Master, This Poor Disciple Died Again Today - Chapter 430: A Trickster, Fighting Seriously

Chapter 430: A Trickster, Fighting Seriously

Hui stood at the far edge of the ring. Across from him, the man-mountain Xin Mobing raised his hands. Worn wraps bound his hands and forearms, and worn martial slippers stepped lightly on the floor.

“No weapon?” Hui asked.

“I—I’m a martial artist. Uhm, a hand-to-hand fighter,” Xin Mobing said nervously.

Hui adjusted his needles to his chest and released his beating stick, removing the damper from the bell. “Understood. An honorable decision.”

“A…and you?” Xin Mobing stuttered.

Hui brandished his beating stick, moving through the steps of the first movement of the Seven Steps of Autumn. “I fight with the club.”

“Look at you, acting like a real melee fighter. Do you know more than the first movement of my technique?” Chen Wuya asked, shaking his head.

“I know it,” Hui returned quietly.

“Can you use it in battle?” Chen Wuya asked.

Hui said nothing. He smiled at Xin Mobing.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Chen Wuya said. He looked down at Hui. “What are you scheming?”

“Scheming? Senior, I’m going to fight a good, clean fight,” Hui said, insulted.

Chen Wuya threw back his head and let out a cawing laugh. “If that’s the case, then why loose your bell?”

“Shh,” Hui murmured.

Xin Mobing gestured at Hui’s head. “Th—there’s a bird…”

“He’s a friend of mine. Ah—don’t worry. He won’t attack. He’s an honorable observer who has no desire to fight,” Hui explained.

“Hmm, that’s right. No desire to fight that monster. You can have him all to yourself,” Chen Wuya chuckled. He took to the sky, leaving Hui alone in the ring.

Xin Mobing let out a sigh of relief. “I didn’t—didn’t want to hurt the bird.”

Hui resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Hurt the damn bird. He’s hurt me enough! Er, haha, Senior, that’s a joke, don’t tear my skull open again…!

Instead, he smiled at Xin Mobing. “You’re an honorable man, Xin Mobing. I hope we can have an earnest spar between two martial artists.”

In the corner, Chen Wuya chuckled under his breath.

“Yes,” Xin Mobing replied seriously.

I almost feel bad tricking this man… almost. Hui bowed formally to Xin Mobing, and Xin Mobing bowed back.

Overhead, the sword cultivator clones all straightened up. As one, they shouted, “Fight!”

Xin Mobing rushed at Hui. Hui stood at the very edge. His hands flickered as he slapped a talisman on himself, then began rattling the bell on the beating stick.

A wall of flesh closed in on him. Xin Mobing reached out, long arms seeming to stretch from one end of the ring to the other. Hui stepped forward, using Chen Wuya’s Seven Steps of Autumn.

Seconds before the two met, Hui swapped to the Pond-Reflecting Waltz and used his death qi time-dilating step to duck past Xin Mobing. As the huge cultivator charged, a single black thread on the ground connected to his foot and yanked him forward, pulling him toward the edge of the floor.

Turning around, Hui lifted his beating stick and slapped Xin Mobing in the rear. The man roared, but under his own momentum, Hui’s thread-based puppeteering technique, and the befuddling effect of the bell, he couldn’t stop himself. He stumbled out of the ring.

The sword cultivator clone overhead gaped. He looked at Hui.

Hui bowed to him. “Senior, would you call the match?”

Clearing his throat, the sword cultivator pulled himself to his full height. “First round, Xing Huang!”

Xin Mobing hopped up onto the floor. He stomped toward Hui, his face red, shaking with rage. “You! You tricked me!”

“I did no such thing! I fought honorably! You lost, that’s all!” Hui said, backing away.

“That wasn’t a fight. There were no martial arts. You—you—!” He ran at Hui, raising his hands.

Hui leaped atop his beating stick and took to the air. “Referee! Referee, stop this man! The match is over!”

Xin Mobing chased after him, flying into the air atop a cheap-looking flying sword. “Xing Huang, you dare call yourself an honorable man?”

“I dare call myself a great many things, Elder Brother!” Hui called over his shoulder. He flew directly toward the sword cultivator clone watching over the match. “Senior! Stop this man! He’s trying to murder me after the match has ended!”

The sword cultivator’s clone clicked his tongue. I didn’t want to get involved, but now I have no choice. He stepped forward, drawing his sword. “Xin Mobing, stand down. I don’t like it, either, but he did beat you according to the rules of the tournament.”

Fuming, Xin Mobing came to a reluctant stop. He jabbed his finger at Hui. “This—this—this—is this what you want for a peak lord? This? This—this filthy cheater?”

“Elder Brother! Cheating is a serious accusation. Please, explain how I cheated? I need to know in detail! Tell me exactly what I did wrong?” Hui asked. He stopped on the far side of the referee and crossed his arms, looking down on Xin Mobing.

Xin Mobing opened his mouth, then closed it again, opened it, closed it. At last, he scowled. “You didn’t use martial arts at all!”

The referee looked at Hui, arching a brow.

Hui spread his hands. “If I don’t need to use martial arts to defeat you, am I required to show my techniques? It simply shows the extremity of the difference in skill between us!”

Behind him, Chen Wuya let out a short and startled laugh.

Xin Mobing’s face turned from red to crimson. Veins bulged on his forehead, and his hands clenched into fists so hard his muscles began working in his forearms and biceps. “You—you dare—dare claim to be a martial artist!”

Hui waved his hand dismissively. “Senior Referee, this man is being ridiculous. You can’t blame me for his own failure of technique. If he failed to provoke me into using the full breadth of my technique, is that my fault or his? Surely you can see reason in this.”

The referee shook his head slowly. He looked at Xin Mobing, mountainous and powerful, all trailed muscle and taut power, clothes creased with practice and stained with exertion, then at Hui, with his slender limbs and delicate robes that flowed perfectly in the breeze, untouched by the slightest hint of hard work. Hui frowned at him and nodded at Xin Mobing, then shook his head a little.

Xin Mobing huffed out a slow, angry breath. His knuckles cracked loud enough for Hui to hear.

Hui backed away a little, stomach receding to his backbone. Shit. He might ignore the referee and come straight for me. If he does… if he does, all I can do is play dead as quickly as possible and hope he notices before he beats me into a pulp!

Swallowing, Hui lifted his head high and looked down on Xin Mobing. “After all, Senior Referee, do we want such an unbalanced cultivator with rage and jealousy in his heart in All-Heavens Sect? Surely this shows that he isn’t suited.”

With a screaming roar, Xin Mobing rushed directly at Hui. Hui fled without hesitation, zipping into the sky.

A blast of bright orange sword qi blasted out, flickering with flame at the edges. A vast heat scorched Hui’s blast. He continued to flee for another ten seconds before he realized he no longer heard the snapping of Xin Mobing’s robes on the wind. He turned around, nobly descending to the referee’s side as the referee held Xin Mobing back, his sword burning with sword qi.

“Contestant Xin Mobing, you do not have the right to assault fellow contestants outside of the tournament floor. You must accept that you lost. Although you lost in the first round, the entirety of your performance will be considered in accepting new Peak Lords, including…” the referee narrowed his eyes. “Your performance outside the tournament floor.”

With some effort, Xin Mobing calmed himself. Chest heaving, he glared at Hui, then backed down and turned away. “I understand.”

“It’s good Elder Brother understands, very good,” Hui said, nodding.

The referee turned his glare on Hui. “I might also remind you that I consider the totality of a cultivator’s actions. It might be your style to act overbearing and look down on others, but it isn’t necessarily a trait I look for in a future Peak Lord.”

Ah, well, pleasing the judges is always part of the trial, whether they admit it or not. Although it’s nice that Senior openly admitted that pleasing him is the trial, it’s annoying that he also admitted that pleasing him is basically the whole trial. It’s hard to please someone I know nothing about. Hmm… while I wait for my next match, I should scout out what the judge is looking for!

Hui nodded. He clasped his hands to the sword cultivator clone. “This lesser one appreciates Senior’s message!”

The referee frowned. Why do I feel like he learned the wrong thing from that warning…?