The tunnels went on forever. But in the chamber, for the moment, Hao was alone again.

  Hao let half a breath burst out, throwing his robes aside, back to where they were, not bothering to hang them to drip dry. Walking back to the stone pit filled with water, he rinsed himself a last time with his hands for cups. It was strange not having a tool appear in his hand when he thought of one, but the Spirit-Holding bag was hidden beneath the bucket. He left it be, hoping no one but him would think to touch it. As clear water ran down his scar-covered skin—pale spots where he used to be dark—he tried to forget the world again, to meditate. Go back to the void that existed beyond reality in his head. There were colors there now, World Energy, he assumed, swirling through his body, mind, and soul.

  If he were left for a few hours, his mind might just be able to crawl back on the cliff it was teetering on. Reality had changed far too much for him since leaving the Island. He changed far too much; even his mind had sometimes forgotten itself. Just a while to think, that’s all, no matter the condition, even if stones were crushing me. He looked around himself, trapped by gray ceilings and walls catching blue light.

  Hao let his foot fall below the water. His other foot trailed behind. He plumed until the water covered him, head to toe, sticking to his skin, pushing against him, and running away. His shadow vanished, choked by the blue light of spirit stones shining from every direction, twisting and bending in the water.

  “Finally,” a whisper escaped his mouth as he floated back to the surface. Bubbles, as clear as merchants’ glass and sugar candies, colored blue by World Energy trapped in Spirit Stones, floated and popped around him. It had been ages, or so it seemed, since he was able to get into water, water he could see the edges of.

  Months ago, Hao got his first real feeling of Martial Technique in a clear pond under the moon. That pond, surrounded by the forest trees in the Drifting Stream, clear as a spring. Fed by streams that climbed the Drifting Mountains that could touch the sun, their peaks beyond the clouds made the sky seem low. Looking up, there were only spikes of stone aimed at him. How he wished to see the sky from the pond, to feel the wind as he cut wood for Meiqi, a sort of mentor and servant, with his labors and her a meal would be made.

  He could smell her breakfast. Tender meats, roasted black. Sweet purple jams, servants’ rations, softened and re-baked into a doughy cake. It wasn’t often, but the abnormally beautiful woman—a mother and grandmother—would dance while she cooked and served. Her soft hands and hair would be tools to tease him while she and her daughter laughed like singing Luan birds of legend. It was quiet beneath the stone.

  Hao didn’t mind the cave, not the stone walls or even the ceiling above him. He had spent countless days in caves already, during a time that seemed endless. He thought mining would be his life, but he found that first breakthrough and found World Energy filling his body, only growing ever since then. That first breakthrough made in brute force desperation changed his fate.

  No, it was not the surrounding stones that bothered him. They held memories of triumph. It was not knowing the destination he was walking towards that suffocated him.

  Eyes closed, Hao raised his hands. His feet had nothing to stand on, the water was too deep, but he mimicked the stances the best he could. He reminded himself first Water Breaking Fist, perfectly executed. It was for the earliest stages of Reclamation, the first three stages, reclaiming the body. Knowing and executing the technique perfectly didn’t mean his cultivation was perfect, far from it. Reclaiming only meant to hold, to own, not to surpass or perfect.

  Hao continued from Water to Wood, moving the five mortal elements in a cycle, imagining them as a circle feeding each other. A whole life from birth to death to rebirth at water again, each movement as smooth as the last. At the water again, he reversed it. The elements suppressing each other. Back and forth, he fed and suppressed until he felt his bones whimpering. He began to compress the circle, crossing elements, making them collide and shatter. Mortal fates filled his mind, the only mortal fate at the end of all paths; dead silence.

  His body broken, he sealed himself from the world. Blood soaked in World Energy rushed to repair, squeezing in vessels slowly as they burrowed for more room.

  With a deep breath, the water held him. The sensation of water was lost to him. He forgot light and dark; concepts were lost to him in the void. He remained there floating until the scraping sound filled his ears, shaking the world, and his mind was drawn back to reality. Hao had to move his legs again to stay afloat. His shoulder twitched as he stared out across the room. He knew his arm needed a few more days of rest, then he would be in near-perfect condition again.

  *

  From the dark beyond the chamber of stone, in a tunnel drenched in shadow as black as ink, a woman in white walked with slow steps, her robes wet, clinging to her skin. In her left hand, a torch. A stick with its head burnt to ash, dripping gray water.

  “Little Brother, your hair has changed color. Or you were hiding it before?” Yao prowled into the blue light, her blue shawl tied around her upper arm, dripping clear water.

  In front of her legs, the stout jar she filled was sliding forward; the sloshing sound told Hao there was still a fair amount of water inside. The scraping of ceramic on stone grated down on his ears. His eyes met with patches of pale peach skin under the white silk, her shoulders bare. The collar of her robe unfolded lower than ever before, weighted by water. It slouched down, stopping where the shawl was tied, just below where her slender shoulder muscle faded. Both sleeves were pulled up and tied and folded just below her elbow.

  In her right hand, the side where the shawl was tied, she held her cloak, sopping wet. White-fur clung to her forearm. Slightly heeled shoes as white as a cloud swung, hanging from the fingers on that same hand.

  Hao scanned her, unashamed in his eyes, “Why are you in here? Does no one know what privacy is?”

  Yao gave the jar a hard push with her bare foot. It slid across the floor, the bottom chipping away as it hit bumps before slowing, managing to stay in one piece. Following behind it, she tilted her head, one leg crossing in front of the other as she walked. The wet robe clinging and pulling, clinging and pulling.

  “I told you to be quick.”

  Hao pulled his eyes up to her face, a smile on her lips. He imagined it would grow into a smirk soon. “You also told me to take my time. What was it? Don’t go too fast or something.”

  They stared each other in the eyes, but she broke eye contact as she got close to the water’s edge. With a sigh, she looked over at him in a similar way to how she had glared the first time they met. She had her eyes pinched like she was inspecting the day’s catch before descaling and skewering to salt roast. Her toe curled down, dipping into the water, a subtle ripple spreading on the surface.

  One side of her lips curled into a different smirk than usual. A chuckle escaped her. “Yes, I did, didn’t I? I thought you could use the extra time to play in the water, little brother. You were the one who needed a scrub down the most, too. But, well. I did think you got that extra time. I’m clean, aren’t I?”

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  Yao invited his eyes, lifting both her arms until they were flat out from her sides. She flipped her long black hair over her left shoulder.

  Hao thought there was a little red on her face, but not for long. She took a step back, lifted her foot, and pushed the jar over. The leftover clean water spilled out with a crash, splashing into the pond. Rippling water made the blue light fracture. Tears in the light seemed to make the room move.

  Hao watched as she shrugged, her arms still out, and turned, rolling the jar around with her foot again. He knew she wasn’t wrong. Feeling less pressure with her eyes turned away, Hao looked closely. She was nearly spotless, her hair without a speck of dirt, her skin seemed to shine, losing only to the medallion that drew his attention almost as much as her bouncing, kicked steps.

  Extra time to play and scrub? He didn’t appreciate the implication that he was a dirty child. Especially not with the way she looked at him. Hao didn’t mind being looked at bare; being nude at an inappropriate time was simply rude, but he was not the one peering at bare flesh in this situation. Whether her gesture was inappropriate or just a jab, he couldn’t be sure with Yao. A clever thought came to him, one he tried to ignore, but it prodded at him; it wasn’t the first time he struggled to keep his mouth closed.

  Hao thought she was going to leave, but she turned, moved to her left, rolling the jar over to where Hao’s robe was. She threw her cloak down with a splat. The jar pushed into the bucket that hid the Spirit-Holding bag. If she were to notice the bucket, to move it, to lift it. Hao let a few words slip from his mouth.

  “If I’m a child and age is relative, then you are an?” Hao stopped himself.

  Yao turned on her heel like sleep turned night to morning. Her expression was terrifyingly empty. She let the air breathe before her lips parted, “What?” she asked, walking over, her steps like bells on the wet stone.

  Closer to the edge of the water than before, Yao stared at him again, more shameless than Hao by the angle of her pupils. She sat down at the water’s edge. Her legs sank into the shining blue surface, everything below her knees bending with the light in the water.

  Those bold eyebrows moved up and down, challenging Hao. Her left elbow touched her knee. She leaned forward, her forearm pressed between her pale breast, as her back arched like a bow and her soft cheek pressed down on her palm. Yao’s eyes were relentless compared to before, not ruthless, just relentless.

  Hao felt a chill when she looked at his neck, but she didn’t look at his neck for long, her eyes drifting to his shoulders. To the injured one in particular. She stared at that shoulder long enough to count the stitches. To his forearm as well, where the burn scarred him during his conflict with Swordface, during the fight for the Polarity Flower, his first real failure. She looked at the rest of his scars as well, her neck stretching to look down into the water when there were no more scars to look at.

  “An… What?” Yao smiled, her eyes jumping to his. “Go on.” Her hand went to the holding bag at her waist. She had that overly long, curved sword as sharp as her eyes in there. She could have something worse for him, too.

  She really shouldn’t have tempted him, his mouth opening. Words were dancing on the end of his tongue, but he kept the sounds wrangled in, stopping himself from saying it. “Well, you could finish it yourself and decide if you…”

  “Not!”

  Her voice echoed in the cave along with the sound of a splash. Yao slipped into the water, pushing herself forward. Hao thought her robe was clinging and see-through before, but now she approached him, blue light shining up from below, and down from the gray stone spiked ceiling. It took more effort for her to swim and float than it did to swing a weapon. Her grace wasn’t fully abandoned when submerged, floating and gliding along half her ribs above the surface, her chest and medallion shining like spring moons.

  Hao moved back, his foot hitting the edge of the pond. He wanted to put his hands up behind him to the stone edge, but she moved with a certain degree of haste that only someone with superior Cultivation could move with. In the water, their eye level matched, though her arms were shorter. As soon as the distance was closed, she reached out.

  If he had the Spirit-Holding bag with him, he could pull out a weapon, even the playing field. If his shoulder wasn’t injured, he could have put up a fair fight even if she had superior Cultivation to him. Hao could fight back if he had to—if he had to.

  *

  Yao’s right hand came out first, touching his shoulder. “Your chest is hairless, and you look so young, but you have quite the collection of wounds and scars…” Her fingernail made a clicking sound as she ran across his shoulder from the last stitch on his shoulder to the first.

  Hao got his arm back and up. Once he found the edge, he just had to pull himself up out of the water.

  Yao stopped him, grabbing his arm, stopping it from going back. Her hands reach over his shoulders as if to embrace him, her pinkies landing on his back first. There was only an incense stick of distance between them. She must have cleaned up her fingernails. All ten were sharp but smooth and round, not as soft as her fingertips, slick from the water clinging to both of them. They felt cold as they pulled across his skin. One hand came over his shoulder blades to his chest, bringing his right arm back with it.

  Hao tried to pull that same hand back, but as soon as it moved, her hand leapt from his chest to his hand, her nails scratching as her fingers interlaced with his. As he pulled, so did she. Hao tried to push instead, she copied, fighting back.

  Hao felt himself able to win. The water quaked as they had a mini war, a test of strength. Yao began to float back, her hand sliding outside her shoulder line. She glanced at the battle she was going to lose, pulling her eyebrows together to scowl at him. Her other hand dug into his back, nails first, where the healed half of the wound connected to his stitched-up shoulder had turned to a soft scar.

  Hao was getting ready to move his other hand to lunge at her, to end this quickly. As soon as his other hand moved, she gave up the battle. As Hao’s right arm shot beyond Yao’s body, she pulled herself closer to him again. Hao didn’t get a chance to pull his right hand back. Yao locked her arm down, squeezing his forearm against her waist. His hand touching the soft of her back, his fingertips in the groove of her spine.

  But of all the things for his eyes to take note of. Nothing was worse than the fact that her hand was right next to her holding bag on the left of her hip.

  Yao held tight, kicking the wall behind Hao. Water burst, bubbling, breaching the surface around the two of them as they surged to the center of the water away from the edge. As soon as they stopped moving, they moved against each other again.

  Yao’s hand, the one she had dug into his back, moved to his neck. Hao’s hand crept forward; they thought the same, it seemed, but her hand was closer to its destination. She lifted her arm. Her thumbnail drove into Hao’s jaw.

  Hao had to look down the bridge of his nose as she tried pushing his head. The center of his vision was filled with Yao’s chest and medallion bobbing and floating in the water. He strained his eyes looking up a little more to her face, just a little higher.

  Yao’s head was angled down. She was looking at something below the water. When she lifted her head back up, she had a somber look, like she was telling a ghost story over a fire, a warning.

  “Perhaps I was wrong. You might be older than you look. You might not be just a boy. Looks can be deceiving.”

  The silver medallion with water trapped around the imprinted jade wing floated over and touched Hao. He felt a cold swirl of World Energy around it. It floated away quicker than it came to him, silver reflecting blue light up in his eyes.

  Hao had another thought, one he wanted to say, but one he knew would make things worse for himself; still, he was tempted. If it’s got her off balance just for a second, his hand would launch for her neck. You’re just saying that now because you don’t want to be seen as old. He kept this one in his mind for now.

  Yao’s thumbnail scratched the skin beneath his chin back and forth, “I am not…”

  Her words stopped him from saying one thing, but a pause in her breath gave him a chance to say another. This time, his mind hardly checked it before it came out, yet it made him smile.

  “An old Aunty?”

  It was scary that her face stayed as calm as it did. Her mouth not moving was unnerving, if nothing else. Yao’s fingers loosened themselves for a second, pulling a thumb’s width from his neck.

  Hao’s hand instantly jumped from the water, going underneath the arm that was stretched to his neck. He got her and held her.

  Yao’s neck was thin and soft; it felt fragile in his hand, and he pinched down. The thought of killing a woman made his head scream. His stomach lurched. He tried to ignore it. She kicked his shins as they treaded water. His mind screamed to stop, to continue, all that peace he found in meditation, always found a way to shatter.