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“We’re playing it safe,” Jiang Cheng says, as soon as the tournament starts.
Their teleportation talisman has taken them to a pretty copse of trees on the fringe of the tournament ground, equidistant from the other competitors. The tournament is taking place in Lanling this year, so Jiang Cheng read up on the terrain beforehand and all the features and obstacles they might encounter. It’s spring, so the trees are purple, pink and yellow, and their boots slide across slightly wet grass. There’s about a square mile of forest area in this year’s tournament, which is pretty small for cultivators, about ten minutes across. There’s no caves, minimal mountain terrain, one large clearing, and lots and lots of trees.
Wei Ying has terrible spring allergies, so he sniffs once and then sneezes twice. Pink blossoms drift to the ground around them. Jiang Cheng refrains from asking if he took his allergy medicine this morning, because he already made sure of that.
“Right, right,” Wei Ying says distractedly.
Jiang Cheng has said some variation of “we’re playing it safe” a thousand times by now, but reactions like that are why he keeps saying it. Everytime Wei Ying agrees with him, he just gets more and more worried. It’s a bit too late for any assurances, considering they’re both bending down to sort through their materials on the tarp. The starting items used to be randomized, until a few years ago when Lan Xichen of Gusu found a string on his tarp and decimated the competition.
“This is our first tournament,” Jiang Cheng pushes. “We can’t try anything wild. We just have to make it to the second round, and next year we can try something, okay?”
Wei Ying doesn’t look like he’s understood this any better than he did the last five hundred times Jiang Cheng (or their parents) said it. He’s stashed his half of the talismans, the bottled water and a few bran-deal snacks, because advertising. But now instead of moving on like Jiang Cheng, he stops to inspect the tarp.
“Huh,” Wei Ying says. “I didn’t know the tarp had handholds.”
“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng says impatiently, because Wei Ying would know if he did any of the background reading he should’ve done. “So you can put stuff in it and carry it around like a bag. It’s useless.”
Wei Ying tries lifting the tarp. The thin green plastic folds easily. “It’s way lighter than I thought it would be.”
That’s because no one thinks about the tarp. It’s main purpose is to have materials be put on top of that. Everyone leaves it at entry point.
“Can we get moving?” Jiang Cheng snaps.
Jiang Cheng’s been getting more jumpy and nervous in the week leading up to the tournament. He’s been panicked all year, knowing that this is his debut year, what he’s been waiting and training for most of his life. Wei Ying almost debuted last year, but his parents wanted to pair Wei Ying with someone at his level (and was from Yunmeng), and they thought that in a year Jiang Cheng would be good enough. And Wei Ying wanted to team with Jiang Cheng. Needless to say, Jiang Cheng is under a lot of stress.
“Wait, let me test something,” Wei Ying says, flinging the tarp over his head and disappearing underneath it.
At this point they’re already several minutes into the tournament, and their neighbors have arrived.
“Wei Ying!” Jiang Cheng barks. “Cultivators!”
Wei Ying pokes his head out from under the tarp and glances at the two people coming through the trees in front of them. “Ah, they’re just casuals, you can handle them,” he says dismissively, and disappears under the tarp again.
Anyone over a certain level of cultivation is permitted to join the annual World Cultivation Championships, so long as they can find a partner, in the spirit of what it means to be a cultivator. (Though if it were in the true spirit of cultivation, they’d be fighting corpses, and not people). But many of these people can’t fight, which is why the tournament is divided into two rounds. Some people even join as a form of sight-seeing, and given that the team approaching him and Wei Ying, he’d say they fit that category.
Still, Jiang Cheng almost growls at him. But he knows he won’t be able to change Wei Ying’s mind, so he stalks off, talismans in hand. He starts running and sees them pull out a camera, which just enrages him further.
“Hey,” Jiang Cheng says angrily. “We’re in the middle of an international competition, not a tourist attraction.”
“Wait, can you give us a moment?” The tall one says at the same time, fumbling with his chunky camera. The two have backed away a little, but not enough to avoid Jiang Cheng, barreling down at them.
“No,” Jiang Cheng says snipply, and then, because he feels like showing off, uses two wind talismans to blast both of them into the air at the same time.
The tall one shrieks and drops his camera, and his buddy disappears with him. They shoot up past the trees, and Jiang Cheng watches the arc of their flight dispassionately. He uses a burst of qi to jump to one of the high tree branches and see them from there. They both start screaming as they near the trees once more, but it cuts out with a flash of blue as their teleportation arrays activate and they disappear.
Jiang Cheng smirks to himself and jumps down from the tree. In theory, the World Cultivation Championships are open so that anyone can prove themself and rise to the top. In reality, the top-level cultivators, the ones who can afford training and spiritual swords, spend the first round of the tournament avoiding each other and picking off the casuals until the same ten teams are left to advance to the second round.
When Jiang Cheng returns to his entry spot, Wei Ying is still messing with the tarp. “You’re lucky we didn’t start next to a real team,” he gripes.
That’s been a recurring nightmare of his for the past month; starting next to a team like the Lans or the Nies and getting wiped out in the first five minutes, bringing eternal shame to his name and Yunmeng. Luckily, it’s been pretty quiet so far. He’s been doing practice tournaments with Wei Ying all year on Yunmeng grounds, and by the end they were far louder, because all the Yunmeng cultivators targeted Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying right off entry.
Jiang Cheng glances up, and catches sight of a camera drone far above their heads. It looks like a large black fly against the clear blue morning sky. They didn’t have those for the practice tournaments, and it unnerves him slightly, knowing he’s being watched by thousands of people. That and the cultivator robes; he’s used to practicing in modern athletic clothing, so although he’s practiced in cultivator robes as well the layers of purple silk still make him feel stifled. He spent about half an hour fiddling with the arm guard wrapped around both of his forearms just in case he or Wei Ying find a bow and arrow stash during the tournament.
“Yeah, yeah,” Wei Ying says distractedly. “Look what I figured out!” He waves Jiang Cheng under the tarp, and Jiang Cheng reluctantly joins him under it, knowing Wei Ying won’t shut up until he does.
“What?” Jiang Cheng asks crossly. “Were they hiding swords in the tarp or something?”
“Hold this,” Wei Ying instructs, thrusting the handholds from the two back corners of the square tarp at him. They’re little more than circular holes two inches from the end of the plastic, and Jiang Cheng takes them, confused.
“What are you–” Jiang Cheng begins, and then Wei Ying activates a wind talisman.
Flying is unofficially prohibited in the first round. There are no swords, and only one bow in the entire tournament. Most cultivators can’t fly without swords, and few have enough control over wild talismans to fly themselves. The most they can do is jump high and run fast. But Wei Ying’s talismans have always been unusually strong, and his control is unbeatable whenever he chooses to stop being careless.
Which is to say that when Wei Ying slaps a wind talisman on the underside of the tarp, they fly.
Jiang Cheng lets out a sound that’s definitely not a shriek. The tarp billows out and their feet lift off the ground, one, two, four feet into the air. Jiang Cheng kicks wildly and tightens his grip on the tarp.
“Are you crazy?” Jiang Cheng shouts. “What are you doing?”
“Flying!” Wei Ying shouts back. He’s holding onto the two front handholds, and as he speaks he brings them together and transfers both of them to his left hand. “Isn’t this great?”
“If we fall from this height we’ll be eliminated,” Jiang Cheng says, because they’re still rising. “We were going to play it safe! This is not what we practiced!”
“Yeah, but this is great,” Wei Ying says. “We can snipe everyone from up here, they’ll never see us coming.”
“With what bow?” Jiang Cheng retorts.
Wei Ying activates another wind talisman, and the sudden blast of air carries them over the forest, toes skimming over the tops of trees. Their ride is jerky and uncoordinated, but it’s effective; Wei Ying carefully guides them over the treetops and towards the center of the tournament grounds, where the clearing with supplies ought to be. Of course, they’re far too late to get any of them. If they wanted something, they should’ve started running the moment they entered. But the bow isn’t in the middle, it’s hidden somewhere in the forest.
“I’ll bet someone already has the bow,” Wei Ying says. Jiang Cheng can’t see his expression, but he just knows Wei Ying is thinking at a hundred miles per hour. “If we drop in above we can get it off them.”
“And how are we going to drop in from above?” Jiang Cheng demands.
He’s trying to stay incredulous, but if he’s being honest all his arguments for playing it safe are draining away. He wouldn’t be able to stomach it if his debut tournament ended ten minutes in when Wei Ying loses control over his talisman and they hit the ground too hard, finishing with only the two eliminations that Jiang Cheng just got. They would be the laughing stock of the cultivation world for the entirety of next year.
But here’s the thing: he trusts Wei Ying. He doesn’t want to invent and try new techniques in the spur of the moment, doesn’t want to risk their record on a hare-brained idea. But when Wei Ying has an idea like this, it’s good.
If someone came from the future and told him that Wei Ying was going to revolutionize the World Cultivator Championship within the first ten minutes of his first tournament, he wouldn’t be surprised.
“Just let me try and–adjust–” Wei Ying says, left arm straining on the tarp handholds. “Why has no one ever thought of this before? I bet with a little practice this could be a legit thing.”
Because the first round barely matters. Because most cultivator’s wind talismans aren’t strong enough to pull this off, Jiang Cheng’s included. Because cultivator’s don’t bother learning wind resistance and aerodynamics enough to direct a tarp in flight, and they can’t make it up on the spot.
“Because they’re not stupid,” Jiang Cheng snipes.
“Hey,” Wei Ying protests, with no heat. “It can’t be that hard to figure out how to turn, what if I just–”
And sure enough, they turn to the left. A little shakily, and a little too fast, but Wei Ying adjusts that a second later.
“Oop, that’s a little too far,” Wei Ying says, and they swing back, slower. “Okay, I think I’ve got it.” His left bicep bulges as he pulls himself up to slap another wind talisman on the underside of the tarp, and then they’re off.
Jiang Cheng, resigned to the fact that Wei Ying isn’t letting them down any time soon, shifts his handholds into his right hand. With his left hand free, he can turn behind him to look for signs of movement in the forest below.
“By the yellow tree,” Wei Ying says suddenly, jerking their tarp into a semi-controlled spiral. “I think that guy’s got the bow.”
Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes at the yellow blossoms, straining his already enhanced vision to see past the branches. There’s a slight hint of movement, and then two people emerge from underneath the yellow tree and pass underneath a pink tree, their yellow robes contrasting sharply against the rose pink flowers.
“That guy,” Jiang Cheng says, “is Jin Zixuan. We are not going after Jin Zixuan and Luo Qingyang.”
“Jiejie will approve,” Wei Ying counters, tilting the tarp into a slow descent.
Jiang Cheng scowls at the oblivious Jin Zixuan. They’re brothers-in-law now, but he still hasn’t quite forgiven Jin Zixuan for bullying his sister when they were younger. The bullying didn’t last very long, because their mother found out and flew into a rage that Jiang Cheng had never seen on her before, and after that Jin Zixuan was scared by the mere mentions of the Jiangs. It’s such a pity he moved past that.
“No she won’t,” Jiang Cheng says reluctantly. “You should be grateful they don’t have mics here, she would’ve heard all this. Wei Ying. Wei Ying. Ge, we are not trying to take out a top-tier team.”
“They’ll never see us coming,” Wei Ying whispers theatrically. “C’mon, let’s gang up on Jin Zixuan, Mianmian will kick our asses.”
Then Wei Ying drops faster, aiming for an angle that’ll take them right behind their backs, and they both shut up. The trees obscure their shadow, and the quiet crackling of the tarp in the wind goes missed under the sounds of Jin Zixuan and Luo Qingyang arguing.
The tarp speeds up even further, and Jiang Cheng has only a moment to marvel at how much control Wei Ying has mastered in the short time he’s been attempting to steer a plastic tarp using wind talismans before they’re two feet above the Jin cultivators.
“Aaand…drop,” Wei Ying whispers, and removes the wind talisman.
Immediately, they switch from a controlled descent to a free-fall. Both of them let go of the tarp and pull out fire talismans in sync. A five-foot drop is nothing to a cultivator, but they still brace their legs for impact while their hands move in a pattern so familiar they could do it in their sleep. The identical fire talismans ignite at the same time.
Wei Ying lands on Jin Zixuan’s left, and Jiang Cheng lands behind Jin Zixuan. The Jin cultivator whirls around, and Luo Qingyang raises the bow, but it’s too late: the fire talismans land on his face and neck, and he vanishes before he can actually catch on fire.
Luo Qingyang vanishes the moment Jin Zixuan’s teleportation talisman activates, and the bow falls to the ground.
“It worked?” Jiang Cheng says, heart thumping from adrenaline. “I can’t believe that worked.”
“Ha!” Wei Ying crows, dancing over to their prize. “I told you! Jin Zixuan who?”
The tarp drifts to the ground after them. Jiang Cheng bends down to pick up the arrows that spilled out of the quiver when Luo Qingyang dropped it. He counts at least twenty before Wei Ying thrusts the bow in his face.
“Here,” Wei Ying says. “You be the archer.”
When Jiang Cheng was young, his parents took him to an archery competition.
“Remember,” his father said. “Be nice to A-Ying.”
Jiang Cheng nodded dutifully. Wei Ying had never done archery or anything cultivation-related before. In fact, Wei Ying had only been his brother for a couple of days. He might be older than Jiang Cheng, but he was new to the family, so it was basically like having a little brother. At least, that was how Jiang Cheng rationalized it, because he’d always wanted a little sibling.
“He can show off if he wants to,” his mother said.
“I’ll help him!” Jiang Cheng assured his father, puffing his little chest out. “I can teach him.”
And then both his parents smiled at him, and he felt warm until his father got Wei Ying out of the car as well.
Jiang Cheng started archery at eight, so he had about a year more experience than Wei Ying. Since Wei Ying was about a year older than him, it balanced out.
Inside Yunmeng Athletics Center, the Jiangs found the archery range. At this time a slightly older age group was using it, among them eleven-year-old Jiang Yanli. Yu Ziyuan usually came at this time to drop Jiang Cheng off and pick Jiang Yanli up, but since it was still so close to Wei Ying’s adoption, both parents were here to see the children off.
Jiang Yanli turned when she heard the door open, and beamed when she saw both parents there. “I placed first!” She said proudly.
While her parents were congratulating her, Wei Ying left his spot near Jiang Fengmian’s pant leg to make his way to Jiang Cheng.
“Is it hard?” Wei Ying asked timidly.
“Archery? Not really,” Jiang Cheng said, eager to be the chosen repository of knowledge. “You’ll catch up quickly.”
“Oh,” Wei Ying said, relieved.
They said their goodbyes to Jiang Yanli and their parents, who were taking her to cultivation training that Jiang Cheng had yet to start. His parents said he would start once he turned nine, which meant that Wei Ying was once again behind. Jiang Cheng felt bad for him.
Wei Ying wasn’t even starting archery today. This day’s practice was a competition, which seemed mightily important to Jiang Cheng back then, who had never competed against people outside of Yunmeng or over the age of nine before. In reality, they didn’t mean much. Still, Wei Ying would only be watching them shoot today, since trying himself was a little pointless.
Knowing he had an audience of one stressed Jiang Cheng out the whole time. Even though Wei Ying was just sitting quietly in the corner, watching the children string their little practice bows and fire soft-tipped arrows at the brightly painted targets in the back of the room. He wanted his new older brother to see the best he could do, to think he was cool.
When it was Jiang Cheng’s turn, he picked up his bow and widened his stance. There were five targets, and he needed five bullseyes to beat the current first place, Liu Ahui, with four. The other children all gathered behind him and watched in silence as he took a deep breath and strung the bow.
“Go Jiang Cheng!” Wei Ying cheered.
Mostly silent. Jiang Cheng felt his cheeks glow as he released. Bullseye. He pivoted and drew his arm back smoothly, like he’d been taught. Bullseye. He turned to the left this time and aimed at the third target. Bullseye.
Finally, Jiang Cheng turned to the two hardest targets, the ones on the far corners of the room. He just needed to get one bullseye to tie, provided his non-bullseye was as good as Liu Ahui’s. He set his shoulders, sighted, and released. Almost. His arrow landed in the red circle, less than an inch from being a bullseye. Heart pounding, Jiang Cheng turned to the last target and strung his bow a fifth time. The little arrow shot through the air and landed with a dull smack in the yellow circle.
Bullseye.
“Yeah!” Jiang Cheng let out a whoop and jumped up and down, beaming so wide he thought his face might split.
“Good job, Jiang Cheng,” his instructor said, while the other children cheered.
“They weren’t that far apart,” Liu Ahui muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Wooo! Jiang Cheng!” Wei Ying jumped up and ran over to give Jiang Cheng and celebratory hug, because he was touchy-feely like that, before turning to the instructor. “Can I try?”
The instructor blinked. “Sure, if you want to.”
Wei Ying made grabby hands in Jiang Cheng’s direction for the bow. “Gimme!”
Jiang Cheng handed over the bow and an arrow, and Wei Ying strung it, copying the other children’s movements.
“You’ll want to widen–” the instructor started, but Wei Ying was already widening his stance. Later, Jiang Cheng would realize that Wei Ying was only copying Jiang Cheng, the proven best archer in their small group, but at the time he didn’t understand how Wei Ying already knew what Jiang Cheng had to be constantly reminded to do.
Thud. Wei Ying’s arrow landed in the red circle, surprising Jiang Cheng, who hadn’t even expected Wei Ying to hit the target. He handed Wei Ying another arrow, and Wei Ying fired again, reaching the red circle again. He turned to the left and landed another arrow in the red circle, then changed his stance and aimed for two farthest targets. His arrows still hit the target, one in the blue ring, and one in the black ring.
The children all erupted into cheers, applauding enthusiastically.
“How did you do that?!” Zhang Wei shouted.
Wei Ying turned back and blinked innocently. “I was just copying what Jiang Cheng was doing,” he said.
Jiang Cheng bit back a retort, because he was supposed to be nice to Wei Ying. But Jiang Cheng didn’t hit the target on his first try. Maybe Wei Ying just got lucky?
“He just got lucky,” Li Xiuying yelled. “Beginner’s luck!”
Jiang Cheng immediately felt bad when Wei Ying’s smile faded.
“How long have you been doing archery?” Liu Ahui asked.
“I haven’t,” Wei Ying replied. “I just started today!”
The children gathered around Wei Ying like he was a fascinating specimen, and Jiang Cheng abruptly began to feel left out. “Wow,” they said. “Really?”
“Uh-huh,” Wei Ying said. “Jiang Cheng’s mom–I mean, my mom–signed me up a few days ago.”
“Aren’t you and Jiang Cheng brothers?” Wang Yong asked.
Wei Ying glanced back at Jiang Cheng, who huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah,” Jiang Cheng said. “He’s adopted.”
“Wait, really?” Wang Yong said. They all looked at Wei Ying. “That’s so cool!”
Wei Ying’s cheeks turned pink. He’d expected being adopted to make him an outcast, not cool. “Oh. Uh. Okay.”
“What’s that like?” Zhang Wei piped up.
“It’s, uh,” Wei Ying stuttered, overwhelmed. He backed up a little, so that he was part of the circle, rather than alone in the center. “I mean, Jiang Cheng knows more than me. He can tell you!”
They all turned to Jiang Cheng expectantly. He was still slightly hunched right outside of their circle, fists clenched. This was his class. These were his friends. Why was he only a part of the conversation because of Wei Ying? How could he pick archery up that quickly? Why was he instantly the center of attention?
Jiang Cheng was happy for Wei Ying, of course, he was glad that Wei Ying felt welcomed, and that he wasn’t so far behind he’d never catch up. But louder than that was the buzzing of the other children’s voices. Heavier than that was the weight of his parents’ hands on his shoulders. Brighter than that was the brilliance of his older sister, and now his older brother.
Stronger than that was the promise he made to himself that day when Wei Ying put down the bow and he thought: one day, that'll be me. One day, I’ll be the archer.
“Here,” Wei Ying says. “You be the archer.”
Jiang Cheng accepts the bow and slings both it and the quiver over his right arm.
“My wind talismans are stronger than yours,” Wei Ying adds blithely.
Jiang Cheng grumbles something intelligible but doesn’t argue. It is true. They pocket all of Jin Zixuan’s and Luo Qingyang’s talismans before leaving the clearing and combing through the forest for their tarp. Wei Ying disappears into the treetops without warning and when he returns, he has the tarp in his arms.
“Okay, so what if I did this,” Wei Ying says to himself, untangling the tarp from its pile. He gathers the four corners, with their four handholds, and slips his left hand through them. “Can you turn this upside-down?”
Jiang Cheng steps forward and grabs the bulk of the tarp, currently hanging down like the bag it was supposed to be used as. He pinches two folds from the outside and holds them up. At the same time, Wei Ying pulls out a wind talisman and thrusts his right hand inside the tarp. He ignites it, and the rush of wind pulls him up faster than either of them had expected.
“Okay, so it works!” Wei Ying shouts down from above the treetops.
His landing is still a little jerky, but already his control over wind talismans is more precise than it was ten minutes ago. The wind dies down slowly and lowers him back to the ground.
Wei Ying adjusts his grip with his left hand and turns around. “Get on,” he says, waving at his back with his right hand.
Jiang Cheng wavers. A thousand memories of piggy-back rides race across his mind. “Are you sure this will work?”
“No,” Wei Ying says, surprising him. “It’s my debut year too, didi. It matters to me too. But isn’t this worth the risk?”
Is it? This is the line between being just another cultivator and being spectacular. It’s the line Jiang Cheng has never managed to cross but Wei Ying tramples over like it’s nothing. This is Jiang Cheng’s chance.
“Maybe,” Jiang Cheng allows, and he trudges forward to clamber onto his brother’s back.
“Hey, watch the bow,” Wei Ying says when Jiang Cheng accidentally digs it into his back.
Jiang Cheng slides his right arm over Wei Ying’s shoulder and holds on tight. Then he maneuvers the bow into his left hand, and grips that tightly as well. “Ready,” he says.
Wei Ying activates another wind talisman, and they’re off.
It’s the most ridiculous thing, Jiang Cheng will think when he looks back at the pictures later. There they are, hanging in the sky from what looks like a parachute or a balloon, or a garbage bag. Jiang Cheng is clinging onto Wei Ying with all his might, and Wei Ying dangles from the tarp with one hand.
“See anyone?” Jiang Cheng says into the back of Wei Ying’s head.
“Hang on,” Wei Ying says, voice strained as he lifts them higher. They bounce gently in the wind currents. “I’m going higher.”
The tarp strains in the wind, ballooning into a near-perfect circular shape, and they soar past twice the height of the treetops.
“We can say hi to the cameras,” Wei Ying says suddenly, trouble in his tone.
“We are not wasting energy on that,” Jiang Cheng snaps, but Wei Ying is already tilting them higher, leaning until they circle around one of the chair-sized camera drones hovering above the tournament grounds.
“Wave!” Wei Ying says, and takes his own advice. He gives a little wave with his free hand.
Jiang Cheng sighs and looks away from the camera.
“Fine, fine, be like that,” Wei Ying says, steering them away from the camera. “Let’s go find people.”
They drift down and across the grounds for a minute, searching for signs of movement in the spring forest below. Wei Ying sneezes, jerking them to the left.
“I see some casuals,” Jiang Cheng says, nudging Wei Ying with his right knee. “Bring us over there.”
Wei Ying looks to his right. “Spotted,” he reports, and guides them over to the spot with purple trees.
Jiang Cheng waits until they leave the cover of trees before he slides his right arm out from around Wei Ying. He leans back slightly and reaches for an arrow with his right hand, then strings it.
“Hold it steady,” Jiang Cheng says, trying to aim.
“I’m trying,” Wei Ying says through gritted teeth, trying to fight the winds with his talisman.
The tarp stills for just one moment, and in that moment Jiang Cheng sights, and releases. The arrow whistles downwards, and the man’s safety array activates right before the moment of impact. He disappears, and his partner’s teleportation talisman activates as soon as he goes.
“Got ‘em,” Jiang Cheng says, pleased.
“Next target,” Wei Ying says. “On your left.”
Jiang Cheng puts his hand on Wei Ying’s shoulder as he swivels around. “This is gonna be an ab workout,” he grunts, leaning back to grab another arrow.
“This is gonna be an arm workout,” Wei Ying tosses back, switching hands while he speaks.
A pair of Tingshan cultivators are making a run for the center clearing, hoping to get in and out before anybody sees them.
Jiang Cheng smirks to himself, and aims for the closer cultivator. “Shot ‘em,” he reports, when the cultivator disappears before the arrow can strike between the shoulder blades.
“Your first cultivator elimination,” Wei Ying notes. “Not counting Jin Zixuan.”
“He’s gonna be so pissed he got taken out so soon in his home territory,” Jiang Cheng says, vindictively pleased.
“Oh well,” Wei Ying says cheerily. “Guess he’s not as good as he thinks he is.”
“Up ahead,” Jiang Cheng interrupts. “I think those are the Baling cultivators?”
“Oh yeah,” Wei Ying says, seeing the same orange robes flitting around beneath the soft green trees. “Should I bring us closer?”
“They’re headed right towards us,” Jiang Cheng says, stringing his bow again.
It’s harder to aim through the trees, and this time Jiang Cheng misses slightly. The Baling cultivator jumps when he sees an arrow strike the ground right in front of him. He and his partner look up, trying to find the source of the arrow, but by the time they see Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying it’s too late. Jiang Cheng has strung another arrow and shot it, taking advantage of their brief stillness. The first cultivator vanishes, and his partner vanishes with him, summoned away by his partner’s departure.
Jiang Cheng has already strung a third arrow, just in case he missed again, so when he sees a pair of Laoling cultivators coming up behind the Baling cultivators, he fires again. The arrow narrowly avoids a tree branch and strikes Qin Su right above her chin. She disappears, along with the other Laoling cultivator.
“Got Laoling,” Jiang Cheng reports.
“Hey, it’s Yu Yinzhu,” Wei Ying remarks. He’s been scanning the forest while Jiang Cheng was busy shooting. “Wanna get Meishan? Watch out, they’re tricky.”
Jiang Cheng’s eyes follow the direction Wei Ying is looking, until they land on the pair of teal-clad cultivators running under green and pink trees.
“She’s not that tricky,” Jiang Cheng scoffs, because he’s still salty that she beat him in their last practice tournament. Cultivators rarely train outside of their teams, but she’s his cousin, so exceptions were made.
“Whatever you say,” Wei Ying says disbelievingly.
“I’ll get her,” Jiang Cheng says, less confidently than he feels, and shoots.
The arrow is slightly off-course, and it strikes Yu Yinzhu in her upper arm instead, and she staggers back in shock. Her partner steadies her and looks around wildly, trying to find the source of the arrow.
“Fuck, that wasn’t lethal,” Wei Ying says, panicked. “Mom’s gonna kill you. Get her out of here now.”
Jiang Cheng is already shooting another arrow, and this one strikes true, right above her heart. The safety array activates and both Meishan cultivators disappear.
“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng agrees, and Wei Ying takes them higher into the sky.
They’re silent for a moment, thinking about the dark liquid pouring down Yu Yinzhu’s robes. Jiang Cheng snakes his right arm around Wei Ying again, giving his abs a break. Wei Ying changes hands again.
“It’s fine,” Wei Ying says eventually. Cultivating is far from an injury-free sport. Everyone goes into the tournament knowing there are serious health risks, even the casuals. “You did your best.”
My best wasn’t good enough, Jiang Cheng thinks.
“A pair of casuals,” Wei Ying says after a moment, nudging them to the right. “Just get them real quick?”
Jiang Cheng strings the bow and takes them out easily, with one shot to the head. “Shot ‘em,” he reports, nerves calming.
“D’you think we’ll see Nie Huaisang?” Wei Ying asks.
Jiang Cheng snorts. “Nobody is gonna see Nie Huaisang. I expect he’ll hide away until he’s in one of the last ten pairs and then trip over a rock and eliminate himself, just so that he doesn’t have to compete in the second round.”
“Yeah,” Wei Ying agrees, fondly. “Maybe a different Qinghe pair, though?”
“Maybe,” Jiang Cheng agrees distantly. “To the left; some Gusu cultivators.”
As Wei Ying turns, the pair of Gusu cultivators are attacked by a pair of Lanling cultivators. The Gusu cultivators can’t be very good if they’re getting attacked, so Jiang Cheng almost waits for the Lanling cultivators to eliminate them before he recognizes one of the Lanling cultivators as Jin Zixuan’s terrible cousin. Then he string his bow.
“Bring us a little lower,” Jiang Cheng says, trying to track one of the white-clad Gusu cultivators from above the trees.
Wei Ying takes them to a better angle. Jiang Cheng sights and fires, successfully nailing the Gusu cultivator in the back of the head. He reaches for another arrow as soon as he releases and fires at Jin Zixun once the Gusu cultivators disappear. The arrow catches him in the neck and he vanishes as well, followed by the other Lanling cultivator.
“Got ‘em!” Jiang Cheng crows.
“How many is that now?” Wei Ying asks. “Like…four pairs? Five?”
“With or without the casuals?” Jiang Cheng asks, because cultivators don’t typically count casuals among the eliminations.
“Without,” Wei Ying says. “Six, I think. Six cultivator pairs so far. Two from big teams.”
“Speaking of big teams,” Jiang Cheng says, nudging Wei Ying with his left knee. “Qishan cultivators. At your ten o’clock.”
Wei Ying ignites another wind talisman and veers to the left. Jiang Cheng gets his right arm back around Wei Ying’s shoulder before they fall sideways. Once they’re near enough to the Qishan cultivators, Wei Ying straightens the direction of the wind talisman until it’s directly upwards again, just counteracting gravity. There’s not that many Qishan cultivators anymore, ever since the doping scandal a few years back, so they instantly recognize the two cultivators.
“Oh, this is like stepping on a baby rabbit,” Wei Ying says mournfully.
Jiang Cheng still shoots Wen Ning in the face. He disappears, and his sister barely has time to turn around until she disappears as well.
“Who’s even left?” Jiang Cheng wonders.
“I refuse to believe Nie Huaisang has been eliminated,” Wei Ying says. “He’s definitely hiding somewhere. And Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji should be here somewhere.”
Lan Wangji debuted last year, the year that Wei Ying should have debuted as well. He beat his own brother in the duels, though from watching the footage Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying both think there's a decent chance that Lan Xichen, who already has a World Champion title, just wanted to give his brother a chance for the crown. Lan Wangji lost to Nie Mingjue, but thankfully Nie Mingjue retired that same year.
“Qinghe cultivators, to the right,” Wei Ying reports.
The bottom-tier teams must be eliminated by now, if Qinghe cultivators are out in the open like this. Their black and green robes don’t blend in well with the bright pastel forest around them. Clearly they’re hoping that the tournament is nearly over.
Wei Ying swings them around so Jiang Cheng can aim properly. Jiang Cheng draws an arrow while he does so, and when Wei Ying stops moving, he sights and shoots. The arrow skims past the cultivator’s neck, and she jumps back. She and her partner ready their talismans and search the forest for hints of movement, but Jiang Cheng is above them, and the arrow that takes them out comes from above as well.
“Shot ‘em,” Jiang Cheng says, satisfied, slinging his arm around Wei Ying again. “Can you bring us down for a minute? My stomach is killing–”
“The clearing!” Wei Ying interrupts urgently.
Jiang Cheng looks for the center clearing. A small gathering of cultivators from different teams–he sees Qishan red, Lanling yellow, and a blue sect–are standing around in the middle, pooling resources.
“They’re teaming,” Jiang Cheng says, shocked. “Isn’t that banned?”
“They’re pointing at us!” Wei Ying says. “Okay, let me bring us towards them, you can–”
“No, away, away!” Jiang Cheng shrieks, as the cultivators ready talismans and Wei Ying zooms in their direction. “They’re teaming to take us down! Take us away!”
Wei Ying veers to the right, but it’s too late. Their talismans explode in a cloud of smog, and a gray-colored gas billows from the ground. Wei Ying activates another wind talisman to fly them higher, but the gray cloud rises as well, until they’re lost in it.
“Take us down,” Jiang Cheng says. The gas gets in his eyes and they begin to water. “Ugh, I hate these talismans.”
“I can’t see,” Wei Ying protests. He wipes his hands over his eyes but they tear up as soon as he pulls his hand away.
“Just get us down, we’ll crash in a tree,” Jiang Cheng insists.
Wei Ying takes them away from the center clearing, and they descend in the cloud of gray smog slowly. Jiang Cheng would prepare a fire talisman, just in case there’s anyone there where they land, but fire talismans just make the gas thicker. He hates these talismans.
All of a sudden, green leaves loom out of the gray nothingness in front of them. “Tree!” Jiang Cheng barks.
Wei Ying veers sharply to the left, and their backs smack into the tree trunk. The wind talisman cuts out, Wei Ying lets go of the tarp, and they crash through tree branches and leaves until they hit the ground hard.
Jiang Cheng lands on his back, all the wind knocked out of him. Wei Ying lands on his side, yellow flowers in his hair. He curls up and sneezes hard. The gray smog is even thicker at ground level, but at least they’re on solid ground now. Jiang Cheng throws his arm out and pats the ground aimlessly until he feels the bow and the quiver right beside it, arrows scattered across the grass.
“Quick, get the arrows,” Wei Ying says, staggering to his feet.
They kneel on the ground and search through the thick fog for arrows, patting all the grass around them. Wei Ying sneezes again, and wipes his face with his sleeve.
“Don’t be so loud,” Jiang Cheng hisses.
“We just crashed through the trees,” Wei Ying retorts.
They stuff all the arrows back into the quiver. Wei Ying pulls his right arm guard off and wraps it around his eyes to stop them from crying.
“You idiot, what are you doing?!” Jiang Cheng demands in a harsh whisper.
“I can’t see anyways,” Wei Ying says.
“Over there!”
Footsteps crash through the underbrush, stepping on sticks and leaves. Jiang Cheng hastily picks up the bow.
“Give me the bow,” Wei Ying says. He doesn’t wait and grabs the bow from Jiang Cheng, and a handful of arrows from the quiver. The footsteps draw closer and Wei Ying’s fist glows with spiritual energy as he pulls the arrows back.
“What are you doing?” Jiang Cheng demands again.
“I can sense them,” Wei Ying says, completely concentrated for what feels like the first time ever. “Just give me one second–I’ll track them with–”
He releases. The five arrows disappear into the fog, blue light streaking behind them. Jiang Cheng barely comprehends what Wei Ying has done by the time he hears them hit their targets. The sixth cultivator’s partner must have been one of the cultivators struck, because they don’t hear anyone else, only their own heavy breathing.
And it strikes Jiang Cheng then, so suddenly and so forcefully it’s like he’s been waiting to hear these words all his life: he’ll never be the archer.
“Oh, my arms,” Wei Ying says, stretching them above his head. “What a workout.”
Every accomplishment Jiang Cheng has made so far is because of Wei Ying. Every shot he made from his perch on his brother’s back is because of Wei Ying. And no matter how many he got right, Wei Ying will always be there, to pick up the bow and string five arrows all at once, imbue them with spiritual energy and send them seeking their targets in the fog. He will always be one step ahead of Jiang Cheng, guiding him to the finish line.
“Jiang Cheng?” Wei Ying says, when he doesn’t respond. “Are you okay?”
Jiang Cheng loves his brother, and nothing in the world could change that. But he’s so, so tired of always coming second. So incredibly tired of never being good enough at the only thing that matters. So tired of picking himself off the mat and hearing Wei Ying say you’re getting better or you did your best, so tired of his mother and his father looking between their two sons and wondering why Jiang Cheng is always behind. He’s so tired of constantly trying to one-up Wei Ying when all it takes is one casual, half-baked try and Wei Ying is in the lead again. One spur of the moment thought and Wei Ying is getting five eliminations at the same time.
And he hates, absolutely loathes the way Wei Ying knows it and won’t say it. The way he’ll say give me the bow but not why, all to spare Jiang Cheng’s feelings. He doesn’t say I’m better than you, that’s why or I can do this and you can’t, that’s why, or we need to land these shots, and you might not but I will, I always, always will.
Wei Ying will always be the archer.
“Jiang Ch–”
A wind talisman cuts Wei Ying off in the middle of his sentence. A gust of wind strong enough to crack trees comes out of nowhere and picks Wei Ying right off his feet. His boots drag along the grass and his back slams into a tree, while he struggles to get on his feet and out of the way of the wind talisman. A white-clad cultivator comes barreling out of the fog, and Jiang Cheng is so wrapped up in thought he nearly doesn’t move.
Wei Ying pushes himself off the tree trunk, head ringing, but the cultivator is upon him, pinning him against the tree with one arm while the other ignites a fire talisman between two fingers. Jiang Cheng moves before his mind realizes what he’s doing, and Wei Ying headbutts the cultivator in the face hard, successfully pushing him away. Jiang Cheng grabs an arrow from the quiver and lunges forward just as the cultivator in white slams the fire talisman down in Wei Ying’s face.
Jiang Cheng strikes.
The last thing Jiang Cheng sees is Lan Wangji’s surprised face as the tip of the arrow nears his unprotected throat before Wei Ying’s safety array activates, taking Jiang Cheng with him.
The roar of the crowd is deafening.
Jiang Cheng continues stumbling forwards on marble floor for two more steps before he stops. Strong arms catch him while he blinks, adjusting to the sudden regaining of sight and the brightness of the stadium lights.
“Good job out there, Jiang Cheng,” his trainer is saying, the voice distant. “You did amazing.”
“World record for most single eliminations,” his father adds, voice glowing with pride.
Jiang Cheng straightens. He’s back in the glass box he started in, surrounded by trainers and doctors and his parents, all smiling at him.
“You eliminated Lan Wangji at the very last second,” his mother says, and Jiang Cheng glances across the stadium ground to the box full of white-clad cultivators. Sure enough, Lan Wangji is there, being steadied by a coach while his brother looks around, befuddled.
“I would be upset that you didn’t make it to the second round,” his mom adds dryly, “but the only cultivators who did were Nie Huaisang and Nie Rong.”
Jiang Cheng pushes through the throng of people and finds his brother on the other side of the box, rubbing his head sheepishly while another Yunmeng cultivator offers him a wet towel. People are shoving water and wet towels and snacks in Jiang Cheng’s face as well and he waves it all away, in favor of approaching Wei Ying.
“That trick with the tarp was amazing,” Liu Ahui is saying to Wei Ying, who nods absently.
“Yeah,” someone else says, “how did you think of that?”
“Uh,” Wei Ying says, still blinking rapidly. He looks to Jiang Cheng.
“Next year’s tournament is going to be interesting,” their coach says knowingly. “I can’t wait to see what you two get up to.”
“No,” Jiang Cheng blurts, before he quite knows what he’s saying. “Not again. Never again.”
And now they’re all looking at him blankly. His parents look confused, and his brother looks hurt, and the other Yunmeng cultivators look incredulous.
“We’re not teaming again,” Jiang Cheng says.
“What do you mean?” His mother snaps.
“Why not?” His father asks.
“What happened?” His coach asks.
“What did I do?” Wei Ying asks in a small voice.
Jiang Cheng winces internally. He didn’t mean to say it so publicly, he didn’t mean to hurt his brother, but he’s never been more sure of anything in his life. Cultivation is his life, and he cares about it probably as much as he cares about his brother.
“Nothing,” Jiang Cheng says, and he means it. “You did great.”
“Then what’s the problem?” His coach snaps.
“I think they just need to sleep it off,” his father intervenes. “It’s been quite the morning. Why don’t we all just take a break and come back to this later?”
“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng agrees. “Okay.”
He and Wei Ying are piled with snacks and towels and herded out of the box. The Yunmeng cultivators form some sort of guard around them until they’re out of the stadium, and they all pile into a bus waiting to take them back to their hotel.
Jiang Cheng is willing to sleep on it. He wants to go and explore the city with Wei Ying and their friends before they fly back to Yunmeng, and he doesn’t want to talk about this during their trip.
But Jiang Cheng can’t stand in his brother’s shadow any longer, or he thinks he might one day just stop existing as a separate person entirely. He can’t have his success be defined by Wei Ying’s. He won’t have his self-worth be measured on a scale Wei Ying will always rank higher on. Not anymore.
Jiang Cheng will never be the archer. It’s time he found out what he is.