Sun Ba chose his stage the way a man chose a mirror.
He liked places where other people’s eyes did half the work.
The contribution board. The dorm yard. The path outside the Merit Hall windows, where clerks and stewards moved like slow fish behind slits in wood and anyone standing too close had to feel the system breathe.
Yuan He found him near the board in late afternoon, exactly where Yuan He expected.
Sun Ba was leaning against the post, arms folded, laughing at something one of his boys had said. The laugh was loud enough to be heard and controlled enough to be intentional.
Two disciples flanked him. One was Deng Shou, the one with shoulders that always looked ready to pin someone to a wall. The other was the man who had torn the chits last night.
They didn’t look at Yuan He right away.
They let him approach.
They let him decide, in public, whether he had the courage to keep walking.
Yuan He kept walking.
Four in.
One.
Six out.
His ribs hurt.
His breath stayed steady.
He stopped a respectful distance away and inclined his head. “Senior Brother Sun.”
Sun Ba’s eyes slid over him, took in the split lip, the faint swelling, the torn sleeve.
Then Sun Ba smiled as if he’d been given a gift.
“You’re still here,” Sun Ba said. “I thought you’d learn faster.”
Yuan He kept his face blank. “I learned.”
Sun Ba’s eyebrows lifted. “Did you?”
Yuan He did not answer the bait.
He pulled the duel form from inside his sleeve.
Not dramatically.
Just…presenting paper.
Sun Ba’s smile widened. “Oh?”
The two disciples beside him leaned in, curious.
Yuan He held the form with both hands and spoke in the calmest voice he had.
“I’m filing a duel challenge,” he said.
The yard noticeably had a change in atmosphere.
Nearby chatter thinned.
A few heads turned to look, and then turned away again, as if looking too long would make them responsible for what happened next.
Sun Ba laughed. Not sharply. Amused, like a man watching a dog stand on two legs.
“You... want to duel me?” Sun Ba aked.
Yuan He nodded. “Yes.”
Sun Ba’s smile turned strange. “Why?”
Yuan He could have said revenge.
He could have said justice.
He could have said any of the words people used to make violence feel holy.
He said the truth.
“Because you keep hitting me,” he said. “And I'm tired of being your punching bag. If I'm gonna get hit, then I might as well have the chance to hit back.”
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Sun Ba blinked once.
For half a heartbeat, the amusement in his face flickered. Then it returned, thicker.
“Listen to him,” Sun Ba said, turning his head slightly as if addressing the yard. “Trash thinks he can make rules!”
Yuan He didn’t react.
He kept the rail.
He kept his hands steady.
Sun Ba looked back at him. “You know what a duel is, right? It’s where weak people learn what they are.”
“I know,” Yuan He said.
Sun Ba’s eyes narrowed. “No, you don’t.”
He pushed off the post and stepped forward one pace, just enough to make the space smaller without looking like a threat.
“Your parents died in a stampede,” Sun Ba said softly.
The words landed in Yuan He’s chest like a fist.
Not because Sun Ba had discovered a secret.
Because Sun Ba had said it out loud in public, where the dorm pretended not to hear.
Yuan He felt the old anger try to climb again, hot and sharp.
He controlled it.
Jaw loose.
Shoulders down.
He breathed to clam his nerves.
Four.
One.
Six.
Sun Ba watched his face like he was waiting for the flinch.
Yuan He didn’t give it.
He lifted the form slightly. “Do you accept the duel?”
Sun Ba’s smile turned lazy. “Why would I?” he asked. “You’re not even worth the time. If I fight you, you get what you want.”
Yuan He swallowed and kept his voice even. “Then you can decline and let the record show you refused.”
Sun Ba laughed again, and this time it had teeth.
“You think refusal is shame?” Sun Ba said. “Refusal is privilege.”
He gestured to Deng Shou without looking.
“Deng Shou,” Sun Ba said, voice casual. “He wants witnesses.”
Deng Shou stepped forward, cracking his knuckles once.
“Sure,” Deng Shou said. He smiled like he’d been hungry all day and someone had finally set down a bowl. “I’ll make them witness a public shaming!”
Yuan He kept his gaze on Sun Ba. “I challenged you.”
Sun Ba shrugged. “And I’m answering you. You want a duel, you get a duel. But not with me.”
Yuan He felt something cold settle behind his eyes.
Not disappointment.
Calibration.
Sun Ba was doing what Yuan He should have expected.
He wasn’t avoiding danger.
He was avoiding cost.
He would spend a henchman. He would not spend himself.
Yuan He nodded slowly. “Fine.”
Sun Ba’s smile widened. “Good. So we’re civilized.”
Yuan He turned slightly and addressed Deng Shou, because the form required names.
“I accept Deng Shou as your proxy,” he said.
Deng Shou’s grin sharpened. “Say it louder.”
Yuan He didn’t.
He just held the paper.
Sun Ba’s gaze flicked to it. “What’s the stake?” he asked, voice still amused.
Yuan He had decided this last night while staring at torn chits in the dirt.
He didn’t want Sun Ba’s blood.
He wanted Sun Ba’s hands off him.
He wanted time.
Time until the inner-sect selection competition, because selection was the first ladder rung where a weak outer disciple could become something more than being Sun Ba's lapdog.
He spoke clearly.
“If I win,” Yuan He said, “you and your people do not interfere with me until after the inner-sect selection competition.”
A murmur ran through the yard like wind through straw.
Sun Ba’s smile didn’t move, but his eyes sharpened.
“That’s cute,” Sun Ba said. “And if you lose?”
Yuan He looked at Deng Shou.
Then back at Sun Ba.
“If I lose,” he said, “I yield.”
He hated the word.
He said it anyway, because stakes had to cut both ways or the annex clerk would laugh him out of the window.
Sun Ba laughed softly. “Yield how?”
Yuan He forced himself to be explicit.
“I won’t challenge you again,” he said. “I won’t speak your name in public. I won’t claim you cheated or assaulted me. I’ll accept my place.”
It tasted like ash.
Sun Ba’s smile finally shifted.
Not bigger.
Satisfied.
“Merit point forfeiture,” Sun Ba said, tapping the paper with one finger. “How much are we staking?”
Yuan He’s jaw tightened.
He kept it from showing.
“Ten points per violation,” Yuan He said.
Sun Ba’s eyebrows lifted again. “Ten?”
Yuan He held his gaze. “Enough to hurt.”
Sun Ba considered him, and Yuan He saw something like respect flicker for a moment, or maybe it was just amusement at how bold the demand was.
Then Sun Ba nodded once.
“Fine,” he said. “Ten per violation.”
He leaned in just enough that only Yuan He heard the next words.
“You think this makes you safe,” Sun Ba murmured. “It doesn’t. It just makes the way I break you more interesting.”
Yuan He didn’t answer.
He didn’t give Sun Ba the pleasure.
He turned away and walked toward the Discipline Hall annex with the form in hand, because filing the challenge was the point, not arguing about it.
Behind him, Sun Ba’s voice carried, loud and laughing.
“Everyone come watch,” Sun Ba called. “Trash is learning how to stand!”
Yuan He kept walking.
He didn’t run.
He didn’t look back.
He went to the annex window and slid the form under the slit.
The clerk woman from earlier took it without looking at his face.
Her eyes moved over the lines.
Names.
Stakes.
Proxy.
Merit forfeiture.
Duration.
Until after the inner-sect selection competition.
She made a small sound, like she’d tasted something sharp.
“You’re serious,” she said.
Yuan He held his voice steady. “Yes.”
The clerk took a stamp and hit the paper with a clean, heavy thud.
Filed.
She wrote a date range and a time window, then paused.
“Waiting period,” she said flatly. “Three days.”
Three days.
Yuan He felt his stomach drop.
Not fear of fighting.
Fear of time.
Three days was a long time to be visible.
He nodded anyway. “Understood.”
The clerk looked up at him for the first time.
Her eyes flicked to his split lip.
Then back to his eyes.
“Don’t get yourself killed before the duel,” she said, voice dry. “That'll give me more paperwork.”
Yuan He made a wry smile.
He bowed slightly. “I’ll try.”
He stepped out of the annex into the late afternoon light.
The yard beyond was still moving. People still worked. People still avoided looking at him directly.
But now there was something written with a stamp.
Now there would be a witness, whether anyone wanted to be one or not.
He muttered, too quiet for anyone else.
“Okay,” he said. “Now I have to win.”
