of the sun over the mountains.
She knew then what she couldn’t find: her usual confidence that the fight was already won.
They reached the center of town where the main roads met at the market square. If Zhou hadn’t sent this swordsman, then he must have come on his own to challenge her. It had been two months since Zhou made his outrageous proposal, which she had countered with an even more outrageous declaration.
Zhou was a lesser magistrate of the district. He had proposed marriage after catching a glimpse of her at the noodle stand while he was passing through. Uncle and Auntie Yin had been thrilled that someone wanted to take her off their hands, but Zhou already had a wife. Two wives, in fact! She would be little more than a bed warmer and glorified kitchen maid.
She had announced publicly she would marry no man unless he defeated her in a fight. Her uncle and aunt were mortified, but she wouldn’t back down. Her parents had been poor, but proud people. It would offend their spirits to see their only daughter become some lecherous goat’s mistress.
Zhou dismissed her challenge as the ramblings of a madwoman. She doubted he could lift a sword, but his henchmen continued to bully her whenever they came by. Over the last few weeks, several strangers had wandered into town to goad her into a fight. She suspected they had all been sent by the disgruntled official.
She’d defeated all the country thugs and village boys who’d tried to teach her a lesson. But this swordsman was different. If Zhou hadn’t sent him, then he must have come on his own. Could news of her declaration have traveled beyond the dusty edge of town?
She turned to him. “Do you still want to do this, considering what a shrew I am?”
That half smile again. “I am not afraid.”
More townsfolk had gathered to see crazy Mei Lin and another one of her displays of rebelliousness. There was a moment of sadness when she squared off across from him. She’d become a spectacle. The only marriage proposals she ever received were these stupid challenges from scoundrels trying to show her up. One of these days, some brute would defeat her. Someone a hundred times worse than Zhou. She’d done this to herself.
“What shall the terms be?” he asked as he paced to the other side of the square.
Still so composed, his every movement measured and graceful. She should have been paying attention to how he moved, not how captivating his eyes were.
“We’re simple folk here. First blood should be good enough.”
She raised her swords while her opponent drew his weapon. The blade gleamed in the afternoon sun, the craftsmanship obvious to even an untrained eye. Even if she discounted the quality of the blade, she knew immediately this man was serious. There was a way a sword fits into the hands of a true practitioner, as if it were an extension of his body.
“You’re not even going to ask my name?” he said.
“Why bother? You’ll run from here in shame very soon.”
“Wu Mei Lin, the honor would be all mine.”
The way he spoke her name sent a shudder down her spine, despite the heat of the afternoon. Certainly he had come to see her out of curiosity, but could it be he was actually interested? He watched her so intently and his pleasant manners gave the impression he was actually enjoying the exchange. She wished they didn’t have this duel between them to confuse her.
He bowed, blade pointed downward, very formal. Like this was a sacred ritual instead of a street brawl. She looked down at her swords and for a moment they felt strange in her hands, as if she didn’t practice every morning and night with them.
Master always said she wouldn’t know her limit until someone pushed her to it.
“Now?” the swordsman asked from afar.
She tossed her hair out of her face. “Now.”
He waited, relaxed in his stance. She was nowhere near that patient. If she was to win this fight, she needed to know the extent of his skill, his level of intuition with the sword. She’d know all of that with the first cross of their blades. The touch of steel never lied.
She rushed forward and the swordsman never flinched. He lifted his sword and her first strike met against a solid wall of strength as the shorter blade clashed against the longer reach of his jian. The swordsman deflected in one fluid motion.
Disciplined. Small movements, no waste of energy.
She gave him no time to recover before snaking forward again, her swords seeking an opening through touch and tension. The cry of metal rang through the square and the crowd gasped. He was stronger than her, but there was guile beneath his force. His blade slipped past hers with a deft rotation of his wrist. He was testing her as well, exploring the boundaries between them.
They separated, but remained closer this time, dancing just outside contact range. Her heart pounded, cutting through the sluggish pulse of the afternoon. She was breathing hard, but so was he. His chest rose and fell as he watched her.
Wang laughed from the perimeter. “More than you expected, Shen Leung?”
A nervous flutter rose in her stomach at the sound of the name. It was a name they’d heard of even here in this small corner of the empire.
“Well, if I had known you were famous, I wouldn’t have insulted you—” she taunted him “—quite as much.”
Curse her wicked tongue. She couldn’t stop herself with the energy of the battle flowing through her like this.
Shen Leung wasn’t so easily distracted. He wiped his brow with his sleeve and circled her, his feet steady over the packed dirt of the marketplace. His presence filled the space with hardly any effort.
“Who is your master?” he asked.
“No one you know.”
“He must have recognized your natural ability. Few swordmasters will train a woman.”
The surge of pleasure at his words was dangerous. “What makes you think my master is a man?”
She attacked again. Talking wouldn’t resolve this and she wanted to get a closer look at his sword work, even if it was going to be her defeat. Shen Leung was magnificent with the blade and he moved with a confidence that made her heart race. There was a joy in being pushed to the edge by a worthy opponent. She hadn’t found such harmony since leaving her old home to come here.
“Stop being nice to her!” Wang shouted.
Shen Leung breathed through each movement. His eyes met hers. “I’m not.”
Only she could hear the reply amidst the sword strike. His voice was husky with exertion and his skin glistened with a sheen of sweat.
“You’re good,” he said.
She parried and twisted his blade aside. “I don’t need you to tell me.”
He grinned and pushed her further until she had to fight for balance. She wasn’t done yet. Boldly she ventured closer where his longer blade would be less effective. Most practitioners weren’t comfortable there, but Shen Leung
