The duel board was not where Yuan He expected it to be.

  He expected it near the training yard, because duels were violence, and violence usually lived near sand and sweat.

  Instead the duel board sat where the sect actually stored legitimacy.

  Outside the Discipline Hall annex.

  Not the real Discipline Hall, not the inner sect’s terrifying building with stone lions and silent elders.

  The outer annex. A squat structure with a single corridor, a pair of iron-banded doors, and a clerk window like the Merit Hall’s, except the wood was darker and the air around it felt colder.

  A board stood under the eaves, protected from rain. The characters at the top were carved deep enough that nobody could pretend to misunderstand them.

  DUEL REGISTRY.

  Below were the columns.

  Names.

  Dates.

  Stakes.

  Witness assigned.

  Outcome.

  Penalties.

  Yuan He stopped in front of it and read slowly, like the board was a manual that might keep him alive.

  A duel, it said, was a formal challenge between disciples of the same division.

  Outer against outer.

  No weapons unless specified.

  No killing unless approved.

  There will be an official witness assigned by the sect to uphold the sanctity of the duel.

  The result of the duel would be recorded in ink.

  Those that violate the pre-agreed terms will be punished accordingly.

  Yuan He read the witness line twice.

  A witness was not optional.

  A person who would sign the duel filing and then, if it was violated later, someone important would be annoyed.

  And annoyance, Yuan He was learning, was one of the few currencies that could move the sect.

  He heard footsteps behind him and did not turn. Turning too fast was an invitation.

  A clerk’s voice came from the window. “If you’re going to stare all day, pay rent.”

  Yuan He turned his head and saw the clerk behind the slit.

  A woman, older than most outer disciples, with hair pinned tight and an expression that had no patience left for anyone’s ego. Her robe was plain and her hands clean. The look she made at Yuan He could slice through wood.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Yuan He inclined his head. “Senior Sister.”

  The clerk snorted. “Don’t call me that. I’m not your senior in cultivation. I’m your senior in paperwork.”

  Yuan He almost smiled.

  He kept a stoic expression. “I need to understand the duel rules.”

  The clerk tapped the board with the end of her brush. “They’re written.”

  “I don’t trust what’s written,” Yuan He said, then realized how that sounded and corrected quickly, “I mean, I want to know what’s enforced.”

  The clerk’s mouth twitched. That might have been approval.

  “Smart,” she said. “What's written is only a suggestion, but enforcing it is another question”

  She leaned closer to the slit.

  “Duels are enforced,” she said. “Not because we love you. Because duels have a witness, and the witness is officially assigned by the sect. If someone ignores a duel record, they are insulting the witness. And if they insult the witness, they also insult the sect.”

  Yuan He swallowed.

  “And the penalties?” Yuan He asked.

  The clerk’s brush paused.

  Yuan He felt the pause like a blade.

  The clerk said, carefully, “The penalty on the terms agreed beforehand.”

  “Terms,” Yuan He repeated.

  “Yes,” the clerk said. “You can duel for face, for points, for access, for promises. We don’t care what you duel for. We care that you make it explicit and enforceable.”

  “Enforceable like forfeiting their merit points,” Yuan He said.

  The clerk’s eyes sharpened. “You've thought about this haven't you?”

  Yuan He kept his face blank. “I’ve been learning.”

  The clerk let out a slow breath. “Merit point forfeiture works because it hurts where the sect can see. Ledger. Tokens. Eligibility. Merit points is the lifeblood of a cultivator in this sect. Take that away and you derail someone's future.”

  Yuan He’s ribs ached, and he forced himself not to touch them.

  “And a non-interference clause?” he asked.

  The clerk’s expression went flatter. “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

  Yuan He didn’t lie. There was no point, and he wanted all the answers he can get.

  “Yes,” he said.

  The clerk studied him through the slit, eyes flicking over his split lip, the faint swelling at his jaw, the torn sleeve he hadn’t bothered to mend because mending didn’t change reality.

  “You’re not the first one to ask for this,” she said.

  Yuan He felt something in his chest tighten.

  Not hope.

  Something like permission.

  “Does it work?” he asked.

  The clerk shrugged. “It works until it doesn’t. But it changes the price.”

  There it was again.

  Price.

  Everything in the sect had a price.

  Witness made the price visible.

  “What happens if they violate it?” Yuan He asked.

  The clerk lifted a finger. “First violation, merit forfeiture per the terms. Second violation, a far larger share of their merit points will go down the drain. Third violation, and the discipline hall would... take matters more seriously. At that point, it stops being just some mere ‘disciple drama’, and becomes ‘paperwork.’ And believe me, nobody really likes paperwork.”

  Yuan He swallowed a laugh that almost burst forth.

  “So the restraining order is real?” he asked.

  “It’s as real as any promise in the sect,” the clerk said. “Which means it’s real as long as it’s on paper, and someone with a seal will be annoyed if it’s broken.”

  Yuan He stared at the duel board again.

  He saw a few familiar names, outer disciples who had taken a beating in the dorms and then suddenly stopped being hit. He saw other names that had a string of duels like scars.

  He didn’t know the stories.

  He didn’t need to.

  He understood the mechanism.

  A duel was a way to force violence into the light.

  To force an official to look.

  To force a witness into existence.

  He leaned toward the window. “How do I file?”

  The clerk’s smile was thin. “Now you’re asking the right question.”

  She slid a form under the slit.

  It was a single sheet.

  Yuan He took it and felt the paper’s roughness under his fingers.

  Not a weapon.

  Not a shield.

  A lever.

  “Pick your stake carefully,” the clerk said, voice dry. “People fight harder when you threaten their future.”

  Yuan He looked at the blank lines and thought of Sun Ba.

  Sun Ba didn’t need to be hit to feel pain.

  Sun Ba needed to be constrained.

  He needed to be forced to pay a price for using fists in blind spots.

  Yuan He nodded once.

  “I understand,” he said.

  The clerk studied him for another beat, then said something that sounded almost like advice.

  “If you’re going to do this,” she said, “don’t do it half-hearted.”

  Yuan He held the paper and felt his ribs ache and his jaw throb and his anger sit behind his eyes like a controlled fire.

  He did not feel heroic.

  He felt tired.

  But tired didn’t mean wrong.

  He took a breath, steady.

  Four in.

  One.

  Six out.

  Then he turned away from the window and walked, form in hand, toward the place where Sun Ba liked to stand when he wanted people to see him.

  All the while ignoring the voice in his head that said "This has got to be the stupidest plan you've thought of yet."