Chapter Text
When he walked past the Combat Room, he heard the muffled sounds of cheering. Zheng Yunlong paused. Their martial arts training usually didn’t descend into rowdiness, but he supposed Hong Zhiguang must have given the younger boys a much needed break after the stress of the past weeks.
He opened the door gently and slipped in, his eyes immediately caught by the two fighters circling each other in the middle of the room. They were both breathing heavily, and Zheng Yunlong thought that they must have been fighting for a while.
Cai Chengyu was the first to engage, aiming for Ma Jia’s legs with a swing of his staff. Ma Jia hopped back deftly, raising the dun in his left hand to shield another swing from the side. He stepped in, trying to catch Cai Chengyu’s open side with a blow of his wooden shortsword, but Cai Chengyu just managed to dance out of the way.
Zheng Yunlong tore his eyes from the fight as he felt a tug on his pants leg. The other rangers and a few cadets were all sitting on the floor around the fighting ring, their eyes following each attack and parry with eagerness.
Huangzi Hongfan looked up at him from where he was sprawled across the floor, a twinkle in his eye. “Long-ge! Are you here to fight?”
Zheng Yunlong sat on the floor next to him. He didn’t particularly feel like talking, but he supposed he couldn’t wander the hallways for the rest of the day. He smiled wearily.
“No, just to watch.”
The person sitting in front of him turned, noticing his presence with pleasant surprise. “Long-ge! How are you?”
Zheng Yunlong ignored the question, focusing instead on the nasty bruise that was beginning to bloom on Fang Shujian’s left cheek. “Ask yourself that. You were fighting just now?”
“It looks worse than it feels,” Fang Shujian said, the curls around his head bobbing slightly as he shook his head. “You should see my opponent.”
Beside him, Zhang Chao shoved Fang Shujian’s shoulder, then winced and clutched his hand. Fang Shujian pulled up the sleeve of Zhang Chao’s uniform with no small satisfaction, and Zheng Yunlong’s eyes couldn’t help but widen. His forearm was a fantastic shade of red and purple.
“What did you do? Punch a wall?” Zheng Yunlong asked, astonished.
“Yeah, I was the wall.” Fang Shujian continued to gloat.
“You won’t be so smug when I beat you the next time,” Zhang Chao grumbled, but there was no real fire behind it. Whatever happened in the arena stayed in the arena. Zheng Yunlong couldn’t help but roll his eyes.
“Go to the medical bay later to get it checked out. I’m serious, you’ll understand when you’re my age. When Gazi and I were still cadets-”
Zheng Yunlong cut himself off awkwardly, unsure of whether to continue. Luckily the audience chose to erupt into cheers then, and he could pretend to be distracted by the fight. The rest were kind enough to look away from him too.
He looked up in time to see the staff land on the floor and roll away as Cai Chengyu was forced onto his back, one of Ma Jia’s hands pressing his shoulder down and the other pressing the wooden sword against his throat. That was considerably gentle by Ma Jia’s standards. He had once knelt on Zheng Yunlong’s chest and almost broke a rib.
Huangzi Hongfan leaned across him to nudge Liang Pengjie. “I told you so. You owe me.”
Liang Pengjie clicked his tongue in irritation. “Fifty dollars.”
“We agreed on a hundred!”
“ You said a hundred, I didn’t agree to it.”
Zheng Yunlong turned to him curiously. “You bet in favour of Cai Chengyu?”
Liang Pengjie shrugged, arms folded in embarrassment. “I kind of had to, that kid was pestering me to death.”
“Zheng Yunlong!” Ma Jia’s voice rang through the room, and suddenly he felt every eye on him. He looked up in confusion, then stood up when it seemed as though Ma Jia had more to say.
“Don’t act like you can get out of this fight,” Ma Jia said, his voice carrying easily, his accent rough around the edges. “Come here.”
Zheng Yunlong blinked slowly, and looked down at his own jacket and sweatpants then back up at Ma Jia for added effect. “You want me to fight? Like this?”
“Just sounds like an excuse to me.”
“I didn’t sleep last night.”
“And I just had a fight. Come on, I’ll even let you choose my weapon for me.”
“Dalong, decide quickly,” Hong Zhiguang chimed in, his towering form noticeable even at the other end of the practice room, watching the interaction unfold curiously.
Zheng Yunlong huffed. He really, really wasn’t in any shape to fight, but it wasn’t as though he wanted to win anyway. Getting his ass handed to him by Ma Jia would be better than sitting around and letting his mind run in circles.
“If you lose you can blame Caicai for not fighting hard enough,” Ma Jia said with a laugh, and beside him Cai Chengyu sputtered, before throwing his hands into the air indignantly and putting his staff back on the weapons rack.
Zheng Yunlong clapped Cai Chengyu on the shoulder as he passed him, sizing up all the weapons. Should he choose something that wouldn’t hurt so much? Or maybe something that everyone knew Ma Jia was weak at?
“Does that mean I can make you fight using a broomstick? What about the table? You can be just like Jackie Chan.” Zheng Yunlong tossed over his shoulder as he looked over his options, his voice dry like firewood.
“Very fair of you, Dalong,” he heard Ma Jia call back to him.
“Didn’t say I was going to be fair,” Zheng Yunlong muttered to himself, rubbing his palms against his legs, the sweat already starting to form. He was most familiar with the double dao, preferring to fight up close and double down on any openings he saw. But the curve of the wooden weapon only made his stomach turn. All he wanted to do was kick and scream until the restless energy within his limbs found a release. Maybe…
He whipped back to face Ma Jia without having reached for any weapon. “We fight with our fists.”
The cadets scattered around the practice room floor broke out into heightened whispers and unsubtle looks. Ma Jia only looked at him with a ferocious grin.
“Do you wanna be Jackie Chan or Donnie Yen?” he taunted in his usual open manner.
“I’m Zheng Yunlong, thank you very much,” Zheng Yunlong smirked back.
“You’re fighting with gloves.” Hong Zhiguang’s powerful voice carried the command easily. He openly ignored both Ma Jia and Zheng Yunlong’s groans. “I’m not having anyone break any fingers. Again .”
Reluctantly, both of them slipped to the side of the room to pick up a pair of boxing gloves each.
“You alright?” Ma Jia’s soft voice floated over the short distance between them. Despite his gruff exterior and gruffer voice, he had a heart softer than most at the Shatterdome. Zheng Yunlong focused intently on securing the velcro straps to his wrist.
“Never better,” he replied, taking a couple of test swings. “Let’s hope I remember how to fight.”
Ma Jia snorted, letting the topic rest. “For your sake, I hope so.”
Both of them approached the center of the makeshift fighting ring cautiously, sizing each other up for a tense moment, hands curled into loose fists in front of them. It had been a long time since they had fought each other, and neither of them wanted to stumble blindly into a trap.
"Come on!" Hong Zhiguang's commanding voice spurred them into action, and Zheng Yunlong took the initiative impatiently, launching from his crouched position to land a quick jab aimed for Ma Jia's chin.
Ma Jia was far too experienced to fall for the first strike. He dodged quickly, responding with a quick strike of his own that Zheng Yunlong barely managed to block with his forearm. The pain was dulled because of the gloves but it was sweet nonetheless, cutting through the haze of his mind for the first time in days. He could almost swear the very blood in his veins was sluggish, unused to doing its job for so long.
Another strike, jab, dodge, uppercut. Neither of them could be accused of pulling back any punches, but they were both skilled enough to last the first few minutes relatively unscathed. They came together in an explosive exchange before backing off cautiously, spinning an intricate dance that only the two of them were privy to. The cheers of their little audience mixed with the wind whipping past Zheng Yunlong's ears as he ducked and weaved formed an intoxicating backdrop.
Come on, come on, come on, he willed his body and mind to stay sharp, thrilling at the way he was being pushed. The way his arms moved and body shifted felt like a second skin, his instincts reaching out to catch him like an old friend. Even the blows - both the ones he dealt and received - felt like coming home.
They were both soon exhausted, though Zheng Yunlong was annoyed to see Ma Jia maintaining perfect posture when he felt like his own lungs would collapse. Zheng Yunlong had been neglecting his training for too long - not that he could be blamed.
Each breath became harder than the last, and the sweat stung his eyes and dripped from his chin like a steady faucet. He knew he wouldn’t last long against Ma Jia’s relentless fighting style, but he greeted the thought with relief. He didn’t need to win, just being back in the ring was good enough. He raised his fists back up in front of him.
Ma Jia struck fast, unwilling to step back now that momentum was on his side. Zheng Yunlong fell back onto the defensive, blocking jabs and hooks in a way he knew would leave bruises behind. In desperation, he aimed a cross punch at his stomach, but Ma Jia stepped in quickly to foil the attempt. Suddenly Zheng Yunlong felt a pressure on the back of his knees, and his already weak legs folded under him like a house of cards. He was on his back, his lungs empty of air and staring up at the ceiling lights before he could even blink.
He gave up on the idea of standing up almost immediately, and laughed, loud and bright. His poor stomach muscles protested vehemently. “That’s not allowed!”
Ma Jia appeared in the corner of his vision. “Yeah, well, we didn’t set any rules. Expect the unexpected.”
Zheng Yunlong snorted, savouring the grubby rubber texture of the fighting mat at his back and the sweat already cooling on his skin. His head throbbed in time with his heart, an incessant reminder that he was here and that he was alive. The thought hadn’t been a welcome one for a long time.
“So I should expect you to cheat?” Zheng Yunlong huffed. He ripped his gloves off carelessly before taking the hand Ma Jia reached out. The world took a moment to right itself as he got to his feet.
“Cheating? That’s not cheating, that’s creativity ,” Ma Jia scoffed right back, resting his arm across Zheng Yunlong’s shoulders as they walked away from the sparring ring.
“Good fight guys. Although you better not do that again, Ma Jia,” Hong Zhiguang chided lightly but then turned and called for the next set of cadets in the same breath. Next to him, Ma Jia just shrugged.
“Stick around for a little. We’re all going to get dinner together. And Dalong?”
“Hm?”
Ma Jia stopped in his tracks, turning to face Zheng Yunlong head on. He had a serious look on his face now, rare for someone who liked to joke around and toss sarcastic remarks like peanut shells, but it fit his face well. Zheng Yunlong already knew where this was going.
“You’re alright?” At least the way Ma Jia asked it wasn’t cloying or pitying. It was matter-of-fact, the way he might ask in the gym if he saw someone struggling with weights that were too heavy.
Zheng Yunlong went for his automatic response, but something about a casual brush off didn’t seem right. He looked past Ma Jia at the eager cadets, watching Zhang Chao push someone in front of him then curse loudly at his bruised arm, or the way Huangzi Hongfan had his arms looped around Gao Yang - gossiping, if the light in his eye was anything to go by. He thought of Ayunga then, who was steadily improving by the day. Zheng Yunlong would have to bring him here soon. He thought of how silly it would be trying to teach him to fight again, how the cadets would crowd round like puppies before he had to chase them away, how Ayunga would have him flat on the ground within an afternoon with how skilled he was.
He thought about how much they would laugh at their mistakes instead of mourning what they had lost.
“Yeah,” Zheng Yunlong replied sincerely, shocked at how easy it was to say. Because it was the truth, plain and simple. Who would have thought? “Yeah, I think I’m alright.”