Prompt: You enter an underground fighting ring, hoping to gain intel on a target, but this time you may have bitten off more than you can chew.

******

Song Dynasty, Early 1100s

The streets of Bianjing remained bustling well into the evening, with food vendors loudly advertising such specialties as steamed buns, spiced bread, and even roast chicken. Artisans and scholars alike roamed around, seeking to fill their bellies after work, while young children begged their parents to let them try the treats on display.

On a street corner near the market's outskirts, a handsome young man caught the attention of passersby when he set down a wooden stool and stripped off his clothes to reveal an athletic and well-proportioned upper body. A couple of women sighed giddily, and the young man gave a coy smile that suggested he was all too aware of the effect he had.

He began his show by holding on to the edges of the stool and effortlessly raising his whole body into the air to perform a handstand. He held the position for several seconds, then folded his legs so that he could come down safely. The audience stared in rapt silence for a moment before clapping and tossing coins into his leather pouch.

The young man basked in the positive reception, then moved on to the next part of his performance, which involved juggling a set of balls that just so happened to ignite one after the other. His audience flinched in terror, only to slowly relax when it became apparent that he was somehow immune to being burned.

Finally, the young man picked up a flaming torch that had previously gone unnoticed by everyone, and with one foot resting upon the wooden stool, extinguished the fire in his mouth.

"Delicious," he said, wiping at his lips before turning back towards the audience. To the sound of applause, he rested his left palm against his right fist in a show of gratitude, scanning the faces of those present all the while. His gaze settled on a stout man dressed in green and yellow, who dropped a folded piece of paper into the leather pouch, then hurried away with a stony expression.

"Never mind that fellow. He is simply jealous of my good looks," the young man remarked in jest, drawing nervous chuckles from the audience. "It's been an honor entertaining you all, but alas, I must now take my leave. May we meet again tomorrow..."

******

As dictated in the letter left by his father's accountant, Xiaoming got fully dressed and made his way to the Vermillion Horse, a tavern that his father operated in an effort to assimilate with the local city residents. He wondered what sort of issue needed resolving this time and found himself stunned when his father chose to air a minor grievance.

"It's that government official Zheng. He doesn't come every week like he used to."

"I fail to see how that is a problem," Xiaoming muttered while crossing his arms.

Mr. Hu stopped pacing around the storeroom and grabbed him by the sleeve. "Have you forgotten? He's our most generous customer."

"You mean your customer, father." Xiaoming gritted his teeth and yanked himself free. "I want nothing to do with this silly tavern of yours." He started towards the door but froze when his father suddenly appeared in front of him.

"Don't you dare say that. I just want to enjoy these last days on earth as a successful businessman, and I swear by the heavens that you'll help me uphold this dream."

The reminder that his father's time was limited chipped at Xiaoming's will. He blinked, then retreated. "If you insist. What do you want me to do?"

Mr. Hu smiled in relief and shuffled away from the door. "Word has it that Minister Zheng is hosting a martial arts competition in three days, and the winner will get to enjoy dinner with his family."

Xiaoming realized the part his father wanted him to play. "So, you want me to enter this competition as a fighter?"

"Indeed." Mr. Hu stroked his beard. "I've already had your good friend Yuli work her magic by poisoning one of the competitors and leaving a spot open. If you apply quickly, you might even be able to enjoy some quality time with her."

Xiaoming's willpower eroded further when he thought of the snake spirit in all her beauty and crazed intellect. He'd been trying for so long to distance himself by consorting with other women and creatures, pursuing all manner of hobbies, and even fleeing town to avoid growing too close with her.

"She is not my friend. Just an acquaintance at most," he insisted, staring his father directly in the eyes to make himself seem unshakeable. "I don't know why you're so adamant on us being together."

"My son." Mr. Hu patted a hand against his shoulder. "If there's no shame in pursuing a human, then why do you think a spirit your own age will be a problem? You need to stop being in denial. Everyone can see that you're in love, and three hundred years is excessive even for our kind."

Xiaoming broke his gaze and sighed deeply. "You make a compelling argument. I'll think about it tonight."

"There you go again. Afraid of commitment as always." Mr. Hu rolled his eyes. "But we are wasting time. Once you enter the competition, I expect you to devote yourself to winning. Only under those circumstances will you be able to get close to Zheng and find out what has changed in his life."

"Understood," Xiaoming said, relenting at long last. "How do I go about applying?"

Mr. Hu approached a shelf and pulled out a scroll of paper that rested between two boxes. "You will follow this map of the city." He unfurled the map and laid it out on the storeroom's spare table. "Our tavern is located over here," he explained, pointing at a spot near the center of the map. "And Zheng's house is in the district right next to ours. It shouldn't take long to get there at all."

"I see." Xiaoming nodded. "Give me this map now, and I shan't disappoint you."

******

Three days later, Xiaoming stood outside the gates of Minister Zheng's house while a guard patted his body to make sure he wasn't hiding any weapons. Then, he was escorted to the garden to wait alongside the other fighters near a raised stage that he assumed was also used for more conventional entertainment.

He turned to size up his potential opponents. It was clear that he couldn't rely on his supernatural powers, so he wanted to gain a rough idea of their strengths and weaknesses. He began with the man on his right, though it soon became obvious that they detested any kind of attention.

"What are you staring at, flower boy," the tanned and wiry fellow spat, flexing his arms in the air to appear threatening. "Look at me the wrong way again, and I'll beat your stupid face to a pulp! How do you like that?"

Not one to waste his energy so early, Xiaoming ignored the fellow's outburst and continued observing the scenery, figuring he would just have to improvise later.

Two guards marched out and stationed themselves by the edge of the garden with their spears in hand. Following this, none other than Minister Zheng strode out, looking most distinguished in his black futou and silken gray robes. He was flanked by two women and five children of varying ages, undoubtedly his immediate family members, who took their places on a pair of rosewood benches in the nearby gazebo. 

As for Minister Zheng himself, he remained standing and nodded to the referee, who crossed the garden to address Xiaoming and the other seven men.

"Numbers one and three, it's time to get into position and begin warming up. You do not start fighting until I say so, and whoever knocks their opponent off the stage wins. Any questions?"

Xiaoming swallowed when they mounted the stage. If this precedent was any indication, his match would be next, and it would be wise to loosen up his muscles now.

The referee signalled for the fight to begin, and the smaller man rushed forward to grab at his tanned and wiry opponent's legs. The tanned man barely flinched as the other tried to make him lose balance, and he proceeded to beat at his opponent's upper body until they had no choice but to let go. Then, with very little hesitation, he swung his leg swiftly against their shoulder, sending them flying right towards the edge of the stage.

Moments passed without them attempting to get back up, so the referee gave his loose sleeve a flurry and declared number three as the winner.

Xiaoming's number was called, and he leapt on to the stage to face his opponent, a burly man who must have eaten too many steamed buns growing up. The burly man stretched his thick arms and cracked his knuckles while Xiaoming decided to use one of his favorite strategies.

The match began and Xiaoming made use of his swift feet by evading each of his opponent's attacks, knowing that sooner or later, they would falter long enough for him to deliver an incapacitating blow.

Sure enough, his opponent's breath grew heavy and their attempts to touch him became considerably slower. Xiaoming saw his chance and transferred most of his weight to his right foot, then sprung into the air with his left. He drifted past his opponent's meaty shoulder, noticing the way their muscles tightened before he slammed his right heel straight into their upper back, causing a loud crack to sound as they gasped and plummeted forward.

The ensuing silence was broken when a servant approached Minister Zheng to impart a surprising message. "Sir, the courtesan you hired has arrived. Shall I bring her out here?"

"Of course. Make it quick." The servant nodded, then slinked into the house, returning moments later with a beautiful young woman dressed in green and white. Silver ornaments adorned her fine hair, and the rippling of her pleated skirt made her seem like a celestial maiden sent down from heaven.

Such was Xiaoming's awestruck state that he failed to recognize Yuli until it was too late. His opponent managed to pull themselves up with a grunt and charged forward with their dense fist at the ready. Xiaoming felt their presence and spun around in a daze, unable to defend himself from the forceful blow to his face.

His neck jerked backwards upon impact, followed by his tongue scraping against his teeth as he collapsed upon the stage. His vision momentarily failed, and his opponent took the opportunity to grab him by the hair and smack him across the cheeks for additional measure.

Yuli... Xiaoming wrapped his fingers around the man's wrist and squeezed hard, hoping it would help him reclaim his earlier advantage.

But with everything that had happened so far, his prospects weren't looking good. His father was about to depart for heaven, and with the object of his unrequited love having submitted herself to another man, he wondered if it was better to just accept his bad luck this time.

The hiss of burning flesh reached Xiaoming's ears and he flinched, letting go of his opponent's arm. They staggered away from him with a yelp, then turned to cry out in distress. "Someone, help me, please! This man isn't human!"

******

Author Notes:

- A futou was a black hat that came with two flaps. You can usually spot at least one character wearing them in Chinese historical films and dramas.

- Bianjing (modern-day Kaifeng) was the capital of China during the first half of the Song Dynasty.

- I took a bit of inspiration from the classic novel Water Margin. Also, apologies for ending on a cliffhanger. I had to stay within the 2000-word limit.