"Is this Senior Brother Li truly so renowned? What is his story?" Han Li betrayed a measure of surprise.
"You have not even heard of Senior Brother Li?"
"Have I not been in seclusion all these years?"
"True, true—I had quite forgotten that. My memory is indeed poor. I kept thinking the Sect of Seven Mysteries could hold no disciple who did not know Senior Brother Li, and clean forgot that you had been shut away." Small Abacus came to his senses at once and hurriedly begged pardon.
"Then tell me something of this Senior Brother Li, would you?"
"Senior Brother Han, of course I will. The deeds of Senior Brother Li are known to every last one of us young disciples, and in full detail." Seeing that Zhang Changgui's side had still not sent forth an opponent for Senior Brother Li, Small Abacus began to spin out for Han Li the endless legends told of that famous man.
"Senior Brother Han, do not think I am just boasting for my Small Abacus. The tale of Senior Brother Li is not only thoroughly clear to us of this crop; many of the older senior brothers know a good deal of it as well. In those days..." He launched into his tale with all the verve in the world, his spirits soaring, his spittle flying, precisely as though he himself were the hero of the story.
To hear Small Abacus unfold the deeds of this Senior Brother Li one by one, there was indeed a good measure of the legendary about them.
This Senior Brother Li, too, had come up the mountain four years ago—though he was not of the same intake that took the examination alongside Han Li. He had not managed to pass on the first try, and so had become a registered disciple like the rest. But in the test held half a year later, he not only took first place in every single event, but in the final bout against the senior brothers he came away the sole disciple who had held out through thirty exchanges without falling—a record that broke the marks of every registered disciple who had come before, and drew the attention of no few of the high personages above. When he was examined, the results proved startling: Senior Brother Li's bone constitution was by no means remarkable, and his potential for growth was limited. The diagnosis was a pity, but for that very reason no personage of any great standing took him in as a disciple. After two years of basic training, he bowed his head and entered beneath an ordinary, unremarkable patron, learning only a few sets of commonplace skills—the Wind-Thunder Blade Art among them, one of those middling arts your everyday mid-level disciple of the Sect of Seven Mysteries might study.
If it had all ended there, Senior Brother Li could hardly have been called a legend; his would have been a strong beginning with a feeble close. But not long after, armed with this humble Wind-Thunder Blade Art, he blazed forth brilliantly in the following year's Grand Tournament among the younger disciples, charging all the way into the top sixteen—the only newcomer to rank so high among all those newly entered. And once more he became the focus of the whole sect.
In the matches that followed, Senior Brother Li was ferocious without fail, unstoppable wherever he turned, taking lofty places in every contest and covering the young disciples with no small glory. In last year's Grand Tournament he swept clear to third place—and it should be remembered that the two ranked above him were disciples who had entered the sect some ten-odd years before; though numbered among the younger set, they were all of twenty-seven or twenty-eight, and their inner force alone ran far deeper than his. Many a disciple reckoned that had Senior Brother Li wielded an inner force to match theirs, first place would have been his with his bare hands.
And so, once again, Senior Brother Li drew the notice of those above. He was singled out and sent down the mountain, taking part in no few weighty missions beyond the sect. While the other newcomers still toiled at their arts within the gates, he was already piling up merit for the Sect of Seven Mysteries, and in the jianghu he had won himself the honored renown of "Li the Tiger." Word had it he was even soon to be granted special entry into the Seven-Absolutes Hall, there to cultivate even loftier martial arts.
Hearing all this, Han Li's heart could not help being stirred. If everything were truly as said, then this Senior Brother Li was no ordinary man. Bearing only the standing of a registered disciple, he had yet fought his way to such achievements—even Han Li could not help feeling a measure of admiration.
As for Zhang Changgui's band, after a great half-day of bickering and excuses, at last one disciple screwed up his courage and stepped forth.
This disciple was plainly no weakling in the martial arts. From his waist he drew a gleaming soft sword, scarce thicker than a thumb and limber as a willow reed—the sort of weapon a plain, commonplace hand could never hope to wield.
Senior Brother Li sensed someone draw near. Slowly he opened his eyes, and within them gleamed a full, fierce light.
Suddenly he let out a great shout, like a thunderclap cracking across a clear sky, setting every ear in the arena ringing. Even the man before him shuddered, and a look of dread crept across his face.
With the shout came the sweep of the long saber—a shimmering trail of blade-light, a chain of interlocking strokes, and in the space of an instant they swirled into a dozen-odd fans of saber-light that netted the opponent fast within a web of glinting steel.
The man was alert enough; though some of the panic showed, his soft sword drifted and darted about, sly and venomous, guarding himself without a single leak.
"And who might this one be?" Han Li could not resist asking.
"He is Zhao Ziling, a disciple of the Fifth Elder. His Willow-Brushing Sword Style is a most prickly thing to face."
"Can he match Senior Brother Li?"
"Why, of course not." Small Abacus answered with pride.
"Then why does Zhang Changgui not put forward a stronger fighter?"
"Heh! Zhao Ziling is the strongest of their lot. And besides, which of us newcomers could ever best Senior Brother Li? Whoever they sent would only be wasting the effort." There was a note of ghoulish relish in his laugh.
And sure enough, though Zhao Ziling's swordplay had not yet lost the thread, all its momentum had withered away; Senior Brother Li's long saber pressed down upon him without mercy, and any clear-eyed onlooker could see that his defeat was only a matter of time.
Han Li watched for a while, then a doubt took root in his mind.
"There is one thing I find passing strange. Why is no older senior brother present? Even if they were not allowed to take part in the bouts, surely some would have come to watch the fun—yet here, within the ring and without, there is not a single senior brother of any years to be seen. It is only we lads of ten-some years watching the dueling. How can this be?" Han Li put his question bluntly, without ceremony.
At Han Li's words, Small Abacus's expression shifted, and he turned a peculiar look upon him that left Han Li puzzled. Could it be he had asked after some taboo?