The large man sized me up for a long moment, then he spoke.

  "What do you want?" His metal jaw caught the light with each click.

  Before I could answer, Lian stepped forward. "Ironjaw, this is Taros. He just started at Old Xu's place today. Taros, meet Jiang Moutai, master of the pits."

  Ironjaw's metal face worked sideways in what might have been irritation. "And I care about his life story because…? What. Do. You. Want?"

  "He wants to fight," Lian said, jerking a thumb in my direction. "Thinks he's got the stones for the pits."

  A strange, grating sound emerged from Ironjaw's throat. It took a moment for me to realize that he was laughing. He reached out with surprising speed and grabbed my upper arm, his massive hand easily encircling this body's somewhat pathetic bicep. He squeezed, testing the muscle, then laughed again. I couldn't blame him. I felt the same.

  "Can't send this one to his death. Bad for business." He released my arm with a metallic click of his jaw and began to turn away. "Train. Come back in a month, ideally two. Maybe then you'll be ready for the amateurs. Now get out of my face."

  I channeled ki through my Storm Wake Meridian into my arm muscles and caught his wrist. "Give me a chance."

  Ironjaw froze and turned back, his eyes narrowing as they met mine then looked down at my hand. Surprise and then calculation flickered across his face before he settled back into indifference. He shrugged my hand away.

  "One silver to enter. You pay, you fight. Don't come crying when you get hurt."

  "Fine." I turned to Lian. "Would you mind?"

  Lian dug into Duyi's purse and produced a fang, which Ironjaw plucked from her fingers.

  "Need a woman to pay your way?" Ironjaw snorted, the metal of his jaw catching the dim light. "Pathetic."

  He squinted at a list pinned to the wall next to him, running a thick finger down the names. "Quiet night. Someone's dropped out. I'll fit you in when I can against another newbie." He tucked the silver away. "I'll send a runner when it's time."

  We turned to leave, but Ironjaw's voice stopped us. "Hey."

  When we looked back, he tossed something through the air. Lian caught it. It was a wooden chit with a crude broken mast carved into it.

  "Next drink's on me," Ironjaw said.

  "Thank you, I appreciate…"

  He waved me off. "Use it now. Won't be able to once you're knocked out."

  * * *

  Lian tugged at my sleeve. "Man's got a point. Let's grab that drink while you still have teeth."

  We threaded through the crowd towards the roped-off section at edge of the pit. From its occupants it looked to be reserved for fighters and their entourages. The scent of sweat grew stronger as we approached. Below, in the flickering torchlight, two men circled each other, one bleeding from a deep gash over his eye.

  "Wait," I said, stopping suddenly. "Is that...?"

  Hunched at ringside, red-faced and swaying, Old Xu, my new boss, bellowed encouragement at the smaller fighter. His fist pounded against the wooden table with each shout, spilling his drink with every impact.

  "Kill him! Break his face!" Old Xu's voice cracked with intensity. "I've got five silver on you, boy!"

  The smaller fighter took a brutal hit to the jaw and crumpled. The crowd roared as the referee counted him out.

  "No! Get up! GET UP!" Old Xu's face contorted with rage. When the count finished, he threw a betting chit to the floor and stomped on it. "Useless! Completely useless!"

  He staggered toward a table where a thin man with a ledger was collecting bets, already pulling more coins from his purse.

  Showing the chit Ironjaw had given us to one of the enforcers secured our entrance to the roped off area. There was one free table left towards the front and Lian and I made our way over to it.

  "I see you've noticed our illustrious employer's evening activities," Lian said, sliding onto a bench. "He's here every night. Sometimes doesn't even make it to work the next day."

  "That's where all the money goes?" I asked, watching Old Xu slap down more silver.

  "Every spare copper from Qin's Fresh Catch ends up in the bookmakers' pockets." Lian shook her head. "Why do you think the roof leaks and we're always short on supplies? Man's got a sickness for gambling that's even worse than his sickness for drink."

  I nodded slowly, filing this information away. The failing business, the desperate owner drowning in gambling debt; this might make my nascent plans for Qin's warehouse easier.

  I signaled to a passing server. "Two millet beers if you would be so kind." A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face and she looked as if she was about to say something, then she just nodded. A few moments later she returned with two foam-topped tankards. I handed over the chit from Ironjaw and took a cautious sip.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

  Not the worst I had tasted. Far from the best, but it would do.

  "To your imminent beating," Lian said, raising her tankard with a smirk.

  I clinked mine against hers. "Your confidence is overwhelming."

  I scanned the fight pit, enjoying the rhythm of the place. It had its own ebb and flow of coins, drinkers, gamblers, and fighters. I liked it.

  Then I froze as the door swung open and Jin Duyi, the thug from the docks that morning, sauntered in, flanked by his crew. The gold thread in his robes caught the torchlight as he moved and I shrank back slightly, angling my face away. His purse would be lighter than he remembered, and his pride would still be smarting from our encounter. I could only hope that he didn't remember me.

  The pirates commandeered a booth, shoving aside its previous occupants without ceremony. They immediately began goading one of their number, a tall, lean man with a topknot wrapped in red silk. He strutted rather than walked, with his chest bare except for a shark-tooth necklace, showing off an elaborate tattoo of a serpent coiled around a broken spear.

  After much theatrical reluctance, he rose to his feet and swaggered over to Ironjaw's table. Words were exchanged and money changed hands.

  As the current fighters were dragged from the pit, one unconscious and the other barely standing, the referee stepped forward.

  "Next up! Wu Shengli, loyal privateer in service to the Tianshu Empire!"

  Duyi and his pirates erupted in jeers and howls of laughter at the introduction of their shipmate. However my attention was on Wu Shengli.

  He leapt into the pit with the grace of a predator and his bare torso gleamed in the flickering light. His opponent was a stocky man with cauliflower ears and scars crisscrossing his back. He looked competent enough. The referee gave them both a quick check then brought them together.

  "Clean fight," the referee warned, eyeing Shengli. "No eye-gouging, no groin strikes."

  Shengli spat on the ground. "Just start it."

  The first exchange told me everything. The stocky fighter wasn't unskilled, he had decent footwork and threw combinations with precision, but Shengli had strength enough to overwhelm his skill. He absorbed the first punch, blocked the second, and landed a counter that rocked his opponent back on his heels.

  "Break his arms!" Jin Duyi shouted from ringside.

  Shengli smiled. When his opponent rushed in, Shengli sidestepped and drove an elbow into the man's temple. The fighter eyes glazed over and he stumbled.

  "Wait! Let me check him." The referee rushed in but Shengli ignored him.

  He caught the disoriented fighter with a knee to the stomach that doubled him over, then brought both fists down on the back of his neck. The man collapsed face-first onto the floor.

  "That's enough!" the referee shouted, but Shengli was already driving his heel into the unconscious man's ribs with a sickening crack.

  Jin Duyi and his crew erupted in cheers and hoots as Shengli climbed out, arms raised in triumph.

  As Shengli swaggered his way back to the pirate's booth I took a sip of my beer. Well, if ever I needed a warning not to be complacent then this was it. In places like this you could never be sure who you would face.

  I was about to take another drink when my eye was caught by a mountain of a man walking through the crowd accompanied by a woman. Older, but not old. He was more muscle than anything else, with skin like bronze and a shaved head marked with faded tattoos. But what caught my attention was how he moved. Quiet precision in his every step, no wasted motion.

  I tracked the pair's approach through the crowd, noting the hush that fell as they passed. The woman was confident and assured, but it was the man who drew my eye. Contained, like a predator conserving their energy.

  Lian glanced up and muttered a curse. "Ghost Fist. Let's go."

  Before I could ask who Ghost Fist was, the pair reached our table. The woman glanced and Lian, then locked eyes with me. "Move."

  Lian immediately started to rise, but I remained seated. Seven hundred years of commanding fleets had left me with certain habits. Being ordered about by strangers wasn't something I tolerated well.

  What? I didn't say that they were sensible habits.

  Instead of acknowledging her, I took another deliberate sip of my beer.

  The woman's hand flashed out, snatching the tankard and slamming it down. Beer sloshed over the rim. "I said, 'Move.' This is Ghost Fist's table."

  I could feel Lian glaring at me from where she stood. A warning I chose to ignore. The woman reached for my collar, but Ghost Fist halted her with a small gesture. His face remained impassive as he raised a single finger, beckoning to the room's enforcers.

  Two burly men materialized beside us. "Move," one said, "or we throw you out. No refunds on your entry fee for the fights."

  I weighed my options. In my previous body, I could have handled all four without spilling a drop of my beer. Now, with only four poorly opened meridians? Not the time for heroics. More to the point I couldn't afford to forfeit my fight.

  With a slow exhale, I rose to my feet and reclaimed my tankard. The smart play was to swallow my pride. For now.

  As I turned to leave, Ghost Fist's hand shot out barring my way. He looked into my eyes for the first time.

  "Know your place, eh?" His voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

  He plucked a piece of lint from my ragged tunic, flicked it away, then patted my cheek.

  My jaw clenched as he turned away, dismissing me entirely. I forced myself to walk, not run, as Lian dragged me away muttering about my stupidity as she did so.

  A small table had come free at the back of the fighters' area and Lian and I made our way over and sat down. At our old table a steady stream of sycophants and well-wishers came up to Ghost Fist who acknowledged their adulation as his due. The biggest fish in the tiniest of ponds. I would look forward to seeing what he could do in the ring later

  I put Ghost Fist out of my mind as I watched the current fighters dance around each other. Their movements were largely clumsy and untrained. That was to be expected given that this was the slot for enthusiastic amateurs. Still, there was a raw energy in their flailing that couldn't be denied.

  Coming here served two purposes. The less important one was money. I had not had to worry about coin since joining the Azure Tide Sect. And, while being poor had a certain novelty, poverty was a chain I intended to break quickly. Jin Duyi's purse was a start, and I had no moral qualms about taking money from those who were undeserving. However, I needed more if I was to rebuild any semblance of my former power.

  The main reason though, was far more practical. My meridians were scarred and choked and this body required training. Both were a pale shadow of what they should, and could, be. Before I created a core of the quality that I was aiming for, both my meridians and my body would need to improve significantly.

  The traditional approach demanded months of meditation and careful exercise, gradually perfecting each meridian and muscle through discipline and patience.

  Or I could fight.

  Combat would force ki through my meridians under pressure, polishing and widening them while smoothing out the flows. Each blow taken and delivered would forge this body faster than any safer training regimen.

  Was it risky? Absolutely. Painful? Exquisitely. But that was what made it worthwhile. I had always found my true strength when laughing in the teeth of a storm.

  I took another swig of beer and smiled. The decision to fight was ultimately no decision at all. Some things about me hadn't changed, even if everything else had.