Sen felt a sliver of cold dread as he made his way back through the shop under the frightened, watchful gazes of the workers. It wasn’t a worry that he might get hurt. He’d been hurt before. He wasn’t even truly concerned that he might die. It was a possibility, but he’d faced that possibility before as well. Besides, if it really was his time to die, somehow fated to be, then worry wouldn’t help. Sen’s dread came from words the man had shouted. Come out and face your death. The mayor’s son and his lackeys had come to teach Sen a lesson, but none of them had actually issued a challenge to the death. That had given Sen the option to let it go with the severe chastisements he’d handed out. This guy had opened with a challenge to the death. Sen didn’t think the man was going to let that idea go, not after being so brazen and public about it.

After Sen stepped out into the same market where he’d fought less than a day ago, he wondered if perhaps this town was simply cursed. Oh, not cursed for everyone, of course. Plenty of people seemed to get by quite well there. Still, Sen had to wonder if the town was specifically cursed for him. Uncle Kho had admitted that such things were possible if rarely done. Apparently, such curses were rather work-intensive to set up and expensive to maintain. Yet, very little good had come to Sen in the town, and what little good had come his way seemed to be constantly in jeopardy of some kind. Sen didn’t believe for a moment that, should he fall, Grandmother Lu and her shop would go unscathed. No, if he fell, that shop would be burning within minutes of his death. Maybe, they’d let the people inside out first. Maybe they wouldn’t.

If Sen had to guess, they probably wouldn’t. After all, they’d sent someone after him the very next day after he’d soundly beaten seven qi condensing cultivators. Granted, that was no mighty accomplishment for him, but it at least spoke to a kind of tactical competence that should have given any would-be heroes a bit of pause. Then again, the man glaring at Sen didn’t look like the sort who ever felt pause over anything. He looked like the kind of man who was always angry about something. There was a scowl etched into his features that made him look older. Sen almost thought that it made the man look older for his age. But there was no good way to know a cultivator’s age. The man could actually be in his mid-twenties, or he could be in his mid-fifties. A brief touch of qi told Sen that the man was also in the foundation formation stage. Sen thought his own cultivation was a little lower than the man’s, but the finer differences inside a cultivation stage often eluded him.

“Who are you?” Sen asked, just as a place to start.

“I am Chen Aiguo, the Cold Blade,” said the man in a tone that suggested that every living thing between the dirt and sky should recognize his name.

Sen did not recognize the name. He shrugged at the man. “Okay. Who are you to me?”

“I am the teacher of Guo Jun.”

Sen stared at the man, waiting for the explanation to continue. When it didn’t, Sen let out a very audible sigh. “So, you’re the one who trained the mayor’s son. If you’re angry about his defeat, perhaps you should have spent more time training him to use his brain instead of that dao. Either way, it’s no business of mine. I have no quarrel with you.”

“You have dishonored my clan!”

“How?”

Chen Aiguo apparently hadn’t anticipated that question because he just stood there with his mouth open and no words coming out. Sen then learned that the man had no good answer for the question because he drew a dao and pointed it at Sen.

“I will not be distracted by these foolish questions. Draw your blade, boy, so that there will at least be some honor when I kill you.”

Sen took a moment to glance around the market. He didn’t spot any obvious signs of lackeys waiting to intervene. He supposed talking the angry, scowling Chen Aiguo out of a duel had always had a low probability of success. Chen Aiguo was no doubt under orders from the mayor to honorably murder Sen for the great offense of beating the mayor’s son unconscious for being a moron. That meant that Chen Aiguo almost certainly wouldn’t let this go, no matter what Sen did. That also made this one of those cases where, even if he tried to walk away, he’d probably just get attacked anyway.

Sen muttered to himself. “In the absence of choice, the only path is forward.”

He drew his jian and closed the distance with the other foundation formation stage cultivator. Master Feng had told Sen that most swordsmen and swordswomen will test their opponents to try to gauge their abilities. This initial clash between Sen and Chen Aiguo lived up to that prediction. Chen Aiguo started with a few basic slashing attacks that Sen simply dodged. The other man then transitioned to thrusting and chopping attacks that favored the heavier dao blade. Sen parried those before the two broke apart. Sen deduced a few things from that brief exchange. Chen Aiguo wasn’t a particularly skilled swordsman. He was basically competent, but by no measure brilliant. He was also the kind of fighter who expected to overpower his opponents. Sen could see the frustration on the man’s face that he hadn’t managed to land a blow.

On the next exchange, Sen took the offensive. He was a blur of metal and speed that wove a net of pain around Chen Aiguo. Sen didn’t make a special effort to kill the other cultivator, but several deep cuts left bloody trails across both of Chen Aiguo’s arms and beneath his left eye. Sen leaned out of the way of a particularly sloppy chop and, spotting an opening, drove his left fist toward the other man’s throat. Chen was quick enough to turn his body away and take the blow on his shoulder. So, Sen used the distraction to thrust his jian into the man’s thigh. Chen’s eyes went wide, and he let out a bellow of pain. Anticipating some kind of instinctive counterattack, Sen briefly activated his qinggong technique to dance back out of the way of a wild swing of the dao. Chen Aiguo staggered back a few steps, one hand clutching the wound on his thigh, the other waving his dao in Sen’s general direction.

“You worthless little bastard. You think you can dishonor me like this? When I’m done with you, I’m going into that shop. I’m going to slit the throat of every last piece of street trash I find in there.”

So much for honor, said a calm voice in a tiny corner of Sen’s mind. Fury filled the rest of his consciousness, threatening to overwhelm all reason. Master Feng, Uncle Kho, and Auntie Caihong had all warned him about moments like this. They had warned him not to take the bait.

“I don’t know if it’s the oldest trick in the book,” said Master Feng, “but I’m pretty sure it’s right there on page one. They’ll try to make you angry. Try to make you attack without thought. You’ll want to do it. Oh, believe me, you’ll want to do it. You have to give yourself a moment to think. Take a breath, count to three in your head, wait for five heartbeats. Find something that works for you.”

“Why should I wait?” Sen asked.

“Because getting you to attack is only half the trick. While you’re not thinking about anything except stabbing them in the throat a hundred times, they’re getting a qi technique ready. As soon as you get close, they’ll hit you with it. Hit them with something else first.”

Sen took a breath. Then counted to three in his head. Then, he did something he hadn’t done in the fight the day before. He waited until he felt the qi stirring around Chen Aiguo, then Sen unleashed the full force of his killing intent. He’d never done that with another person who wasn’t a peak nascent soul cultivator before, so he wasn’t prepared for what would happen. For a space of two heartbeats, Chen Aiguo was completely still. Sen watched with a kind of detached fascination as the dao fell from the man’s limp fingers. Then, the screaming started. It wasn’t the hoarse screams of pain that Sen might have expected. It was the high, shrill screaming of someone caught in the fist of abject terror. Blood began pouring out of the man’s nose, ears, and even his eyes. Sen could still hear Chen Aiguo’s threats against Grandmother Lu and everyone who worked for her. With those threats and Master Feng’s many stories in mind, Sen infused his jian with metal qi, walked over to the screaming man, and calmly cut off his head.