Chapter Ninety-Eight: A Friendly Exchange

"This was brought back by my master. That’s my senior brother—or is it junior brother?" Yuwen Chengdu gazed at the man practicing with the halberd in the courtyard as he spoke. Yet for now, no one could answer his question. Meanwhile, after hearing Old Tong say that this man would challenge him, Yang Zaixing was already itching to get into the fray, eager to test the newcomer’s strength.

Zhang Xuan watched the man in the courtyard wielding his halberd. He pondered for a moment; during the era of the Three Kingdoms, which generals used halberds? Suddenly, a name flashed through his mind. Could it be—no, surely not... To confirm his suspicion, he turned to Old Tong and asked, "Old Tong, you said he was brought from Bingzhou?"

Old Tong nodded, saying he’d indeed heard the man was brought from Bingzhou. Upon hearing this, Zhang Xuan felt certain he had his answer.

"Big brother, are your hands itching? Why not go down and spar with him? He’s here to practice with you all anyway," Zhang Xuan said, turning to Yang Zaixing.

"Little Xuan, what do you mean, 'practice with you all'? Aren’t you included in that group? Still, I was thinking the same—watch closely, I’ll surely take him down," Yang Zaixing replied, squeezing through the crowd to pick up a spear from the rack, then heading into the courtyard.

"Little Xuan, why are you egging your big brother on?" Old Tong asked.

"Why ask why? I saw big brother itching for a fight, so I let him go spar with the boy in the yard. Sooner or later they’ll meet; no day is better than today. Next, second brother, be ready—when big brother’s done, it’s your turn. After you, little Yun, you’ll go up," Zhang Xuan replied.

"Little Xuan, do you lack confidence in your big brother? Why bring in others?" Old Tong knew well the measure of his disciple, Yang Zaixing. Though young, few could stand against him, and the same went for Yuwen Chengdu and Zhao Yun. The others glanced at Zhang Xuan, all brimming with confidence in Yang Zaixing.

"Confidence? Of course I have confidence—we always favor our own, don’t we? But this is an opportunity; we have to seize it!" As Zhang Xuan spoke, the two in the courtyard had already met and begun exchanging pleasantries, so no one paid heed to what else he was saying.

Yang Zaixing strode into the courtyard and said to the man practicing, "Brother, watching you train has made my hands itch. Care for a bout?"

The man eyed Yang Zaixing up and down. After months of grueling training, Yang Zaixing had grown remarkably, displaying the bearing of a fine young general. "I’ve been wanting to spar myself, but if you lose, don’t go home crying!"

"Don’t worry—I’ll have you down in no time. I watched your halberd drills just now, and honestly, you’re nothing but a three-legged cat! So I’ll leave those words for you; don’t go running home to your mother in tears! And I won’t take advantage—do you want a moment’s rest before we start, so you don’t blame exhaustion if you lose?" After spending so much time with Zhang Xuan, Yang Zaixing had become immune to any taunt; compared to Zhang Xuan’s barbs, these were child’s play.

"Relax. You’re overthinking it. I’ll have you floored. Let’s call it ten moves!"

"Such bravado! Prepare yourself!" Yang Zaixing said, then thrust his spear at the man. The other calmly parried the attack.

Zhang Xuan couldn’t quite catch their conversation, but he guessed it was just the usual pre-fight banter. He and his group squeezed forward for a better view. Seeing the crowd packed several layers deep, Zhang Xuan mused, "Front row, selling sunflower seeds, peanuts, eight-treasure porridge! Hurry and buy, first come, first served!" Of course, it was just a thought—there were no snacks here, let alone high-end porridge. But soon, his attention was claimed by the duel.

Both sides exchanged blows. The man’s halberd, though ornate, was wielded with unexpected elegance. Zhang Xuan had tried using one before, but it was difficult for most. Yet in this man’s hands, it became an artwork—able to cleave, stab, hook, every move varied. A single misjudgment could mean defeat.

Yang Zaixing handled his spear with skill, though Zhang Xuan sensed he was following the other’s rhythm, lacking the ease he showed when sparring with Zhang Xuan and the others. This sense only appeared when he faced Old Tong. After numerous moves, their weapons clashed and the two sprang to opposite sides of the arena.

Panting, Yang Zaixing declared, "It’s been over ten moves and I haven’t gone down! You sure talk big, ha!" But he knew full well his own condition; a few more rounds and he’d lose, especially seeing how composed his opponent remained.

But his adversary wasn’t quite as calm as Yang Zaixing imagined. Since he began training, it was the first time someone his age had lasted so long against him. He felt sure a few more exchanges would secure his victory, but as he was preparing, Yang Zaixing said something that nearly made him stumble.

Yang Zaixing flexed his stiff arms, aware he couldn’t last much longer. "All right, we’ve fought long enough. Let’s call it a pleasant draw for today. I can see you’ve gained a lot from this bout—let’s reflect on it, and next time, we’ll spar again." Not waiting for a reply, he said, "Good, it’s settled," and strode back to Zhang Xuan and the others, leaving the man in the courtyard dumbfounded.

"Little Xuan, under your 'guidance,' Yang Zaixing’s shamelessness is almost matching yours," Old Tong remarked, glancing at Zhang Xuan.

Inwardly, Zhang Xuan protested—who’d influenced whom? The degree of shamelessness had surpassed the master; he couldn’t keep up with his big brother anymore.

The man watched Yang Zaixing’s retreating figure and smiled wryly. He made no move to pursue; he knew his opponent was at the end of his strength, only holding out by sheer will. Out of respect for the exhilarating match, he decided not to press the matter further.