and resentment had made him desperate, like a gambler bent on a last-ditch reversal, leading him to resort to such a trick.

“I’m not satisfied!” the youth cried, standing tall, his neck red and thick with anger.

Qi Jun shook his head and walked toward Magistrate Feng. Having fulfilled the magistrate’s request to display his skills, he was eager to fetch the antidote and save his friend Yunfei, and had no wish to continue the contest.

“Stop right there!” The youth, still unwilling to concede, darted ahead, spreading his arms to block Qi Jun’s path to Magistrate Feng.

Qi Jun arched an eyebrow—was this boy truly such a sore loser? Magistrate Feng was also caught off guard, narrowing his eyes. “Deng Fang, victory and defeat are commonplace in the martial field. Now that the outcome is clear, why persist?”

“Fists and kicks aren’t my forte—of course I’m not convinced!” the youth shot back, pointing at Qi Jun. “Let’s compete again—what do you say?”

Qi Jun sighed. Clearly, the youth would not be placated otherwise. “What do you want to compete in now?”

“Let me think…” The youth’s eyes lit up as Qi Jun accepted the challenge, and he pondered his options.

“Since victory in unarmed combat has been decided, why not try weapons next?” Magistrate Feng suggested, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

“Good! Let’s compete with weapons,” the youth agreed at once. The magistrate’s residence boasted a fine collection, and he was proficient with them all. Knowing his uncle’s suggestion was a deliberate advantage made him inwardly rejoice.

Magistrate Feng, aware of his nephew’s strengths, had proposed this partly out of favoritism, but also to see how Qi Jun handled weaponry.

“Very well. How shall we compete?” Qi Jun replied without hesitation.

Magistrate Feng looked at Qi Jun in surprise, his anticipation growing. He turned to his nephew, Deng Fang. “Deng Fang, you set the rules this time. But win or lose, you must not trouble him further!”

“Hmph. There’s no way I’ll lose this time,” the youth scoffed, brimming with confidence as he looked at Qi Jun. “The rules are simple. We each choose our weapon. First to fall loses. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Qi Jun replied flatly, limbering his joints.

The youth studied Qi Jun’s face, searching for any sign of nerves but finding only calm. He nodded and called to Axin, “Bring out all the weapons from the armory!”