There's supposedly a saying in some region about fires and fights being inevitable — or maybe there isn't.
In any case, it was hardly unusual for a crowd to gather.
"Well, well, how unexpected. This time it's Tatsumi and Rahan?"
"They say all manner of prodigies are born in Rahan, but does that young man actually possess martial talent?"
The voices around them carried clearly. Compared to the anxious young folk who were on edge, the older attendees were in a cherry-blossom-viewing mood. Apparently, other families clashing heads wasn't all that uncommon either.
"
Rahan's
brother, what about weapons? How long should the hoe be?"
Maomao
asked Rahan's brother.
"What do you mean, a hoe?!"
"The match will be with wooden swords or wooden clubs. Bladed weapons are forbidden."
Rahan brought out wooden training swords and clubs.
"The tips are wrapped in cloth, I see."
"They're promising young men from notable families, after all. Even in training, people can and do die."
"Huh — then I guess I won't die."
Rahan's brother was calm.
"Are you sure? Have you ever received any sword instruction?"
"Sword instruction, huh. Grandfather beat me black and blue plenty of times. It was basically corporal punishment dressed up as training, though."
"I've heard Grandfather had some reputation as a swordsman, but his teaching methods were rather rough."
Rahan spread both arms wide and let out a sigh.
"Yeah. Can't be helped. For now,
the rules —
can you teach me those?"
"The rules are: the match ends when your opponent becomes incapacitated, surrenders, or drops their weapon. Also, groin strikes and eye gouging are off-limits."
"So you can keep going even if you get slashed, as long as you don't fall?"
"That's right, though normally people hold back and stop just short to show their opponent the gap in skill."
Rohan spoke as though it were someone else's problem.
"What happens if you lose?"
"Losing wouldn't be a problem, would it? This was never our business to begin with."
Rohan answered Maomao's questions without missing a beat.
That was
Yao
and
YenYen
within earshot of as well.
"Yao, YenYen. I don't know much about you two, but what that guy said didn't sit right with me. That's why I'm doing this mock duel. I don't intend to lose, of course, but as you can see, I'm no warrior or swordsman or anything like that. I hope you understand."
"We understand."
Yao fidgeted.
"That said, earlier
Ma Sen
was here. Well, him specifically — the Ma family wouldn't stand for that sort of high-handed behavior, would they? Even if we withdrew, wouldn't they take you in on their own?"
"What makes you think that?"
YenYen asked.
"Well, I used to chat with Ma Sen's older brother now and then. I don't talk to the younger one much, but from what I can see, he's not the type to let things slide."
Rohan had once lived in the western capital. It was quite surprising that he got along well with Ma Liang.
"That's right. It shouldn't be a problem even if we step back. And I'll speak with Chen's First Wife, just to be safe."
"Huh. I thought you weren't interested."
Maomao needled Rohan for no particular reason.
"Well, doing what you've been asked to do — that's what it means to be an adult, I suppose."
"An adult, huh."
Maomao shifted her gaze to the eccentric strategist. He had already set up VIP seats in the inner courtyard, which was to serve as the dueling arena.
"Maomao, why don't you watch from over here?"
Niban
was sighing at having to haul tables and chairs all the way over.
"So the deal is, win or lose, I'm not going to take it too seriously — so don't any of you worry about it."
Rohan picked up a wooden staff about as long as a hoe and headed for the inner courtyard.
Maomao and the others sat down in the chairs Niban had prepared.
The referee appeared to be from the horse clan — a man in his mid-thirties they had never seen before.
Mahmi
was waving cheerfully with a big grin.
Usetsu and several other men had formed a ring around Rohan and the stalker, ready to restrain them the moment anything happened.
Rohan had a staff, while the stalker had a wooden sword.
"The dragon clan basically trains with swords, you know."
Rohan was picking at some fruit, bit by bit.
"The reach looks like it gives him the advantage, but..."
Yao was watching with a serious expression.
"They're about to start."
The referee raised his hand. Rohan was bracing himself as best he could — it almost looked like he knew what he was doing.
The stalker had been raised in a family of warriors and served as a military officer, so his stance looked properly rehearsed.
"Begin!"
The instant the referee brought his hand down, the stalker lunged. With a dull thwack, Rohan's staff caught the wooden sword. He angled the staff and let the blade slide off, deflecting it back as he retreated.
Maomao didn't know the first thing about swordsmanship. All she could tell was that Rohan was being pushed back on every exchange.
"Is he going to be all right?"
Yao asked Rohan worriedly.
"Well, it's no use asking me about martial arts."
Rohan's answer was blunt.
"That's the wrong approach. Hey, Round Glasses, what numbers can you see?"
Maomao asked Rohan in her characteristically rough manner.
"I think our brother actually has quite the aptitude for martial arts. He's being pushed back, but there aren't any wasteful numbers. On the other hand, his opponent's movements are precise. The numbers are stable, so he must have been drilled thoroughly in the basics, at least coming from a warrior family."
"So in other words, brother loses."
"Maomao! Don't say such unlucky things!"
Yao was furious.
But with Rohan stuck on the defensive, he couldn't attack. And if he didn't attack, sooner or later he'd get hit.
"Kyah!"
The wooden sword struck Rohan in the stomach. His body flew sideways, skidding across the ground and leaving tracks, but he held his footing.
"Hahaha, you're just a farmer after all. You don't even know how to fight. Know your place."
"What's wrong with being a farmer?"
Rohan raised his staff once more.
"Don't try to act tough."
"Sorry about that. I'm just not the type to go down easy."
Rohan's voice was normal. Unchanged from always, completely normal.
"Hm. That's surprisingly interesting."
The eccentric strategist murmured, biscuit crumbs spilling everywhere. Behind his pince-nez clouded with grime, a pair of fox-like eyes traced the movements of the two fighters.
The same pattern continued. Rohan was pushed back, the pestering man attacked. Voices could be heard heckling, saying it was boring and to just finish him off already.
Rohan remained on the defensive, yet challenged his opponent again no matter how many times he was struck. The pestering man attacked relentlessly, pouring it on without mercy.
Even so, the eccentric strategist watched intently. And Rohan too was staring fixedly.
"Could it be that our brother is actually dangerous?"
"He's not dangerous himself, but I think he's had his share of dangerous encounters. What do you mean by dangerous?"
Maomao answered.
"His movement values haven't changed since earlier. Even though his opponent's keep dropping."
"Now that you mention it, that ugly man doesn't have the same momentum as before,"
En'en said. The stalker man wasn't particularly hideous to look at, but to En'en, he probably appeared more repulsive than a hungry ghost.
And then, attack and defense switched in an instant.
The stalker man was panicking. Because he was panicking, his attacks aimed at Rahankyō became sloppy. Rahankyō didn't miss the opening—he deflected the blow, then thrust the wooden stick forward.
The stalker man's body buckled with a grunt. The stick drove into his side, and spittle flew from his mouth. His eyes flew wide open, and his body was sent airborne.
"Airborne" might be an exaggeration. But the fact that it felt like such a large movement tells you just how powerful Rahankyō's strike was.
The stalker man lay on the ground, spitting foamy saliva, but he was still conscious.
"Do you want to continue the match?"
The referee asked the stalker man.
"I-I haven't lost yet…"
The stalker man still held his weapon in hand. He coughed and spat.
Maomao was slightly impressed—he seemed to have some backbone after all.
"All right, then let's continue."
Rahankyō assumed his farmer's stance once more.
"Hey, farmer! Don't get cocky just because you landed one hit! I'll keep hitting you—twenty, thirty times—until you drop!"
"No need to hold back. If it's your kind of striking, I couldn't take a hundred, but I could probably endure about thirty. And I should be able to get in five hits or so before that. I'm glad you're not taking this seriously,"
Rahankyō said with a nonchalant expression.
"Brother, doesn't something seem off?"
Rahan looked at Maomao with a slightly taken aback expression.
"I always thought he was the type who thrives in adversity, but his values are completely off the charts. No—his values are normal, but being normal at a time like this isn't normal."
Rahan was saying things that made no sense.
"That's because Rahankyō has been relentlessly chased by locusts and bandits and all sorts of things."
Now that she thought about it, he must have done things like what Maomao did in the bandit village on a daily basis, and had made it back to the Western Capital by the skin of his teeth.
"Shall we continue, then?"
Rahankyō's brother wasn't even winded. In terms of stamina, he could work the fields from dawn to dusk without breaking a sweat. That was the scary part.
The clinging man stood up, rubbing his belly, but Rahankyō's brother's nonchalant attitude made the wooden sword slip from his grasp. His expression said it all: "What the hell is this guy?"
"Match decided!"
The clinging man had nothing more to say in defiance.
"Brother!"
Everyone gathered around Rahankyō's brother, led by Rahankyō himself.
Yao was on the verge of tears, and Yanyan looked apologetic.
"Thank you so much."
Yao bowed to Rahankyō's brother, half in tears.
(This is basically the "Don't fight for my sake" trope, huh?)
In the novels she'd seen in the rear palace, this was where romance would bloom.
Maomao thought it worked out nicely. Rahankyō's brother was actually a better match for Yao than Rahankyō was.
She was a young woman — it wouldn't be strange for her heart to change to another man.
And for Rahankyō, that would probably be for the best too.
But reality rarely goes as planned.
"Rahankyō's brother, I'd like to check your injuries, so could you take off your outer robe?"
He'd been hit so many times, there were bound to be bruises.
"I'm sure it's fine. But hey, I'm just glad I won. I figured I wouldn't die like I would fighting bandits, but losing would've been embarrassing."
Rahankyō's brother was, after all, a bit shy about removing his clothing in front of a woman. That said, he had once tilled the garden in nothing but his undergarments in front of Maomao.
"There's nothing embarrassing about it. Of course, we're deeply grateful that you won."
Yanyan bowed deeply.
"I never imagined you would go this far for Lady Yao's sake. Thank you so much.
Junjie."
Rahankyō's brother's face turned beet red in an instant.
(Wha—?)
"What's the matter, Master Junjie?"
"N-No, sorry. Could you, uh, say that again?"
"Of course, I'll say it as many times as you need. Thank you very much."
"No, not that! I meant about Junjie!"
"He has the same name as the boy at the mansion. I thought it might cause confusion, but it didn't feel right to thank a benefactor without even using his name. Or did you dislike being called that?"
"Same surname, same given name."
Yao looked as though she was hearing this for the very first time.
The flags that had been waving so prominently in front of Yao and Luo Ban's brother just moments ago crumbled to dust without a fight.
In their place, a massive copper gong was being struck again and again inside Luo Ban's head.
Maomao stared blankly, then looked over at Luo Ban.
"Hasn't this gotten complicated all over again?"
"You're only sharp when it comes to other people's love lives, aren't you."
Maomao possessed no ability to read minds. But she could tell that Luo Ban was feeling the exact same way she was right now.
Of all people — why did it have to be Yanyan?
That was that.