The strange creature before the undead boy lay unconscious in a shallow pool of water. It looked eerily similar to him, yet entirely different. Its face was turned to the side, half-submerged in the shimmering pool. The boy stared, a sense of both fascination and unease swelling within him. Was this being like him? Or something else entirely?
It felt as if there was an invisible wall between them—something intangible but undeniable. It was as though this wall were made of a solidified form of the water that surrounded them, cold and impenetrable. He wondered if moving closer might shatter it- if physical proximity could dissolve this infinite divide. Yet, an unshakable wrongness warned him against it.
He crawled forward, each movement slow and deliberate, as though he feared startling the creature into fleeing. The steady drip of water from above marked time like a heartbeat, urging him onward. The cavern’s stone blades—stalactites above, stalagmites below—glistened as droplets formed and fell in unison, their rhythm a warm and subtle comfort. The boy, newly aware of his existence and driven by an aching curiosity, pressed forward.
Was this being his Creator? The one who had woken him? Was it... his mother?
He didn’t know. But he had to know.
The creature’s form grew clearer as he approached. Its hair, black like his own, was long and neatly bound in a bun, with a few strands trailing in the water. Its skin was pale—rosier than the blue-tinged flesh beneath his own bandages. It was smaller than him, shorter by a head and a half-hand’s breadth.
As he loomed over it, the creature’s body shuddered. Its pale skin flushed red, then turned ashen white. It twitched and splashed water, startling the boy. Memories surged forward: the fiery agony of the wound he had endured earlier, the vile heat that had coursed through him. He recoiled, screaming, as fear seized his trembling frame. But the invisible wall between them remained.
He steadied his breath, curiosity reigniting his steps. Crawling closer again, he reached out, hesitant, and touched the creature’s cheek with the back of his hand.
The sensation was unlike anything he had known. The creature’s skin was warm—a stark contrast to his own cold body. It reminded him of fire, but without the pain. Instead, it was comforting, lovely, even intoxicating. He wanted to pull away, yet he also wanted to remain there forever, savoring this newfound treasure called warmth.
But the warmth was fleeting. The creature’s breaths were shaky, and with each exhale, its body grew colder. A strange awareness settled over him—this precious warmth was slipping away, vanishing into the water that surrounded them.
Desperate, the boy acted. He plunged into the basin, gripping the creature’s hands and attempting to pull it free. But the body was heavy, impossibly so, as if rooted to the stone beneath.
Warmth pooled around his feet. Looking down, he saw the water stained with a deep, unfamiliar color—a mix of darkness and pain. The source was the creature’s stomach, where a gash gaped wide, oozing life into the water.
The creature groaned, a faint sound that startled the boy. It had a voice—proof that it was alive! Driven by instinct, he clumsily gathered the being in his arms. Its weight was immense, but the warmth of its body was irresistible. He paused for a moment, hugging it tightly, before staggering toward the pedestal where he had awoken.
Placing the creature on the stone, he flipped it face-up. For the first time, he could clearly see its features: its full lips, high cheekbones, and round jaw were similar to his own, yet utterly distinct. Its pale skin was regaining a faint flush of red, but the gash on its stomach demanded his attention.
The wound was horrifying—a deep, jagged slash, as if inflicted by a single monstrous claw. Blood poured from it with every tremulous breath the creature took. The boy turned back to the pool, scanning for the cause.
There it was. A small stone blade protruded from the basin floor, glistening with red. His breath hitched as anger flared within him. He screamed at the blade with the few words he knew, rage boiling over his tensed and hunched body.
“You! You can’t live!”
How dare it hurt this precious being? How dare it exist?
He clenched his fists, his fury momentarily overshadowing his fear and confusion. But the creature’s labored breathing drew him back. Desperation filled his voice as he cried out.
“Live! Live! You can live!”
The blood continued to spill, staining his bandaged feet. He didn’t know what to do. All he had left was to call out the only word he’d known from the beginning, without hearing it.
“Mask!”
In answer to his plea, he felt a strange sensation under his mask. Something slithered beneath his shirt—new, pristine bandages unfurling from his body. They crept along his arms, then flowed toward the creature, weaving themselves gently around its wound. The bandages moved like water, wrapping and constricting with a strange, tender precision.
The boy watched in awe as the bleeding slowed, the creature’s breathing stabilizing. Relief washed over him. He crawled to a nearby wall and slumped against it, exhaustion overtaking him.
If it woke, it would see that he had saved it. Maybe it would thank him. Oh, he hoped it was his mother. What a wonderful thought that would be!
These thoughts swirled in his mind as he drifted into sleep.
***
Drip. Drip. Drip. Splash.
...water?
Yǚchén stirred, the rhythmic droplets dragging him back to the living—or so he hoped. Keeping his movements minimal, he scanned the cavern to his left. He wasn’t eager to signal his captors, if any. Torture could wait.
Blue light bathed the cave, an eerie glow from the bioluminescent moss lining the ceiling like patchwork constellations. Below, a thin layer of water mirrored the stars above, broken only by a raised earth formation where water overflowed from a crack in the ceiling. The place seemed like a meeting of sky and sea, but the thought faded as pain jolted through his body.
His right arm moved sluggishly to his forehead.
Why am I admiring moss?
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
The wound in his stomach burned—deep, wide, unnatural. It wasn’t the slash of a blade. Stranger still, it was bandaged. He frowned.
Who...?
Before he could finish his thought, a voice broke through his considerations.
“You alive?”
The voice startled him. Snapping his head to the right, his hand shot toward the knife tucked in his guard’s uniform. A figure stood there—a boy, tall and wiry, dressed in noble silks but wrapped in white bandages from head to toe. Even his face was obscured by a featureless mask, save for two slits exposing brown eyes that seemed oddly... unreadable. There was something about him that seemed eerie. The air between them almost felt like it was a clear, crystalline ice, unnoticeable by sight, but apparent to the rest of his senses. The distance between the two seemed to stretch beyond the physical length between them.
Yǚchén narrowed his eyes, weighing his options. The boy spoke again, his voice simple, almost childlike. Maybe he was smiling beneath that strange mask of his.
“You live!”
Regardless of the boy's intention, Yǚchén could not afford to be too trusting. Yǚchén questioned the strange boy, his voice sharp.
“Did you bandage me?”
His strange interlocutor spoke, excitement in his voice.
“I bandaged you! You live.”
Yǚchén stifled a groan. His savior was likely harmless but clearly not clever. Yǚchén glanced at his clothes, hoping he had something helpful on him.
His silk robes—red for Yang energy—clashed with the cold Yin that saturated the cave. What kind of martial artist would cultivate energy in the wrong element? It was like trying to set a fire in a block of ice. And why was someone like him here at all? Was he a ceremonial sacrifice? Was he...
A demon?
Yǚchén shook his head. He couldn't give up hope that early. He tried sitting up, only for searing pain to force him back. His breath hitched, sharp and shallow, his mind racing with questions.
What is he doing here? How did I even get this injury? And if he bandaged me... wait…
“Did you clean the bandages before wrapping me?”
“Can’t.”
The response was a death sentence. Infection was inevitable. Yǚchén’s stomach twisted, dread crawling through him.
Is this how it ends?
His mind spiraled. He still had so much to do—restore his family’s name, find his brother, rebuild his spear. The weight of failure pressed on him, as suffocating as the cave’s still air.
“Have you gone deeper into the cave?”
He asked, desperation slipping into his voice.
The boy shook his head.
“You can’t live deeper into the cave. You go here.”
“Does that mean that you can?”
The boy tilted his head, as if the answer were obvious, but did not speak.
Yǚchén didn’t care. Staying meant waiting to die. If he was doomed, he’d face death on his own terms. He sighed and spoke, clenching his fist through the tremors of his failing body.
“I’m going deeper.”
Yǚchén’s breath steadied, a flicker of defiance against despair.
If I die, I’ll do it moving forward.
The boy hesitated, then nodded, repeating after Yǚchén like a parrot.
“I’m going deeper.”
Yǚchén raised an eyebrow, a chuckle escaping despite the pain. So, even death’s embrace comes with company.
“Carry me.”
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
“Onward to Hell, Huànxiàng.”
***
The courtyard reeked of soap and damp stone. Mèi wrung out the last of the laundry, her fingers raw and trembling. The heat pressed against her skin, sticky, suffocating. She straightened—
“Mei, you useless girl!”
Lady Zhao’s shriek sliced the air like a dagger.
“Are you blind? There’s dust on the steps! And that pail—why is it still sitting there? Are you expecting it to walk off on its own?”
Mei bit the inside of her cheek and sighed, exasperated by her mistress’s pedantry.
“I’ll take care of it, madam.”
The servant girl seized the pail, fingers clenched around the handle, and marched to the side door. With a sharp flick, she hurled the filthy water into the street. It splattered across the stone road, dark streaks slithering into the cracks like creeping fingers as she swiftly turned back around to continue her work.
She didn’t see the eyes watching her from the shadows. She did not know that there was nowhere safe for her from the day she crossed that sect.
A ragtag group of riffraff stood together at the end of the alley, obscured by shadow. A skinny man with a hunch and a beer belly chuckled, his voice raspy and his teeth brown from eating betel nut.
“Did that girl really think she’d escaped us? The Hand of the Underworld never leaves loose ends.’”
~
The night was thick with heat and the droning of cicadas. The household lay silent, deep in slumber.
A shadow moved.
The night guard didn’t even gasp. One clean stroke, and his body sagged against the wall, blood pooling beneath him. Another shadow slipped into the servants' quarters, silent as death, a damp cloth clenched in a gloved fist.
Mei stirred as something smothered her nose and mouth. Sickly sweet. A scent like rotting flowers. Her body lurched in protest, arms flailing weakly, but the world was already slipping, warping, drowning in darkness.
~
The first thing she felt was motion.
The world rocked beneath her, unsteady, relentless. Her head pounded. Her limbs—heavy, restrained. She forced her eyes open.
Darkness. The wooden walls of a carriage, rattling with every jolt of the wheels. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, damp straw, something sour.
Mèi moved, and pain flared up her wrists. Shackles. Cold iron, biting into raw skin.
Beside her, a boy sat motionless, his head bowed. No older than eighteen. Shackled, just like her.
Outside, voices drifted through the wooden panels.
“We’ve got three days to make it to the auction.”
Another, more nasally voice spoke.
“Why the rush? We don’t even have that many to sell.”
“The auction house under the Fairy Pavilion’s a lot more fancy than our typical vendors. This might be our only shot at selling anything through them, with a girl this pretty.”
Mei’s breath hitched.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
No. No. No.
She twisted her wrists, metal grinding against bone. The chains rattled softly.
She wasn’t waiting to be sold. Not this time.
She had to escape.
