Chapter 12: The Weight of Expectation
The morning after his first victory dawned cool and turbulent, a wind rushing down the valley as if it meant to sweep away the uncertainty clinging to the Iron Banner Sect. Jiang Wei's muscles still ached from the duel against Ren Lei, each bruise whispering that survival in the tournament would only grow harder. The anticipation in the air felt heavier too—a collective breath held tight.
In the crowd, camaraderie shifted to rivalry. Those who advanced were celebrated one moment, measured as threats the next. Even Yao Ping, always light-hearted, was more subdued at breakfast. He toyed with his bowl. "There's talk of secret techniques in the rounds today," he murmured, eyes flickering to Jiang Wei. "They say even some inner disciples will be watching for talent."
Ming Xue sat at Jiang Wei's other side, her expression unreadable. After a moment, she spoke in a low voice, "If you fight a friend, remember—no one who dares stands here without reason."
Jiang Wei felt their words press against something raw inside him. In the quiet between, he remembered Xiangfeng Village: the sting of exclusion, the hunger for recognition. Now, surrounded by so many eyes—expectant, jealous, admiring—he wondered what it would mean to win, and what parts of himself might be left behind if he did.
The field for the second round was set in the sect's northern arena, a ring of trampled earth watched by an even larger crowd. The senior disciples presiding were sharper-eyed today. Elder Hui, inscrutable as ever, scanned the contestants as if measuring potential and danger in a single glance.
The lots were drawn. Jiang Wei's next opponent was Lou Min, a slight but nimble girl from west of the mountains. Her speed and cunning had upset a favored fighter in the first round; now she stood opposite him, cool gaze level.
"You were quick yesterday," she said as they bowed. "Let's see if you're steady."
At the match's start, Lou Min fluttered forward in a dance of feints and sudden lunges, her blade flickering like a darting swallow. Jiang Wei struggled, parrying one edge only to feel another rush at his side. For a time, the world narrowed to the sting of impact, the taste of dust and effort.
Inside, panic threatened. The cheers of the crowd seemed to recede, replaced by the dim whisper of the pebble—*be still, be water*. Every blow, every dodge, he drew the fear into the center of himself and let it settle, heavy in his bones. Slowly, his movements found a rhythm, not matching Lou Min's speed, but weaving around it with patience.
She pressed again, launching a high strike meant to finish the fight. At the last moment, Jiang Wei stepped past her, the world seeming to slow as he pivoted, sweeping his wooden blade in a low arc that tapped her ankle instead of her sword arm. Lou Min stumbled and rolled away, then laughed softly—genuine, not bitter.
"Well played," she admitted as the crowd erupted. Elder Hui declared, "Jiang Wei advances!"
Breathless, Jiang Wei helped Lou Min up. For a moment, they shared a look of mutual respect—warriors acknowledging the courage to stand and risk defeat. It struck him then how much he feared disappointing others, and how freeing it was to set aside that burden, if only for a heartbeat.
The remainder of the round became a blur of clashes and triumphs, cheers and groans. Ming Xue dispatched her own foe with icy precision; Yao Ping lost bravely, sweat-soaked brow lifted high even in defeat. As the sun crested the arena, only twenty contestants remained. They huddled at the ring's edge, battered but shining, the weight of hopes settled thick on each pair of shoulders.
Afterward, while the spectators melted away, Jiang Wei wandered to the edge of the arena. He knelt, pressing both hands into the cooling earth. The pebble pulsed at his wrist—steady, unwavering. He silently promised: *No matter how far I climb, I will not lose my heart in this storm of ambition.*
A gentle footstep. Ming Xue approached, her own face drawn but serene. "In this place, winning is less about the sword and more about what you carry through each challenge."
Jiang Wei met her eyes, understanding flickering between them. For the first time since setting out from Xiangfeng, he believed it was possible to survive—and even thrive—not just as a fighter or a name, but as the person he refused to leave behind.
As dusk set in, the Iron Banner Sect seemed to hold its breath for the trials to come. And so did Jiang Wei, awake in the darkness, fueled by hope—and by the promise not to surrender his spirit, no matter how fierce the fires to come.