Blueprint for Immortality: a Crafting Xianxia

“Two thousand five hundred!” Booker returned, volleying back with an imitation of anger. He’d chosen the bid to not be too high or too low, but show the desperation of someone reaching the ends of their means.

“Three.” Zheng Bai’s smugness and triumph were clear in that one word.

She’s bought the bait – completely.

“Zheng Bai, you rat. If you contest me on this, do you think I won’t raise hell about your actions in the city today? This is too brazen for gutter dregs like you – crawl back into the hole that spat you up! I’ll bid three thousand, five hundred.” Valley Tiger’s voice boomed from the balcony box above, and Booker could hear the set of his teeth as he ground his jaw in frustration.

“Oh, Captain Tiger…” Zheng Bai’s voice didn’t bother to conceal the laugh underneath her words. “You seem so attached to this trinket, so naturally, I have to know what makes it so intriguing. I’ll bid four.” To Zheng Bai, the sound of a guard captain watching his family’s honor slip away must have been some kind of thrill – Booker had only the one memory of meeting her, oddly enough, for someone who had cast a shadow over the final days of Rain’s life. But that one memory told him what he needed to know.

A cultivator who went beyond cold cruelty to the weak – who reveled in bringing others low.

“Six thousand.” Valley Tiger replied, sending ripples through the auction house.

The air in the auction house at that moment…

There was laughter from the upper balconies, seeing Valley Tiger rush so arrogantly to beat down the competition and claim the prize, only to be blocked by such an unsavory character. There was electricity below, in the theater where the common people sat or stood by, trying to follow the back and forth of politics.

Many of them might have known Zheng Bai, and maybe as many knew Valley Tiger. What they didn’t know was… What was the value in this jade trinket they were fighting over tooth and nail? With every bid volleyed back and forth, the allure of the mysterious pendant grew.

And like Booker had feared…

That brought vultures.

“Six thousand, two hundred.” A voice came from the high boxes, unfamiliar to Booker. A wave of excited noise passed through the crowd, whispers exchanged under the cover of darkness as they speculated – Booker caught the title ‘Young Lord’ and nothing more. “Unless I’m mistaken, Valley Tiger, you should be at your limits, no? Six thousand is a very high bid for a guard captain… Unless you have an alternate means to afford this.”

“This…” Valley Tiger hesitated in a way Booker had never heard him falter before, as if this new voice held deep power over him.

And that was definitely a threat. Implying he’s corrupt if he keeps bidding… It’s absolutely vicious, but you need high status for it to be taken seriously at all.

But if there was a restraint in Valley Tiger that Booker was only now beginning to see, his pride was still stronger. “This is a personal family heirloom, so with my apologies, even if it ruins me… I cannot let this matter go.”

“Heh.” There was a pause, and the auction house held its breathe… “I suppose if it’s only a family heirloom of some sentimental value, I can withdraw my bid.”

“Sir!” The daughter of the Golden Moon on stage protested. “You cannot withdraw a bid!”

“Can’t I?” The Young Lord answered. “I imagine you will not find any such law in the books of Mantis City, or find anyone who remembers such a law. It is merely convention, yes? And if convention is the rules of society, then surely we can recognize in a civilized land such as our own, only a lowlife would compete to steal away a man’s family treasure. I won’t let anyone such as you force me into dishonoring a man like Captain Valley Tiger so…” His voice was a purr, always on the verge of laughing.

There was a moment where the auctioneer glanced off-stage, receiving some unspoken message before turning back. “Of course sir. Since you didn’t know it was Captain Valley Tiger’s personal treasure, there’s no validity to the bid.”

Hmm. This Young Lord… He’s a dominating presence, for sure. First he steps in to see if he wants to steal the treasure away, and when Valley Tiger practically begs him to refrain, he immediately turns and subjugates the whole room…

‘Only a lowlife would compete to steal away a man’s family treasure’ isn’t an off-hand remark. It’s a line drawn in the sand.

“I’m glad we all see the same reason. And since that’s the case, there’s no need to drag this out.” The Young Lord said.

“Indeed. The present bid is six thousand. If nobody is going to contest…”

“One thing!” Booker called out, and felt the crowd’s attention fully turn towards him. Before they had read him as another bidder who couldn’t afford a place in the balconies, or to compete with the high rollers, and were happy to rub shoulders with him.

But as he shouted out, the crowd drew back from him. He felt the whispers begin in the room. The eyes focusing on his brand, his novice robes, his tall physique. It was easy to read what was being said: isn’t that Valley Tiger’s cripple of a nephew?

Or maybe…

Poor Valley Tiger, hasn’t he been humiliated enough today?

“I am the blood of the Valley. Therefor, I have the right to compete for this treasure.” He announced. Then, turning towards the balcony where he’d heard Zheng Bai’s voice – “Zheng Bai! I’m a little short on cash, but I happened to hear you’ve got four thousand liang to spare. I have three thousand myself. Doesn’t that mean we could defeat Valley Tiger together? As for settling who walks away with the amulet, I’m happy to hear your ideas for compromise – but if it was up to me, I’d say we kill each other for it like cultivators.”

For the first time, Zheng Bai emerged from the shadows of her balcony box. Seen in the shadows, she seemed to almost be a part of them, her dark clothing blending into the gloom and her eyepatch crossing her weather-bitten face like a scar of shadow. Her scarred lips were held in a rigid pose of contempt, the cold expression a cultivator adopted when they were addressing their inferiors. “Are you… is this cripple trying to duel me?”

A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd.

The way that sentence faltered and redirected – first she was talking to me, then she faltered, and tried to play to the audience. She’s sensed a trap. For all her pride, she’s a cunning street thug at heart.

“Are you afraid?” He responded, lifting his voice to a shout. “You and I both know what I know. You may think the Sect will protect you – you may even be right – but there will come a day when that slack runs out.”

And you should be afraid. You are afraid of Valley Tiger, even if he can’t directly strike you down. That’s why bidding on this was worth it – Zheng Bai doesn’t know a single thing about what the amulet does, she only knows its leverage on Valley Tiger, a guard captain.

But to try and grab that leverage and fail? She’s just ensured he will find a way to punish her.

“Cocky insect. No matter how you scream at the sky to strike you down with lightning, the storm does not bend to to the demands of mortals. Go home and find a crippled girl, have worthless children.” Sneering, Zheng Bai turned her back…

And Booker launched his last secret weapon.

“Extract whispering pine tar by scraping the inside of whispering pine bark, using a light acid along the blade to aid in breaking the bonds. Muster the harvested tar into boluses and store for three days in a cool, dark place. Take whispering pine tar and suspend it in a solution of diluted alcohol to boil at the gentle heat of a tea kettle. When the tar has become loose and liquid, sieve away the alcohol and retain the thickest part of the tar….”

These were the first words of the recipe to Blue Heaven Pills.

And while everyone else in the audience might have been confused, wondering at the meaning to these words…

Zheng Bai understood perfectly what he was threatening, and had come to a stop.

What did Zheng Bai fear most? Not justice. Competition. Another alchemist who knew her secrets, her recipes, her poisons.

“Shall I go on?”

She turned back, her one eye glaring. “What nonsense is this… What game are you playing?” Zheng Bai demanded, but Booker remained silent, letting her feel the inevitability of the trap closing around her. She might know it was there – but what could she do to escape now?

Now isn’t the time to dance around the point. Attack, now, and she’s defending her honor as someone who’s just ran away from a cripple.

He lifted his voice, calling out. “I’ve told you the trap – the trap is you step into a dueling ring with a cripple, and come out a corpse. All you have to do to avoid this fate is to defeat me. Other than that? If you want to say my uncle can’t intervene, granted. If you want to say I can’t borrow cultivation treasures, granted. Whatever cowardly excuses you have, let’s hear them.”

One by one, he removed the tricks she could point to as a legitimate excuse for avoiding the fight.

“This… this…” Zheng Bai sputtered.

“Dearest Zheng Bai.” The calm, purring voice of the Young Lord emerged like a knife glinting in the shadows before being shoved into an unsuspected back. “He asked a question I don’t feel you’ve answered, so let us pause the verbal sparring. The question is… Are you afraid?”

There was a breathless pause in the auction house – the mere insinuation of the insult was enough to make the blood run cold. Forget honor, forget status in society. If a cultivator wasn’t feared, they would inevitably be dragged down by betrayals, ambushes, and challenges from rivals. Cultivation allowed a martial artist to kill a mortal with ease. But it was intimidation that made the mortals work for the Sect, for Zheng Bai…

“This impudent creature doesn’t recognize the mercy I tried to show him by declining. But my pride is no small thing, if Young Lord is beginning to have his doubts, I see I have no choice.” Zheng Bai snarled. “At the end of the auction – let’s simply do things here.”

And…

This is it. She’s fallen for the trap – I have her without her guards, without her defenses. The only remaining obstacle is her. Either I kill her or…

Or I was never meant to walk this path.

“I accept.”

— — —

The attendants of the Golden Moon led hm to a small room, one of the private chambers where the treasures for the auctions were appraised and priced.

“The auction should only take a little longer.” Yi Yuxuan was there, although he didn’t recognize Booker. The old man took a candle from the table, shaved away much of the wax, and lit it with a match. “When the candle is exhausted, expect us to call you shortly. If there’s anything you need, a final arrangement of your possessions…”

“Thank you, but…” Booker shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll need that.”

“Hmmm.” Yi Yuxuan smiled gently, without a single shred of faith. “I see. Confident! Well, don’t let this old man tell you your luck. You never know until the dice roll.”

“A novice called Wei Qi should come looking for me soon.” Booker added before the door closed. “Please send him here.”

“Of course.”

As soon as the door was shut, Booker let the calm demeanor drop. Covering his face with one hand, he closed his eyes and breathed slowly, cycling in and out until his entire body was in rhythm with the flow of each inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale…

His bag opened and Snips buzzed out, doing a spiral around his shoulders. Froggie leapt onto the table, croaking proudly. It was only after a moment of waiting that Booker realized Zhi-Zhi had no intent of showing up – the little mole was fast asleep in the bottom of the bag.

“Huh? This is my big moment, little guy. Aren’t you going to support me?”

He turned to Snips.

“See? Now that’s confidence. He knows I’ll still be there when he wakes up.” He joked, albeit with a tired voice that soon gave way to a sigh.

There was a small reed meditation mat on the floor. He sat down, crossing his legs into the lotus pose…

This is it.

The moment is coming where I either leap the dragon gate, or die trying.

Who am I? For the last few weeks, I’ve been an outsider struggling to swim in unfamiliar waters, someone from another world, trying to learn as they stumble along. Telling lies and spinning plans just to stay alive…

But that’s just staying alive. That’s not me – that’s who this world is shaping me into it.

All this time I’ve dreamed of becoming a cultivator. It feels… natural to me. After all, what’s more natural than wanting to live forever? To be free from loss and humiliation? These are normal things to want, and impossible things to achieve.

Or they were, back on Earth.

Back on Earth… Even then, I wasn’t free from pride. I carried myself like I was smarter, stronger, better than the rest. I have an ego. I know I have an ego.

I know everyone thinks they’re going to be the one who defies the heavens. Who rises from nothing to everyone.

And they die. Nine times out of ten. Ninety nine out of a hundred.

So if I can say, truly and honestly, that I’ll be happy living my life without that power, without that responsibility…

Then I should start running now and find somewhere quiet to live a simple life.

But I don’t think I can. No, I know I can’t. Back on Earth, I’ve lived one quiet life before – and I felt the joy within me drying up faster than my body could, not because my life was bad, not because I was unfairly treated or wronged, but because I was simply allowing myself to rot from the inside out. Talent without a dream. Ego without challenges…

I had so many gifts and I would have wasted them all.

And then I came here, and my life is madness, I’m overworked in a dozen directions, I’m at constant risk of my life…

I’ve never been more alive.

How many times have I really thought about Earth? About studying to be an architect?

Why does the idea of going back, not just hold no appeal, but actively make something hurt inside my stomach, like I’m trying to puke the thought back up?

Because.

This is my world.

This is my life.

I don’t want or need another.

I just need the power to make it a better place. And I know that puts me on the same road as every other cultivator. I know I’m walking the same path they do, the path of violence and power, and expected peace to come from it.

But that’s fine.

If everyone else can live for an impossible dream, I can too. I can bet my life on my own will to survive. I have nothing else to bet, and nobody else to bet on.

This is my second chance.

Why not spend it on something that would make me truly happy?

As he put his thoughts in place, the waves of exhaustion he’d suffered at the clinic from overusing Dialyze began to ebb away. Strain of the soul wasn’t entirely like strain of the body – where the latter could be cured with medicine, and both could be recovered from with rest, it seemed that his reservoir of soul was best restored with meditation, introspection, and setting his thoughts into order.

There was a knock at the door, and Booker realized he’d been drifting in and out of the meditation state, his thoughts going completely still between brief moments of clarity. Rising, he crossed to the door and opened it.

“Elder brother?” Wei Qi asked from the other side, looking nervous. “I uh, couldn’t help but overhear there’s a duel going on. Between a cripple and a cultivator. Ah, that wouldn’t be you, would it?”

“I’m afraid your elder brother has made some more foolish decisions.” Booker confirmed. “Did you bring what I asked for?”

“I did, but Brother Rain, I looked inside. I see what you’re planning but – you’ll never land the hit. Please. Brother Rain, pride is one thing, but this is suicide! Please withdraw from the duel!” Wei Qi bowed his head, flushing bright red as he always seemed to do when defying the chain of seniority.

“Don’t worry. This isn’t my only bad idea, and enough of them are sure to add up into a winning plan.” Booker smiled faintly. “Wei Qi… we didn’t meet under the best of circumstances. If you wanted to hate me for killing Hu Bao, and maybe you do, that would be your right. But you’ve been nothing but a good ally to me. If I die here, please take care of Snips, Froggie, and Zhi-Zhi, and let them take care of you.”

“Brother Rain! Don’t say such things. A man who makes appointments for his death is sure to keep them. As for this, all of this – surely it’s not too late to step down and spare your life! You have to consider what a bright career you have ahead of you with the Sect! You might be unable to cultivate now, but in a few years, you’ll surely have fixed your meridians and can slap Zheng Bai aside like a bug!”

“And how many victims will she make in those years? I just…” Booker shook his head, his mouth twisting at their corners with a kind of self-aimed sarcasm… “I can’t back down here. As much as I try to turn the other cheek, and say I don’t envy power… Who doesn’t dream of power? Who doesn’t want to change the world? I… some part of me wants to walk away and spare myself the bloodshed, one way or the other. But if this is just about what I want, then I’m no different from anyone else.”

To some extent… I’m simply backed into a corner by my own claims of morality. When somebody pushes me down or oppresses me for being a cripple, I can turn the other cheek, because I can tell myself, I have strengths they don’t see. That they’re a petty person with too much power, and I’m a good person with too little.

And whether that’s actually true…

Whether I began this journey as a good person, or just a drifter with some vague ideas of right and wrong…

There’s only so many times you can tell yourself something, before you need to prove it’s true, to yourself and to the world. Today is the day.

Wei Qi bit his lip, and nodded. “Brother Rain, I can see there’s no begging you out of this, or I would try. I only hope you’re right.”

Together, they took the large rectangular crate that two of the Sect’s porters had brought into the room, closing the door behind them.

Inside, packed in a bedding of hay, were Booker’s weapons he’d commissioned by passing on the secrets of the Master Page. A pair of metal gauntlets with segmented plates that covered the back of his arms with overlapping defenses, held in place by numerous criss-crossing leather straps. The hands were the most exceptional part. The basic shape of a human hand was so distorted into crude, bludgeoning weapons, that only the leather-clad gloves below would retain any dexterity.

That was because the gauntlets were made for one thing – overwhelming force. Over the knuckles sat a wide band of reinforced wood and metal studded with short, pyramidal spikes. And along the back of the hand, extending to line up with that strike surface, were a pair of shortnosed gun barrels.

With each strike – as the firing mechanism in the knuckle-band was compressed – one of the barrels would fire, spraying leads pellets with destructive force at point blank range. Each hand had only two shots, but those shots held the strength to challenge Zheng Bai.

A bottom-tier cultivator like Zheng Bai would be torn apart if he could land a single punch on a vital area.

If.

“Alright, Wei Qi. I need you to do a few things more for me.” Taking out parchment and quill, he hastily scratched out a quick list. Poisonous herbs, simple weapons, unusual tools. Every idea he could concoct to leverage the book, his great advantage, in this battle.

Wei Qi nodded. “How long do you think we have?”

Booker glanced to the candle. It was already burnt past the halfway mark, and beginning to dwindle down to nothing.

“We have long enough. I’ll just work fast.”

— — —

The auction completed with the sale of the fortress-golem seed, which brought out bidders who had been silent through the rest of the night. This was the real prize. The only thing that had even drawn them into bidding before were the pills Booker had delivered out of rare herbs.

And then the stage was cleared. The lights – from this perspective, Booker could see the stage was actually lit by floating stones that glowed like miniature moons – had been turned on to a blazing degree, obscuring the crowd from sight behind a wall of brilliance.

Booker had strapped on the gauntlets, feeling their surprisingly slim weight drag at his movements. He hadn’t bothered with armor. It was too heavy, and non-magical armor would provide little help if Zheng Bai got ahold of him. Instead, he had brought a large round shield, the surface smeared with a yellowish alchemical paste.

Strapped to his belt were three knives coated in the strongest poisons he could bring out on short notice – his old master had warned him that the best weapon for an alchemist facing a cultivator was a set of poisoned needles to throw, giving them reach and lethality without needing strength, and this was the best he could do to follow that advice.

Clutched in his left hand, trickling between the gauntlet’s clumsy fingers, was a handful of blinding dust.

Booker had brought out every advantage he could think of. Every tool he’d scraped together since coming here.

Zheng Bai had chosen a large, double-handed saber. The gleam of the stage lights ran along the curved edge.

As they stepped out the stage, Booker could hear the crowd crying out, bets being made, distant laughter. He blocked it all out, narrowing his focus to just the opponent before him.

“Whatever you’re playing at – you have a lot of nerve.” She swung the sword back and forth, pacing impatiently at her edge of the ring. “I almost respect it. Better than the bug you were when I first met you.”

“Zheng Bai, who you respect and what you think of me doesn’t matter. Your last words deserve to be forgotten, and I’m not here to talk.” Booker answered coldly.

“At the sound of the gong!” The announcer cried.

Booker tried to find the state of relaxed tension, ready but still elastic, that he needed to fight. Three breaths passed – and the gong rung out.

What happened next happened without thought, only instinct.

Zheng Bai shot forward, pushing off from the ground and covering the space between them in a breathless fraction of a second. Her sword was already raised, already chopping down, and all Booker could do was react split-seconds late, struggling to keep pace with an opponent who could set the tempo at will. His shield raised in slow motion to catch the sword–

That first blow nearly hacked the shield in two, the blade’s edge biting down to the reinforced metal below and driving one of Booker’s knees to the ground as the overhead, descending force crashed into his arm and made the bone jar within, his muscles going numb with impact.

That first blow – was the most likely point for everything to go wrong. For Zheng Bai to simply be faster, or stronger, than he expected.

For him to get cut down in a single breath.

From here on out, he had planned everything else. As Zheng Bai yanked back her sword to chop down again and break through the shield entirely, she found an unexpected weight dragging down her arm, the full weight of Booker’s body.

After all… the shield was smeared with an inescapable alchemical glue. As she pulled back, sticky strands of yellow connected her sword to the surface.

“Child’s tricks.” She snarled, and kicked upwards for his head, aiming to simply pulverize his skull with one sharp rising blow – after all, he’d foolishly chained himself to a stronger opponent.

Booker released the shield, brought his arms together in a cross, and let the hammering strike lift him off the ground and send him flying back into the dirt. All the breath left his body. Every muscle tensed with shock, and the crowd winced, seeing it all over.

Sure, he had survived the hit – valiant enough for a cripple – but he’d never be back on his feet before she crossed the distance and stomped him into paste.

Never…

Except that clustered on the underside of the shield, adhered there, was a half-dozen grenades he’d lit with a hidden spark of Furnace.

Zheng Bai reached down to wrench the sticky shield off her sword, saw them, and–

Well, Booker couldn’t see. But he hoped she made a hell of a face.

In the instant before detonation, moving with a speed only a cultivator could, she flung the shield aside and raised her arm to cover her face. The explosion sent shards of shrapnel and poisoned dust spraying through the air on a current of fire and thunder, forcing her to stumble back.

The light dazed her, the force staggered her. Shards of metal bit into her sword-arm and a scream more of rage than of pain escaped above the thunderous boom of explosives. Fire clung to her hair as she lowered her guard…

Booker was already back on his feet. He had no cultivated speed, or stamina, but he had taken three berserking pills before this fight, drawing out every iota of his strength. In the moment where Zheng Bai was sent reeling, he rushed forward –

To fling blinding powder straight into her one good eye.

The caustic powder – a mix of basic lye that clung and burned, poisons that could numb a cultivator’s resistance, and neurotoxins that attacked the retina directly – splashed across her face and clung on, eating into the skin.

She flung a clumsy left hook, a counterpunch, stepping back, pain and shock overriding her sense of superiority as she fell back into defense. Booker could hear the crowd – and they weren’t laughing now.

The punch was slow and ill-thought. A fast jab was simply something he couldn’t react in time to block, but this?

This was giving away an arm for free.

As Booker’s intercepting strike slammed down into her wrist from above, a descending right hook, the primed firing band of the gauntlet pressed down with a snappy click.

Gunpowder-flame and lead shot ripped through the muscle, tendon, and bone of Zheng Bai’s wrist, and blood sprayed across the ground as she was sent staggering back, clutching the stump where her hand barely dangled by its remaining half. Booker’s own fist was drooling a cloud of foul-smelling smoke.

Booker advanced, drawn in by the blind fear shining in her body language. This was the time – she had been surprised three times in short order, robbed of her weapon, her sight, her left hand. If there was ever a chance to finish things, it had to be now.

He lunged forward to drive a hard left jab into her skull and end this with another explosive punch.

His arm barely got halfway before she twisted, bringing her leg up in a kick as swift and straight as any bullet. The kick had a machine precision to its strength and efficiency. It slammed into his extending arm, and no amount of armor could save his joints from the brutal pressure that simply snapped the bone like a twig. The first shot of the gun-gauntlet misfired, spraying off shrapnel in a wild burst that was too far away to hold any impact.

There was no pain. His berserking pills had turned off that capacity. He felt with oddly little sensation, the numb feeling of his bone ripping out through his skin from beneath. Every finger went numb, and the expression of shock on his face was absolute.

Even blinded and driven back, she had simply taken his arm for the sin of over-extending.

Now – even though the pain was gone – Booker felt adrenaline hit his system, a cold clarity expanding over his mind, a sharpness of thought. In this moment a step away from death, the meditation state rippled through his mind and brought him peace of mind.

Instead of trying to chase for the kill, he brought his good arm up on instinct, reacting before the attack could even begin and saving his life in the process. As Zheng Bai slammed her foot back down and lunged forward, advancing with an open-palmed strike, the impact slammed into the back of his gauntlets where metal covered his arms, sending him skidding back.

Booker coughed, spilling bubbles of spit and blood over his bottom lip. Every impact felt like he was being hit by a train…

And how did she see – how did she predict his attack and aim her own – without sight?

Booker didn’t know and the unknown was a crack beginning to show in his plan. Killing a cultivator… it relied on denying them their strengths, controlling the rhythm of the fight with ambushes and dirty tricks. Preventing them from ever bringing out their strengths.

But this was a strength he didn’t know, and thus couldn’t counter.

A fatal chance for Zheng Bai to escape the trap.

He ripped a throwing knife lined with poison off his belt, flinging it towards Zheng Bai. It spun awkwardly in the air – he was no expert – and she knocked it aside. He threw another without even thinking, stepping back and using the throws to give himself cover for the movement.

It was no good.

Even though they had traded arms, even though she had come out of the first two exchanges blind, even though Zheng Bai had only landed a single solid hit – she still somehow held the advantage. Each dagger was struck from the air with the back of her hand as she advanced, screaming now, a low roar of pain and rage building and bursting forth into a wordless screech as the distance Booker’s maneuver had opened between them simply – vanished.

She was on top of him before he could even finish throwing the third knife.

He twisted, dodging a clumsy overhead punch – she was less precise now, even if she was still blindingly fast. But before he could weave around her and escape, her rising knee lifted up into his chest and drove the breath out of him again, crushing his stomach and internal organs into living bruises with even a weak blow.

Zheng Bai slammed into him with her shoulder and they both went toppling down to the ground, Booker feeling his ribs fracture in the same pain-dulled clarity that had come with his arm being snapped.

His hand grabbed for her face, aiming to get his thumb into her eye – it was the only weakness he could see, here where the space between their bodies was too slim for a proper punch.

But that desperate tactic meant nothing. She grabbed his hand before it could reach her face, and instead of simply pushing him away, she dragged his thumb down towards her mouth.

Even a berserking pill had its limits. He felt her teeth rend through flesh and snap the bone and crush it all to paste between her jaws, a trail of red dripping down her chin from her grinning mouth as she ripped her head back – aiming to finish this with a headbutt that would crush his skull against the floor while his good hand was bound.

She howled with triumph.

Booker swung his broken arm up in a desperate last maneuver, letting the pain fully blind him into a world of white sparks dancing across his vision as he forced the mangled mess of bone and severed muscle to move unnaturally, swinging limp and knocking into the side of her head.

The band was snapped down – and an explosion of gunpowder blew her eardrum apart from point blank, pellets shredding the right half of her face and ripping her ear away so it dangled by a grotesque ribbon. At the height of her triumph – when she was sure she had won – she faltered.

The grip she held over his good hand faltered, and he punched forward, unable to aim and not caring where it landed so long as it landed.

The meat of her shoulder was ripped clear away as the bone-crushing force cracked her collarbone apart. Booker flung his weight into a roll, screaming as he tumbled over his own ruined arm, and managed to reverse the grapple to throw himself clear.

They were both on the ground now, struggling to rise. Zheng Bai pushed against the floorboards with her one remaining hand, and collapsed, her ruined shoulder unable to bear her weight as blood pooled beneath her.

Booker shoved his thumbless hand down, ignoring the pain, and rose. His pose was awkward now, curled inwards with pain and trying to protect all the broken angles where he couldn’t properly defend.

The entire fight to this point had happened in the space of a few breaths. But now, they were both so wounded that limping to their feet took longer than the rest combined.

Booker could see the world dimming around him. The damage the berserking pill had ‘hidden’ from him was all still adding up, and his body was on the verge of collapsing. If he could have landed a single poisoned blade, he could claim victory now.

Walk away and let Zheng Bai collapse when her own berserking pills were exhausted…

But as he fumbled at his belt, smearing blood across the hilt of his last knife, he couldn’t even draw it into his thumbless hand – much less throw it.

He looked back and Zheng Bai had managed to stand. She was worse off than he’d realized – a portion of her skull was actually split apart, all but exposing her brain.

Zheng Bai spat the remains of his thumb onto the ground. “Better… than I expected…” She panted out, her breath heavy and drool sliding down her chin alongside the copious blood. “But you still need to finish me…”

And one good kick could put me down in a way I’ll never stand back up from.

Time is against me – I’ll probably collapse before she does.

She’s taunting me, but she’s taunting me with the truth. I have to finish this.

Booker looked at her for a slow moment, heartbeat hammering hard in his chest, rising through the flushed and strained, cold and shaking reaches of his body to pulse within his ears, a rushing battlesong that drowned out the crowd now. Every muscle had been pushed and bruised past its limit. He felt his own weight starting to drag him towards the ground, getting harder to resist with every passing breath.

I have to finish this now.

But… How is she seeing me?

Her eyes are gone. She’ll never see again. I don’t think her hearing could be that sharp, not after so many point-blank explosions…

I…

I have a guess. And in the end… I have to trust that instinct.

It’s all I have left.

Slowly, he straightened his back, and even as exhaustion began to close his vision off with a surrounding perimeter of black creeping in at the edges…

He breathed in and out, slowly mustering his martial intent like Fen had taught him.

The one and only cultivation technique Booker knew, simple enough that even a cripple could manage. He had practiced for hours on that candle-flame, until it could no longer sense the movement of his hand and bend to it. Now, Zheng Bai was the flame – and if she sensed his presence, or if he was simply wrong about how she had detected his first attempt to finish her off, then he would die.

But if that thought, the fear of death, was allowed to infect him…

His control over his martial intent would surely collapse. It was the act of stepping into death’s jaws without the least fear of being bitten.

An act of near-suicidal confidence.

So… Good thing I specialize in those.

The thought flitted through Booker’s head, an errant joke, and Booker smiled. He pushed all the fear and the doubt aside and simply held to the one thing he knew was true.

He had come to this point on his own strength. He had fought a cultivator to the brink of death.

In his mind there was a waterfall descending for countless miles, but he had climbed to the very edge. He had one last leap to make – one final effort to cross the dragon gate.

He stepped forward.

Zheng Bai didn’t respond. She didn’t even know he was approaching.

With all the remaining strength in his body, Booker swung his leg around him in a swift, clean arc, spinning the weight of his body into a kick that snapped into Zheng Bai’s head from the side. It collided with the weakened portion of her skull, and Booker felt the bone collapse.

Zheng Bai’s lifeless body toppled to the ground.

And Booker was left standing – only for a second more, or maybe, only for the time it takes a spark to fly off a piece of flint – in the glow of the limelight.

In the roar of the crowd.

In blood-soaked victory.