Hao slid across the floor. The first thing he did was place his hand over Bao’s mouth. “You put a hole into the ship, now you want to drive into the rocks. Don’t scream for salt’s sake. Through your nose, breathe.”

  She was looking at him, but the air was still puffing from her mouth onto his hand. While he waited for her to either run out of breath or start breathing through her nose, his other hand slid behind her waist. He pushed himself forward and dragged Bao away from the pangolin-beast. When his free hand came back up, he started peeling her robe away from the open wound.

  Hao’s head flinched twice.

  After all the time he spent with Li Tuzai in the butchers, around the back of the Food Hall in the Drifting Stream, he had never seen this much blood flowing uncontrollably. If she didn’t jump back, she would have been in two pieces.

  The wound started just under her left breast, on her ribs. The ribs stopped the claw from going any deeper, but not further. A gushing red line was drawn from the starting point to the other side of her ribs, curving down. It only got worse, pushed in deeper the further down it went. The stream of blood finally stopped in the middle of her right thigh. The worst of it was right under her right set of ribs, in the soft of her abdomen. Hao could only hope none of her organs were destroyed; the most he could do was stitch and numb her.

  “Breathe.” Hao looked her in the bulging eyes, he kept her head back so she could not sit up. The pressure on his hand was fading. All that was coming from her mouth now was a lightest hum pressing against his palm. If she saw her own body right now, the screaming could come back. Or worse, a panic would start. “Relax, close your eyes, lay your head down, breathe.”

  Hao didn’t take his hand off. Tears and drool made a sticky mud, soaking his sleeve, running down his wrist to his elbow. It was too soon to let her go, but he let some pressure off. A buzzing replaced the hum, pushing between his fingers as teeth nipped them, but she listened and closed her eyes, her neck touching the stone at her shoulders. He had to stop her pain first.

  I’ll have to! He pulled a white root out of the space in the Spirit-Holding bag. It would numb her for a little while, at least. For now, this will do!

  He couldn’t hold it by the root flesh itself. His hands were filthy, touching the ground and the beast. The last thing the group needed was another supposed infection. His mouth wasn’t pristine either, but it was better than nothing. He held the plant by just its leaves and started chewing it. When the root disappeared back into the bag, he rubbed the saliva root juice mixture onto the wound. More than once, he got kicked in the groin during the process, but after it was done, most of her shaking stopped. The humming on his hand was gone too.

  Bao was breathing much slower, but just as much blood was being lost. Hao took his hand off her mouth and pulled the bottom of her robe back up past her knee and further. Pressing down on it to staunch some of the bleeding. Zhengqi, I hope you’re a medicine goddess and gave me some of your blessings when you taught me this little bit. Hao thought it was funny, but wasn’t in the mood to laugh. He hadn’t killed many, but saving a few didn’t change that. still…

  “What are you doing!?” Lang shouted, running over.

  Yao was running up on the other side of Hao, judging solely from the sound of their footsteps. Yao was faster than Lang. The drum-like sound of a small hand tapping onto a mouth touched his ear.

  “Senior Sister, I need you to take out the needle and thread you stitched my shoulder with,” Hao spoke just loud enough to make sensitive ears twitch. To shut up the other two behind him. To let his intentions be known to the wild sail that was standing on his left in the form of Lang.

  Lang got closer to Hao, he was right at his side. Hao could feel eyes burning into his neck. Bao was pale, but conscious enough to nod to Lang; it seemed the numbing worked, if she was lucid enough to move without a cry. Hao’s hand was digging deep into flesh, yet she didn’t flinch. Either that, or she was too far gone to feel anything.

  Hao turned his head, hearing the sing of steel in its sheath. Lang was there, his hand on his sword. Hao’s hand went out, following behind his eyes, moving in a wide arc towards Lang’s throat. He was about to pull the spear out of the bag and run the man through. But he stopped short.

  Lang let the sword go, it was falling into its sheath, and he was reaching for his holding bag. “I have them…” he said.

  When Lang looked back up, Hao’s left hand was out, palm up, like it was waiting to hold something. Hao turned away from Lang the moment he handed over the snake fang with the thread still attached. He nearly forgot the man was there entirely while looking down at the pale woman.

  Hao was unraveling the thread when he saw his hand shaking and asked, “Would either of you be better…”

  Yao was already shaking her head, and Lang was half in the Nether realm, just looking at Bao, his wife. The man had only seen half the wound.

  Hao put the needle in at the halfway point, threading the first stitch, moving right along the wound, doing the simplest part first, the bleeding was not as bad, but right now, stopping any bleeding would do. And if he could do these parts fast as a warm-up. He could do the more crucial and the worst part slowly and with precision.

  Saving a life can’t be any harder than ending one. Karma isn’t so cruel, is it? All is equal. Life feeds Death. But not all life is the same, there is enough death in this room already. Saving a life can’t be so hard, it’s just a flesh wound. Blood poured, a red puddle formed, a needle pierced, broken skin, thread resisting being pulled through, every sensation was as light but as vivid as a mother patting her child’s head.

  Hao repeated the thoughts in his head. It felt like hours had passed before he started, yet thinking of it logically, three minutes at most, maybe four, had passed. It wouldn’t have taken Lang and Yao seconds at most, a minute to finish off the downed beast together.

  When Hao was almost done, only another handful of minutes had passed. He used a sealed jar of strong wine to wipe down the wound. It was the best he could do. As his hands came away, he began to shake. His whole body felt like muscles were flexing and releasing rapidly, including ones he never knew.

  Behind him, a soft voice filled the silent room. “The floor is wet.”

  After a few seconds, Lang leapt forward and carefully embraced his half-lucid wife. And Yao repeated herself, “The floor is wet.”

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  Hao looked at her, he had just enough will to force a confused expression on his face, and she spoke again, “There is no dripping here, not even a trickle or sound. If they dragged water with them. It means water!”

  Sighing as he stood, he nodded his head. “You might be right. It would be good to wash her. She is covered in blood and dirt, and who knows what. Go and find it. I will stay here. I need to finish butchering.” Hao smiled his best smile, tensing his whole body to stop the shakes.

  Lang stood, being careful, he didn’t need to be told, keeping a tight, steady hold on Bao’s shoulders and legs. Yao lingered for a second, pulling on Hao’s blood-soaked sleeve, leaning close to whisper in his ear. “He could run through this entire mountain and not find a single drop of water, even with his wife’s life on the line. I will find it in seconds.”

  “You’ve impressed me twice today. And today was not the first,” Yao turned, walking away. Leaving her sour breath and sweet voice in Hao’s ear. Her hips shifting with each step, her figure accentuated by her damp clothing. The light blue shawl was still spotless.

  All three of them faded into the dark of the caves and tunnels. Leaving Hao alone in the dark, surrounded by blood and death. He stood still for a few seconds, letting the shiver come and pass, blood drying to him like mud in the sun.

  Hao started working on the beasts. Taking out a small butcher’s knife, he pushed it deep beneath the scales, popping them free. Each one shot off, and they scattered on the ground before he split the abdomen. A mess of organs spilled out. Intestines wrapped his ankle, and things he didn’t want to think about piled up to his knees.

  He couldn’t help himself; his head rocked back, but there was nothing but the black ceiling to look at. A grin grew on his face. After he stitched together a woman, put her back together, he had to tear apart a random beast. The knife slipped through his fingers, and his jaw went limp, mouth hanging open, lips cracking.

  A chuckle escaped him. He walked back, untangling the intestines from his ankles. His laugh didn’t stop until his back hit the wall of the collapse tunnel. Unsure how long he was laughing for, he did not stop or move until he heard the wind change, a hum like a quiet wind approaching him with the flicking of cloth trailing.

  “Little brother, you should come over and rest.” Yao’s voice called to him like a sickening dream. Her footsteps were an impending doom that echoed in his head. Being around the woman was torture, but she felt warm somewhere in all that cold.

  Hao didn’t pull his head down, didn’t look at her. Not until her nails touched his cheek, pulling down to his neck, flakes of dry blood cracked and broke off his skin. He grew up on tales of sirens, even a half-blood like him was given the warnings from the fishermen. The sirens’ perfect song and cold, soft touch.

  “Come rest, follow me.”

  Yao had a torch in her hand, holding the collar of Hao’s robe in the other. Hao felt like he had no strength, but he knew, with just a breath, he would be bursting with power. Even with his arm injured, if he hit this woman like he did the pangolin beast. He didn’t take a breath and let the woman drag him along.

  They didn’t stop until they were in front of Bao’s pool of blood. Yao swung the torch over it. It shone a dull crimson. It wasn’t gem-like, but the surface reflected a silver luster from the torchlight. She looked from Hao to the blood.

  “Shouldn’t you be helping look for the water?” Hao asked, not taking his eyes off the woman as she walked around him. His back faced the blood before she stopped.

  Yao stared forward, not looking at him until she spoke. Her head turned slowly. “I did. I told you, didn’t I? I helped Junior Lang find it and got a fire started for him. He is quite incapable without his wife. He is there, at the waterside, pouting and washing her. We can leave him be for now.”

  “Enough of that.” Her tongue pushed out her bottom lip as she stared at his chest. “It’s a whole pool, little brother. We can wash and swim once they’re done. I don’t want you to get any sicker. First, you need to rest and eat.”

  Yao got up close to him, her hand on his chest. She looked up and kept eye contact as she pushed him. The force from her fingers spread through his sternum. It didn’t hurt, but pushed through him, touching his shoulder blades.

  Hao hit the ground. He nearly had enough energy to get angry, but she lowered down just as fast, sitting in front of him. Bao’s blood began to soak their robes, it was still warm. Now that it had sat for a while, it was sticky and congealing. Like red tar, it stretches. Pulling it thin gave it a transparency like a sheet of liquid ruby.

  “Rest,” she said, placing a hand over his eye so he could not see. His head pushed back. He listened closely to what she was doing, he would not die this way. Every sound was like a new scene, he could hear her joints moving, creaking, stretching. Her breath going in and out, the stretch of her lungs, the sound of her heart.

  The torch to his right got fumbled, then he felt heat on his fingers. “Is it warm?” Yao let him go. Her hand fell to his shoulder.

  “Yes,” Hao spoke before he opened his eyes and looked. The flame of the torch was touching him, burning the blood on his rust-colored fingers. It didn’t burn yet, but it would soon. Perhaps it should have burnt him sooner and hurt a lot more than it did; there is no point in pretending now.

  The smirk barely bothered him this time. “Again,” she said. Yao frowned when Hao didn’t comply. She leaned forward, pushing what little weight she had against him as her knees tapped the ground. Her hand came off him, touching the ground for just a moment, which was long enough to coat it with red. The same hand came up again, covering his eyes.

  The scent of blood filled his nose. Hao could feel it smearing on his forehead, brow, and cheeks. Then he felt a pressure on his left leg, which was hot to the touch. Not as warm as the torch, but comfortable. She pulled her hand away.

  Yao was sitting on his thigh. Her heels pressed against her butt, her groin was pitching him, but her knees were sliding out on the slick ground. More weight and warmth pressed down on him until he could feel every curve beneath the hem of her robe. That pristine light blue shawl was soaking blood like a sponge, turning red.

  The shaking from the stitching was gone. Hao felt a different buzzing in his body altogether, it was like a continuous shock flowing in his bloodstream. Her lips were moving, but he couldn’t hear a thing she was saying. It looked like—comfortable or…fire…?—but all he could hear was his heartbeat. She kept talking and smirking and pointing, shaking, or tilting her head, but Hao could only stare. He felt like an animal, a beast. Am I a beast for having thoughts like this right now? He couldn’t shake the thought now that it was there. Pull her onto him, take her here, in this pool of blood. In this gut-filled room. His first child, his parents’ first grandchild conceived in this death-filled room with a woman whose name could have been fake.

  Yao slid forward on his leg, not lifting any of her weight.

  “Yes,” Hao said, responding to whatever she said, and he didn’t hear. He leaned forward, his hand grabbing behind her knee. Her hand covered his eyes again. “I want…”

  His words frozen in his throat, as something was shoved into his mouth, the taste of iron and vomit filled his nose and mouth. Whatever it was began falling apart, breaking into pieces. It was the pangolin-beast stomach that Yao cooked.

  Hao pulled his head away from her hand, swallowing bits unconsciously. Her fingers left a line of blood on his lips and chin, her hand falling to his shoulder again. He looked at her. She was leaning down towards his chest, her teeth sinking into his collarbone. Her teeth were sharp, but her jaw was not strong enough to break his skin or bones. “What are you…”

  Her chin was right next to the Spirit-Holding Bag, which was tied right above his heart. Hao sank his waist in, trying to create some distance with her.

  Yao looked confused at first, then that smirk of triumph grew on her face, “Little brother, I told you to rest and eat. I will help you with the butchering afterwards. As for that, we may have time later.”

  Hao swallowed the rest of the pangolin stomach, with a lot of other things, but help to butcher the beasts was the last thing he was going to ask for. The numb feeling on his tongue from the stomach lasted a while longer this time, but faded before Hao was done with the first beast.