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It's just not worth my sword anymore.

When did she find the answer?

It seems you have made great strides in the past three years.

We...

We've said too much.

I just...

Chongyue stops mid-sentence.

His opponent is injured. A few more words would give him time to adjust his breathing.

But he soon realizes that such kindness would be an insult to his opponent.

There is no such thing as a truly fair fight.

Cast away irrelevant thoughts, and give all for victory. That is what 'fair' is.

Let's begin.

Huai Tianpei clutches his fist, feeling the lines etched into his palm.

They are the marks of forty years of kung fu practice, his pride, his very emblem.

He's waited three years for this fight, but the preparation for it began on his first day studying kung fu.

A martial artist always aspires to the top.

The wind is still. The world is silent.

I saw two children fight over a fruit in that blurry mist.

They were about the same age and size, but one was quicker and punched heavier, and he knocked his foe to the ground.

He gets the fruit.

To the victor goes the spoils.

I saw that hunt.

Humanity declared war on Them. Mortals brought down gods that they could not even fathom, at the price of millions of lives.

Victory or death.

What is the meaning of kung fu?

Strength? Skill? An instrument of killing?

One man, no matter how strong, can never overcome an entire army or a battleship.

Is assassination and backstabbing a kind of skill? Why pick one's means of killing? Why study it as a school?

Searching for an answer before this obstacle, I forsook my power, sealed 'myself' into a sword, and built myself a human body.

How long has it been?

How long has it been since the last time I encountered an opponent against whom I could give my all?

Round 8.

The Grandmaster takes one step back before his opponent's assault. Huai Tianpei's fists are exhausted by the time they reach the Grandmaster's palm.

(Flexes bones)

Huff...

For forty years I have studied kung fu. I have never seen a mountain I could not overcome, never known defeat.

My first shifu told me he had nothing left to teach me after six months.

Each subsequent shifu that I studied under sent me away after a year, at most.

There are hundreds of kung fu schools under Heaven, but what use are so many moves, when you only have one pair of hands, one pair of feet?

I will practice my own kung fu.

Heavier. Faster. More precise.

But this man before me...

Round 9...

Huai Tianpei strikes at the Grandmaster's flank, cutting off his retreat.

The Grandmaster stays still and strikes back with equal force, cutting off Huai Tianpei's attack.

The outcome is already clear... who could take nine hits from this man?

If he is a rock, then he is not facing a bigger rock, but a deep pool.

A pool with many rocks at its bottom.

How can one defeat Kung Fu itself?

But he is still standing.

Huai Tianpei digs deep into the sand, focusing his mind and breath, breathing out, breathing in.

Then, he holds up his fists again.

Move a mountain to fill a lake. If the pond cannot be filled, it only means that the rock is not big enough.

(Coughs blood)

I lost.

I lost?

Round... 10.

The Record Keeper's ink brush stops.

He does not know how to record this.

It could not be simpler. Punch, hit, separate. No forms, no variations, just force against force, like two children fighting over food.

The only difference is that they are fighting over victory.

He has never seen Grandmaster wince in pain. Until now.

Wind.

...The Grandmaster has won.

(Coughs blood)

Hahaha!

Hahahahaha!

Looks like you weren't concerned with victory or defeat.

How could I not be?!

You're the First Under Heaven.

But all it took was forty years for me to get the upper hand on you, once. Another three hundred and sixty years, and I'll beat you and become First Under Heaven!

True, you would likely surpass me, if you had another three hundred years.

But how can a mortal live that long?

It's true that some people have lived three centuries, using Originium Arts to extend their lifespans.

I doubt that would be possible for Mr. Huai, however.

You're the First Among Men. No need to wait three hundred years.

Grandmaster... Mr. Huai has fainted.

Take him back to the barracks. Treat his injuries.

(Cheering)

(Bangs on sheathes)

Liang Xun, that man is your friend?

Yes.

Do you think he can be entrusted with the sword?

In terms of skill and character, there is no other choice.

Very well.

What say you, Lord Exorcist?

Zuo Xuanliao says nothing. He gazes at the battlefield below. One lies on the ground, one is standing. The outcome has been decided.

But the soldiers continue to bang their swords on their sheathes, a tradition among Yumen soldiers when they watch a demonstration.

It was a rare sight, a life and death struggle on a great battlefield, under the raging winds and sand.

Even the sickly general feels his heart race.

How many times has he fought alongside him? Has he ever fought so hard against any other foe?

If there is one to whom he can entrust the sword, it should be...

The Catastrophe...

It's coming.

I'm back, Shifu.

Jieyun limps towards a small mound by the nomadic city's route.

The grave is new, with a few poplars on each side that she planted to mark the place. Fortunately, it is close to where she thought it would be; the city has not traveled far.

She bows down and places the sword at the grave.

I said I would bring the sword back. I did it.

I went to the forge, saw the blacksmith, and the old pagoda tree.