Volume Two: Accepting a Task Chapter 22: Settling Old Scores

"A woman!" The officer thought to himself, never expecting to encounter such a glamorous situation right from the start.

"You shameless man!" The fair-faced scholar, burning with shame and anger after being pinned to the ground, refused to accept defeat. Kicking out from behind the officer, they landed a blow squarely on the middle-aged man’s backside.

While the scholar’s strength was negligible compared to the officer's sturdy physique, it served perfectly to vent their frustration. After being kicked a few times, the officer, unwilling to endure any more, blocked the woman’s next strike with his right hand. With a swift counter-grab, he pinned the scholar’s hand with one palm and caught their foot with the other, a move reminiscent of the "Mandarin Duck Universe Locking Technique."

Extremely irritated by this, the scholar used the hand holding their folding fan to strike horizontally at the officer. Only then did the officer realize the fan was forged from refined steel. Facing the danger, especially directed at his thigh, the officer abandoned his hold. He released the scholar’s left hand to parry the fan’s assault.

Their duel was a battle of both wit and strength. To secure this position, the scholar had made a firm resolve. Meanwhile, following orders from above, the officer was earnestly assessing whether the scholar was truly worthy of being entrusted with responsibility.

Not pinned down for long, the scholar arched their body, heaving the officer upward. Having gained sufficient space and leverage, they twisted their body, faced the officer, and slapped him across the face.

The officer was taken aback. He had been certain that his grappling technique—blocking the offense, pinning the foot, and using a knee to force the opponent down—was foolproof. Even the strongest of warriors would have been rendered immobile by such a hold. Yet, the scholar had summoned enough strength to lift him entirely. Once flipped, the officer was suspended in mid-air, his downward pressure negated. Upon landing, the scholar regained the upper hand.

Feeling his dignity bruised by the slap, the officer—though puzzled by the scholar’s hidden strength—let the matter go. He released the scholar’s limbs, stood up, and offered a polite, "I concede."

The scholar stood up from the stage, closed the folding fan, and clasped their hands in a gesture of respect. Both fighters had exercised restraint. Though the scholar had been on the defensive throughout, they had come to a mutual understanding of martial virtue during the exchange. In truth, these were merely friendly bouts.

The combatants treated the match as a formality rather than a life-or-death struggle, using the contest as a means to refine themselves. The spectators, who had watched the fighters employ various techniques before ending in a controlled stalemate, saw their expressions shift from curiosity to tension, then to a grim pallor, and finally to relief. The lingering caution on their faces made it clear that these soldiers, tasked with the second phase of the assessment, were not to be trifled with. Only by enduring such trials could these candidates qualify to represent kindness and justice in punishing evil.

The first bout concluded, and the second began. This time, the challenger—a seeker of the path—faced off against the defender. Their struggle was one of martial virtue, a contest not just against an opponent, but against oneself.

An elderly man with white hair stepped onto the stage, leaving the opposing soldier looking somewhat restrained. The old man was a veteran of the world; his long hair flowed gracefully, and he carried an air of sage-like dignity. He looked at the young soldier as if gazing upon his own youth. The soldier was still a teenager, full of vigor and righteousness, yet naive to the ways of the world—possessing that fleeting youth everyone envies.

The youth, filled with a touch of innocence, was quite bewildered when faced with the old man. Yet, he had his orders: to properly evaluate the elder’s strength. Having lived for many years, the old man could only use the strength and techniques of his younger days to spar with the guard.

Chen Chen, standing in the crowd, watched the match as if it were a farce. The guard, however, was serious, diligently performing a set of military boxing routines against the elder. Having lived in quiet seclusion for years, the old man rarely fought; if his opponent was not a villain, he found it difficult to strike.

"May I ask, hero, have you ever committed any act of insubordination in your life?" the old man asked softly.

"Rarely. I mostly listen to my parents," the soldier replied.

"Then, have you ever destroyed another's home?"

"No, I haven't!" the soldier answered truthfully.

"Very good! Have you ever torn down temples or defiled shrines?" the old man continued.

"No. I usually burn incense, learning from the elders, praying for peace," the soldier replied again.

"That is good, that is good... It seems you are not the one I am here to fight. I shall take my leave. Finish your routine, and then step down; you are someone striving to survive, after all." The old man, a sword strapped to his back, stepped off the stage.

"Yes, elder!" The soldier completed his set of military boxing on stage, each punch powerful and symbolic of life. Every strike contained force, and every strike was a manifestation of his will to live. The body is a marvelous thing; strength brings vitality, and vitality protects life.

The old man had departed, and the soldier followed suit after finishing his routine. The strength of a human life has its purpose; every surge of power is derived from the one that came before it.

Chen Chen said nothing. He had watched the two bouts, and as they ended, he remained simply Chen Chen. All living things have their own existence; each is an independent individual, and each is merely themselves. Living within a collective, one must remain an independent self, walk the path of a true life, and then, alongside the collective, fulfill a singular mission.

Weary, Chen Chen returned to his quarters to rest. The remaining matches would be held over the coming days. Some things will inevitably return to their proper track as time flows in its orderly cycle. Chen Chen is Chen Chen, you are you, I am I, and he is he, each seeking a way to meet tomorrow together.