Liu Feng moved first.

  Yan Qiu had never held a sword before yesterday. He did not know how to stand or how to grip the handle properly or how to swing without leaving himself open. All he knew was that the other boy was coming at him fast, and he needed to do something.

  He raised his wooden sword to block, and the impact nearly knocked the weapon out of his hands. Liu Feng's strike had a weight behind it that Yan Qiu could not match, a force that came from somewhere deeper than muscle, and Yan Qiu stumbled backward with his arms ringing from the blow.

  Liu Feng did not give him time to recover. He came in again with another swing, and this time Yan Qiu saw a faint shimmer around the other boy's arms. That was the qi, he realized. Liu Feng was channeling energy through his body, making himself faster and stronger, and Yan Qiu had no idea how to do the same thing.

  He tried anyway. He reached for that warmth inside him, the scattered remnants of the pill's energy, and willed it to move into his arms and legs. For a moment he thought he felt something, a flicker of heat in his chest, and then it slipped away before he could grab hold of it.

  Liu Feng's sword caught him in the shoulder and he staggered sideways with a grunt of pain.

  The match was not a fight. It was a beating.

  Yan Qiu swung his sword wildly, without technique or control, just trying to create some distance between himself and his opponent. He had seen the village hunters practice with sticks sometimes, and watching was not the same as doing. His body did not know how to move the way theirs did.

  Liu Feng blocked each clumsy strike with ease and countered with precise hits that found gaps Yan Qiu did not even know he was leaving open. A strike to his ribs that made him double over. Another to his thigh that nearly buckled his leg. A third that cracked against his forearm and sent a jolt of pain all the way up to his shoulder.

  The other boy moved like someone who had practiced with a sword before, probably with a tutor his family had paid for, and his footwork was steady even when Yan Qiu tried to rush him. The difference between them was not just qi. It was everything.

  Move. Faster. Come on.

  Yan Qiu tried again to pull the energy into his body, to make his legs move quicker and his arms swing harder. The warmth was there, he could feel it somewhere deep inside, and when he reached for it he saw something in his mind, a faint glow that felt clean and bright. He tried to grab it, to pull it into his limbs, and something else rose up to meet him. Something darker, heavier, that pushed back against the light and scattered the energy before he could use it.

  What was that?

  He did not have time to think about it. Liu Feng was already swinging again.

  "You're not channeling anything," Liu Feng said, and he had stopped attacking for a moment, just watching Yan Qiu with a curious expression. "I can't feel any qi from you at all. Are you even trying?"

  Yan Qiu wanted to scream at him that yes, he was trying, that he had been trying since the moment the match started, that he was reaching for the energy inside him with everything he had and it kept slipping away. Instead he just gritted his teeth and lunged forward with a desperate thrust, putting all his weight behind it.

  Liu Feng simply stepped to the side. Yan Qiu stumbled past him, off balance, unable to stop himself.

  A wooden sword cracked against his back and sent him to the ground face-first.

  He lay there for a moment, tasting dust. His arms were shaking and his legs did not want to move, and the warmth inside him had faded to almost nothing.

  Get up.

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  He pushed himself onto his hands and knees, his palms scraping against the packed earth.

  Get up. You have to get up.

  He grabbed his fallen sword and forced himself to stand. His vision swam for a moment and his legs felt like they might give out, and he raised his weapon anyway and faced Liu Feng again.

  The other boy looked at him, and there was something in his expression that Yan Qiu could not read. "You don't know when to quit, do you?"

  "I can't quit." Yan Qiu's voice was raw and his throat burned from breathing so hard. He thought about his mother's bare hair where the jade hairpin used to sit, about his father coming home late every night with new blisters on his hands. "My parents gave everything they had so I could be here. I can't go back and tell them I gave up."

  Liu Feng was quiet for a moment. "You can barely stand."

  Yan Qiu tightened his grip on the wooden sword. His hands were shaking and his arms felt like they were filled with sand, and he raised the weapon anyway. "I can still fight. I have to."

  He could not still fight, and he knew it even as he said the words. His body had nothing left to give. He could not make himself stop, could not make himself lower his sword and admit that it was over, because if he did that then everything his parents had sacrificed would mean nothing.

  Liu Feng ended it quickly after that, probably out of mercy. A feint that drew Yan Qiu's guard to the left, then a sharp thrust to the chest that knocked him flat on his back. The impact drove the air from his lungs and left him gasping on the ground, staring up at the grey sky above Dusthaven.

  "Match over," Elder Shen called out.

  Yan Qiu heard footsteps approaching and then Liu Feng's face appeared above him, blocking out the sky. The other boy was not smiling, and there was no mockery in his expression either. He extended a hand.

  "You fought hard," Liu Feng said, and he sounded like he meant it. "For someone who's never held a sword before, you lasted longer than I expected. Most people would have stayed down after the first few hits."

  Yan Qiu stared at the offered hand. He wanted to refuse it, wanted to get up on his own, and his arms would not cooperate anyway. After a moment he reached up and let Liu Feng pull him to his feet. His whole body hurt, and he managed to stay upright.

  "Thank you," he said quietly, and he was not sure if he was thanking Liu Feng for the help or for the words.

  They bowed to each other, and Yan Qiu walked back to the edge of the ring. His legs did not feel like his own. The other candidates watched him pass, and he could see the pity in some of their eyes. Chen Bao gave him a small nod, and Yan Qiu could not bring himself to respond.

  He had given everything he had, and it was not enough.

  The rest of the matches passed in a blur. Yan Qiu stood at the edge of the ring and watched without really seeing, and his mind kept circling back to the same question.

  Why couldn't he channel qi?

  He had taken the same pill as everyone else. His spiritual roots were mid-tier, not great and not terrible. The elder had said that should be enough to feel the energy and move it through his body. So why had it scattered every time he reached for it? Why had his body refused to cooperate when he needed it most?

  He thought about the warmth from the pill, how strange it had felt when he tried to gather it. There had been something bright inside him, something that felt right, and every time he reached for it something else had pushed back. Something darker. He did not know what that meant, and not knowing made it worse.

  None of the other children had struggled the way he did. None of them had looked confused when they tried to channel qi. Whatever was wrong with him, it was his problem alone.

  When the last match ended, Elder Shen walked to the center of the ring.

  "You have all completed the sparring trial," he said, and his voice carried a gentleness that surprised Yan Qiu. "Some of you showed promise. Others struggled. That is to be expected. Qi manipulation is a skill that takes years to master, and none of you have had more than a single day of practice. Do not judge yourselves too harshly for what happened here today."

  He looked around at the gathered children, and when his eyes found Yan Qiu they lingered there for a moment. Yan Qiu could not tell what the elder was thinking.

  "The results will be announced tomorrow morning," Elder Shen continued. "Those who pass will continue to the final selection, and those who do not will be given provisions for the journey home." He paused, and when he spoke again his voice was gentler. "Rest well tonight. Whatever happens tomorrow, you should all be proud that you made it this far."

  The candidates began to disperse, heading back toward the sleeping hall in small groups. Some of them were talking excitedly about their matches, comparing notes on what they had felt when the qi moved through their bodies. Others walked in silence, their faces tight with worry.

  Yan Qiu stayed where he was for a long moment, staring at the packed dirt floor of the sparring ring. There was a spot of blood there, he noticed. His blood, from when he had bitten his lip during one of the falls.

  Forty copper coins. His mother's jade hairpin. All the extra work his father had taken on, all the nights his mother had stayed up mending clothes by lamplight. Everything they had given so that he could stand here and fail.

  He turned and walked toward the sleeping hall. His feet felt heavier with every step, and he did not look back at the sparring ring.