Hao was hungry, thirsty; he wanted to eat, eat anything. He would eat whatever was torturing him in this cave. Whatever caused all this carnage, what made all these people far, it had to be flesh; he needed to eat deeper, deeper, as it did, far beyond flesh.

  Hao’s mind vanished from the outside world. He had to keep his mind rolling inside the Space of the Spirit-Holding bag to keep his sanity. After a certain point, the pain was secondary to food and water. It was right in front of him, yet he couldn’t touch it, just sense its presence within the space.

  The Feline Demonic Beast corpse was there. Stuck inside the bag for such a long time, yet perfectly preserved, most of its hide is still attached to its body. A few places were exposed, its paws, skin, and up to its shoulders, revealing ruby-red succulent meat. Hao could smell it roasting. It was the only thing in his mind, that flesh, that demonic beast.

  Hao went back outside the Spirit-Holding bag, feeling the thing worming its way into his body recoil.

  “No!” It screamed, louder than any of its laughs, yet the mountain didn’t shake. “You killed her, you killed Nahrin!”

  “Impossible, he is too weak.”

  With a sudden burst, the skin of Hao’s arm split, a small slash sent blood trailing down to the ground, soaking into the roots of the tree. The face in the tree seemed to cry from its smiling eye.

  “In his thoughts… No. You ate her!”

  “No, this thing is weaker, but it’s her blood, perhaps a descendant. Her bloodline exists in the felines of this small realm… It was the two of them who killed her.”

  “Even so, he has to die. But his body… I need his body…”

  “Pain shall be his reprimand, a pain the piece of his shattered soul carries to the Nether Realm.” Finally, the cave rumbled as the Hao felt the first strike, the world itself falling apart as his vision fractured like a glass window.

  The bindings that held Hao loosened a bit, only enough for him to fall forward. The whip came again, not carrying a warning, only pain fueled by wrath and rage. He jolted forward, involuntarily falling forward onto the free, the bark prickled against his skin. Hao saw them as little hands, with tiny fingers pinching him.

  His blood spilled down the trunk from the fresh wounds, his nose freshly pouring as his blood recoiled with each strike of the burning whip scraping his bones. He went inside the Spirit-Holding bag; there was no reason to be outside, not right now, not just to scream. He would not wail; that would only encourage the thing, give it the retribution it sought.

  It was then he noticed the broken seed inside his bag. He didn’t touch it, though his foot was nearby.

  Another hand, no two hands, far kinder, touched his soul in the same manner while the wind whistled. The sight of lavender leaves and the smell of peaches filled his head.

  “He should do. Yes, though he is not perfect.” A man’s voice was warm like the sun, yet desperate. A voice Hao knew echoed in the Spirit-Holding bag.

  The voice of a woman responded, a mother’s aged voice, yet proud and cold, “Not all humans will have your blessings, dear. It’s not a blessing that makes one go far.”

  “How are you in here, who…” Hao found his voice echoing his thoughts, as their voices did. It was a question they didn’t need to answer.

  The man cut him off, “Oh? Strong foundation, clean Qi. The blood is sturdy, and the heart is nearly as strong.”

  Hao started again, “Who—”

  “Enough! Quiet, child, now go! Escape. Use this hungry bag of yours!” The woman was quick to shut him up.

  The inside of the Spirit-Holding bag began to glow. He felt a gentle push, finding himself outside of the bag’s space. The glow extended to his body, a numbness took his pains, but his fingers moved at his own will.

  “What is this? The treasure?” The mad voice said.

  Hao began to move as quickly as he could, ignoring the remaining pain and numbness in his stiff muscles. His joints fought against him after being frozen in the same position for days.

  Hao’s hand went quickly for the bag. For a reason he didn’t understand, even though his mind had better control inside the bag, he was too weak to take things in and out as he pleased. Reaching inside his robe, he touched the ruby that was on the bag’s edge.

  The thing that tortured Hao and eaten people flew beneath his skin. Hao felt it writhing. However, the result of touching the ruby happened as soon as it went inside him. A wailing sound that could clear the clouds in the sky made dust fall from the stones. The inside of the bag grew rapidly as the ruby ate pieces of the ghost, as it had similarly eaten others.

  Hao ground down his teeth as the ruby ripped all his World Energy from his body. His side pressed against the tree, his arm rubbing the bones sticking from the bark. He tried to get both his hands to the ruby, as he panted like a starving hound. All his World Energy, all that was left, was draining from his fingers to the gemstone.

  The creature, ghost, the demon, whatever it was, screamed. That shrill cackle Hao heard for days and hours without sleep seemed a deep laugh compared to the cry.

  Hao has a passing thought, thinking the waiting was worth it. Daily hours of pain and torment. His eyes stuck open, going dry until it felt like they were being brushed with needles. Now the world he saw was scratched. Whips crossing his soul, his very mind cracking. It felt worth it. He knew it wasn’t, but for the moment, it felt like triumph.

  The cave grew darker as the ghost writhed, trying to shake free of the enigma that was the Spirit-Holding bag, and the treasure far more terrifying hidden inside. It began to slip away, calling him curses he had never heard spoken—A few he never knew at all, he could only tell what they were because of the tone of desperation, the context given by other words. Not once did it utter Islander or Barbarian.

  Around Hao in his vision, what he could see if he looked, but he didn’t care to try, the roots of the gray tree moved, climbing high. They curled, flying up and inward at themselves. It created a cocoon of wood. A prison that would trap them both if Hao remained inside.

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  “I will see you soon, after my time is done.” The man’s voice, the immortal with his black hair and golden bones, spoke, his voice echoing in the dark, cramped space the tree created.

  Hao was leaning against the ribcage sticking out of the tree, but it vanished, his arm brushing the sharp bark of the tree.

  “Mhm, I will wait for you at the edge of the Nether Realm or wherever I end up.” A demon’s voice, the tree spirit, yet soft, a mother’s touch, and a lover’s farewell, a final one for whatever they had planned. The roots dug deep into its own bark and hardened wooden flesh. The cage of roots lost the last of its gaps as it pulled tighter around itself, as if embracing its lover’s face.

  Hao stopped, his desperate desire for brutality fading as he heard their sad tones. Seeing he was pitch black, the only light coming off his body, trapped by roots driving into the bark. The surrounding space was growing tighter. He was about to be squeezed to turn into a paste, minced.

  “OUT!” The corrupted voice of the ghost scraped Hao’s ears, “LET ME OUT!”

  Hao snapped further from his fury, letting go, his World Energy long faded, how long it lasted, how long the bag was taking nothing from him, he wasn’t sure. His hands fell to his sides. Before Hao could take another breath, the tightening prison of the bark and roots flashed a bright light burst in the cage. The dark turned to light, and the sky was above him—the lingering words of the ghost echoed in his ears.

  “Let me out, Bastards. Why do your remnant souls have autonomy? Bastards! All of you, All of you!”

  That was the last of it Hao heard before a fresh wind brushed his face. He was outside, outside of the trail, outside of the Central Mountain, and still inside the Mid-Summer cave, inside the Secret Realm. He was facing down, where the ground was orange.

  *

  Hao tried to orient himself, a flurry of emotions tried to settle, confusion flushed through, making just lifting his head hard. He almost fell to his knees, but his pride was wounded enough—he kicked his leg out from under himself. His flared shoulder blades hit the ground first, then the rest of his back. His weight rebounded off the soft, wet grass and sharp twig once before giving in to his shape.

  Hao felt the ground, his fingers digging down in disbelief. He questioned his own experiences, his own mind, from the cave until now, if it was real. But his exhaustion, hunger, thirst, the film that covered his vision told him his mind hadn’t lied, not yet. What he perceived, he experienced. A piece of him wishing it was just a nightmare, another piece wondering if those he met on the way were still alive, Bao, Lang, and if they were doing well, Yao.

  Hao blinked—his eyelids felt like shaving razors. The first squint felt like trying to peel a layer of fabric that stuck to the scab of a healing wound. He endured, blink, blink, blink… Hao continued until he could see more than the fuzzy film that blurred everything smaller than a finger, and farther than an arm’s reach.

  Once he could see, his fingers dug into the ground, taking a chunk of dirt. Hao lifted it above him. For a moment, the duff and litter blocked the sky. The sun was setting late and slow, with a growing cold.

  His eyes scanned the material through scratches still in his vision. The grass was orange and twin-bladed. Leaves were the same but brittle, having gone brown, more vibrant than he would expect. He squeezed the dirt, moisture touching his fingers, the thought of water chasing away that empty feeling in his chest.

  Hao sat up, despite the sore pains and the swelling. He watched the sky, the passing of the sun, orienting himself. If he could climb a tree, he would, and find the mountains in this nature-filled, beautiful hellscape. He was weakened, and this place held beasts, and worse, humans. Already knowing the place he wanted to go, the place he could consider safer than most.

  Hao had to find out where he was, which direction he was facing, before he moved. He drowned himself in jars of water and berries while he waited. Though that didn’t calm his hunger. It only made it worse.

  By the color of the leaves, he was closer to the center than to the place where he killed the man he referred to as a wolf. Not Lang, but a Two Rivers Fort disciple that was out for blood, he was Hao’s first kill inside the Secret Realm.

  It took some effort for Hao to get to his feet. Slowly breathing, World Energy filled him and helped him pick up pace. But he knew the direction and ran from the nearly set sun.

  Hao stayed focused, being harsh on himself, on his body. Seven Colored Steps helped him forget everything unnecessary, finding the Cave of the Feline demonic beast, where the sleeping yellow-yellow grass curled up, waiting for next year. He stood at the entrance, looking out at the trees.

  When he first came to this cave, slayed the original owner, he feasted in triumph, taking the treasured plant, he felt unstoppable, now he felt…

  His hands crushed the soft, wet ground as it tried to freeze from the cold of the night. His head felt heavier, it folded back his marred vision, looking at the empty, lightless night sky. Hao roared out, he screamed at the sky, what more could he do? He was just like the Demonic beast that previously took this cave as home.

  He had already walked towards a dozen deaths. Each one he stood again and walked away from, but he felt his death, each one lasted, living in him, repeating countless times.

  It was a natural disaster in his stomach—it gripped his heart with each squeeze, it wormed into his mind. When his weak roar stopped, he cared naught for life and death, not the way he once did. In other ways, perhaps more than he once did, and yet, not at all for his own, if this was his fate. The will to move had not left him, nor had his old designs.

  Hao moved the rest of the way into the cave, and his sore legs could no longer move. One hand gripped the ground and dragged him in, the other held a spirit stone for light.

  His vision was streaky like a glass bottle rolled down stones was in front of him, and his legs burned with the greatest flames the Nether Realm could offer.

  Each piece of dirt that gathered on his hand as he gripped the ground brought the grievances he suffered to his head, many of them he could now forgive. The others made the fire in his legs spread to his face. Those that I can not forgive, I will repay, twice, no, twenty times over. As he was his father’s son, he knew debt, sorrow, and how to repay such things. And he was just as much his mother’s son, who was far more terrifying than his father when she wished to be. Each of her stories held a decisive sharpness that made every blade on the Island seem dull.

  I will not be a fool, or rush any longer, but I won’t let patience stand in my way… you, thing in the cave, Hao felt a flash of pity for it, if he was given the chance, he would come back and see it begging.

  Hao leaned against the wall of the cave. The spirit stone fell from his hand to the ground. He couldn’t wait any longer, and no ambush would come to him now, so he began to eat. No longer take care of the beast that once owned this cave. Chunk after chunk, he pulled raw flesh from the Spirit-Holding Bag and devoured it without thought. Even long drained of blood, the only thing he could taste was iron, but it was one of the best things he had ever tasted. The liquids that remained inside the meat were slick but sticky, coating his mouth, teeth, and throat.

  Hao ate until his stomach ballooned, then drank until his stomach ached. The demon in the cave seemed sad to see the corpse of the feline beast he was eating. Just for that thing, I will eat anything similar I see.

  Nearly bursting full, Hao pushed out the panel-like stone he carved weeks ago that led to a small cultivation room he created the last time he was in the cave. He crawled inside, putting everything that left a trace of him into the Space inside the Spirit-Holding bag. He used his hands to pull his legs into a lotus position.

  In a cave again, but now alone, in peace and with a new peace, he started to recover. He let his mind fall into the abyss, the dark void of his mind, lights of World Energy flowing into him filled the space. I can break through here alone in time, without external aid…

  Hao’s meditation turned to sighs and yawns, his back slouching against the back wall. Sleep took him, and Cultivation tomorrow, and time slipped away outside. There was still much to do in the Secret Realm. Amethysts, Blood—Mo Bangcai, Meng Hongyu…