Yao’s fingers connected with Hao’s hands. Both of their wrists twisted to create an opening, allowing them to lock down their intertwining arms. Their other hands were clapping loudly against each other. Wind burst from between the palms. A child’s game, a nonsensical fight of fingers that would make a mortal army quiver if they could see it. Hao managed to get his fingers interlaced with Yao’s right hand, locking it down. “No sword…” He muttered, his other hand jumping a palm strike that could kill.

  Yao’s nondominant hand leaped faster than his, her superior cultivation reminding Hao of his nonexistent talent. The hand struck his sternum, his heart clenching in his chest, his stomach tensing. Hao’s foot slipped back as drool found its way to his lips. The back of his throat filled with a jelly that blocked his breath.

  Hao must have swallowed more blood than he knew. The strike brought up a cough. The back of his throat was getting a rich taste of iron. Yet looking in the face of the woman in front of him—somehow clean looking despite the dust gathering on her drops of sweat—it reminded him more of the Pangolin-beast stomach than of blood. He let it pool on the back of his tongue, then gulped. The sound was audible, and the feel was grotesque—the jelly fell back to his stomach, the glob, and whatever was stuck to it or trapped underneath it.

  Hao could breathe again, his hand never stopping its travel towards her throat. Right in his eyes, he saw the hand that just struck his chest start to shine, she was trying to pull her sword from her holding bag to her non-dominant hand. Hao was curious if it would work; how special was his bag compared to a normal one? The thought didn’t distract him. His fingers closed on her collarbone.

  The light got bright, glowing right in his eyes, Hao stared into the magic that was the soul. A crack in space that connected her hand to the bag on her waist. She would slice him in half if she had to, he remembered the warning well.

  Hao’s mind quickly went to the space of the Spirit-Holding bag. The first thing he spotted was the snake’s corpse inside. He had a thought, his mind going back out to reality, as his elbow snapped straight, his arm shooting out like the demonic snake leaping from its coil. The light in her hand vanished as her body jerked back, his hand touching soft, clammy skin, his thumb sliding up to the back of her jaw.

  In near complete darkness once again, Hao gave off a shivery feeling that even he felt reflected back at him in her green eyes—one of a kind, green eyes.

  Yao didn’t stop acting. However, her shock froze her, stopping her from using her holding bag. She grabbed his face, nails catching and ripping off what remained of the mask made from his sleeve. Her finger scraped down his jaw. The skin of his bottom lip was torn away. His lip bounced up, clicking with his top lip, a light sound that echoed in the chamber. Drool as red as rust hung from her fingernail—Her hand leaping to his forearm.

  Hao stared at her wide, lifting her in the air, her nails digging into his arm, her legs slamming his thighs. It was strange to say the least, such a delicate woman, features bold and soft, so eager to kill. The world had made her so.

  Her lips parted, words slipping through gasps. “Wait… Slow down… little brother.”

  Yao pulled her hand off his forearm, her fingernails retreated from his flesh, and blood slowly trickled up his arm. The hand reached down, seeming short, dainty even, nails tapping his face, under his eye, down his cheek. Red marked replaced salvia, blood, and mud.

  “A little…Longer…” her voice soft gasps.

  Hao pushed her away, her feet tapping his knees. He barked, “Why should I?” A little longer, what does that mean?

  A part of him hoped she had a good reason, his fingers tightening around her throat. She looked down at him, a desperation in her eyes, gasping, hot puffs coming from her nose, and brushed his wrist.

  “Feng Yao, Yao Feng,” Hao spoke slowly, nearly silent, like he was tasting her name and asking which came first at the same time. His head suddenly jumped over to the side, he thought he heard more footsteps climbing up the tunnel.

  Through all her gasps and coughs when her lips were sealed, that smirk remained. Only when she sought air did it break.

  Hao felt something wet on his neck. He thought he was bleeding again, but it wasn’t warm like blood. He couldn’t look down, staring at Yao. That was the only thing that felt strange, just like before when he ate the Pangolin-Stomach, his tongue was stiff, but it was spreading to his lips. His hands lowered, and it was impossible to keep his muscles engaged. Yao’s feet touched the ground again.

  “You—” Hao muttered, his own lips getting in the way.

  His toe tingled, the feeling of needles pricking at him. That sensation spread, clawing up his legs and down his arms, his stomach felt hollow, then a big clench pulled it up again. It wasn’t the strike to the chest that made me cough… He looked to the right again, thinking a footstep was coming at him, but there was nothing there.

  “When—did…” Hao got that out before his entire face felt stiff. A slurry bubbled up his throat, running down his face. His hands and arms went loose, not falling, but he could not squeeze, push, or pull.

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  The two stared at each other, Hao feeling like a puppet as the woman in front of him peeled his fingers away to catch her breath. Her chest reached a steady rhythm as she lifted her dominant hand, pulling Hao’s interlaced fingers off one at a time.

  “It’s a good thing Little Brother is kind…” Her voice matched the smirk on her face, but her following action didn’t. The impulsive rise of her hand betrayed the serenity and confidence in her eyes. A slap echoed in the chamber, sending Hao to the ground.

  Hao’s back hit pointed stones that felt like a fist pressing into his relaxed body. Each thread of pain was still present beneath the nets of tingling. He tried to speak, getting his nose and top lip to twitch before his body seemed to give out. His head fell, lying back, and he wasn’t even able to lift his neck. Hah! Hao laughed at himself in his head. So much planning, scheming, and mistrust, all that bloodshed, and he was still a powerless lump on the ground.

  Hao acted as quick as he could, there had to be something inside of him that didn’t belong, he knew he didn’t consume enough of that damned stomach to do this to him. It had to be something else. Droll ran up his cheeks as he began gathering dark red Qi in his stomach.

  “When? When isn’t what—so you must have noticed something, smart, aren’t you?”

  Hao could hear Yao’s voice before a weight and heat fell upon him, pressing on his stomach and chest. It was only a minor distraction, he kept his focus. Then his head was lifted by one hand.

  Yao stared down at him, her weight resting on him, her legs straddling his waist. The medallion of silver with a jade wing imprinted upon it swung around above his neck. Right next to her face, painted with triumph, a waterskin.

  The smirk on her face got wider, and a look of pity filled her eyes. “But Little Brother, if you want people to think you are a fool, you have to act like one, don’t make all things you are trying to hide so obvious… It’s a good thing I put a bunch of the stomach juice and saliva in this water. You might have really killed me.”

  Hao’s heart was still beating, his stomach still moving, his Qi channels untouched. He pushed faster, the World Energy making the tingling sensation it passed, get worse, then fade. His stomach tensed again, rusty globules rolling up his throat and popping into the air, stinking on his cheek as they rolled down the side of his face.

  Yao scowled, “It makes sense that would happen, it’s a lot of poison in you. You see, the saliva and stomach of a beast similar to what I called pangolins in this mountain can be found in the desert north. They eat giant worms and insects whole and live. It’s common to raise and harvest them for poison, it’s good for hunting, or moving livestock. You couldn’t notice the taste after eating a piece, could you?”

  Yao chuckled, pouring the rest of the waterskin over his face. “Also, this is a different waterskin…” She emptied it, put it away, and retrieved another, pouring more water over Hao’s face. “Let’s wash that pretty face of yours. I don’t think I’ll be able to wash that scowl away, but it’s not my fault this happened. You should have trusted your Seniors. That Bao and Lang seemed to trust you. But you didn’t trust them. Only a madman doesn’t trust anyone…”

  She started scrubbing at his face. “There, this should do fine. Perhaps that face will help distract me. I was told it could be quite uncomfortable, I can’t have any distractions while I steal your Yang Qi.”

  Hao managed to scrunch up his face, his eyes going sharp. What are you doing to me? He wanted to shout, but the only voice he could hear was in his head.

  Yao began to peel his robe open, pulling his waist belt off and tying it around his head, the bulk of it wrapping his mouth.

  “Oh? You look rather confused. Still haven’t found out what dual cultivation is? No guesses? You might be as young as you look.” She chuckled, a look of condescension and adoration, like she was a wolf looking at a small dog.

  Don’t worry, it’s a fair trade in my mind. You won’t die, and we are both losing and gaining something. Of course, I might be gaining more, because I plan to take as much of your cultivation as I can—Oh, I did manage to get rid of that scowl.”

  Hao’s eyes went wide at her words. Take his cultivation. All he worked for, killed for, he took in a deep breath, his lungs listening, breathing out as hard as he could, no sound got past the belt tied around his mouth. More red Qi gathered in his stomach, some of it shot up with the breath.

  Yao peeled his robe apart, the cloth stuck together and to his skin with drying blood that acted like glue. Her hand traced over the scars on his body, the largest one on his shoulder. “I’ve never felt Yang Qi so strong. I saw it from the moment I laid my eyes on you, like a walking pillar of flame. Bao wasn’t the only one who had sensory skills—apparently, she was less skilled than she thought. I don’t know how she didn’t see it. It faded over a few days, like you were a flickering torch choking for air. I guess that makes you more manageable,” she muttered.

  Yao let go of Hao’s hair, his head falling limp. Hao’s stomach lurched again, the taste of iron filling his mouth once again, trapped behind his waist belt, placed over his lips. The amount of dark-red Qi had gotten thinner. The tingling sensation had largely passed, but to do more than twitch a finger seemed an entire feat. He felt pressure on his waist, sliding down towards his thighs. A stiff wind was blowing across his chest.

  Hao put his mind inside the space of the Spirit-Holding Bag, perhaps he could find something inside there to save himself from whatever Yao planned to do with him. A humiliating torment without death, he didn’t know. He took deep breaths in blowing air out. A gargling vibrated in his throat and nose. Hao wrapped his awareness around the saber. If he could pull the blade out and let it fall on her, even if it took off one of his legs, it would buy him some time.

  “I think that’s enough for now… Senior Sister Yao, you should put your robe back on…”

  Hao knew the voice, it was cold and quiet, hopeless even. Slowly speaking, he remembered the footsteps he kept looking for, but couldn’t find anyone there—a person who prowled like a wolf. Lang, the voice was clearly his.

  A foot slid behind his neck, he felt it lift him, “Junior Brother, your hair… No, for now it’s not important.”

  Lang stood there, his eyes staring at the top of Yao’s head, his blade across her neck. The woman was putting her robe back on in silence, covering herself with an incredulous look that destroyed her smirk.