The air in the blackened pit was thick and cold. Each of Xu Qianyi's exhales were a faint ghost in the damp dark. Fleeting moonlight was their only mercy, illuminating for a heartbeat the pale, mud-caked hand she struggled to lift, reaching for her sister.
"Jiě..." a voice whispered beside her, tight with fear. "Hold on. Please."
Qianyi fought for the breath to answer. Her eyes, flickering between sapphire and obsidian in the shifting light, squeezed shut. "Moon," she finally managed to exhale, the word a ragged tear in the silence.
Yes. The moon. Yisha's thoughts were a frantic prayer. She crawled forward, her brown fingers closing over her sister's cold, pale ones. "Just a little longer." Gritting her teeth, she rolled Qianyi onto her back and knelt beside her.
She raised two fingers to her lips, her other hand gripping her sister's. "Cányuè wéi yǐn," she whispered, summoning the dregs of her Qì. The primordial energy stirred within her, a painful tug deep in her core. Above, the clouds thinned, allowing a stronger beam of moonlight to pierce the gloom and caress their skin. "Tàiyīn huà sheng."
She became a conduit, a vessel to channel the moon's cool energy into her sister's broken body. A silvery-blue glow emanated from her hands, and a sharp, coppery taste filled her mouth. A thin trail of blood escaped the corner of her lips, tracing a path down her chin.
Beneath her touch, Qianyi's body seized, her back arching against the mud. A guttural groan tore from her throat, a sound of pure agony. Yisha chanted through her own pain, forcing the ancient words to be her sister's lifeline. "Cányuè wéi yǐn. Tàiyīn huà sheng."
Finally, the tension broke. Qianyi's body went limp, her breathing evening out into shallow, steady rasps. Yisha fell silent, the glow fading from her hands. Dizziness washed over her as she tried to stand, the world tilting on its axis.
Qianyi pushed herself up, her movements slow and pained. "Shāshā... your techniques are improving," she smiled through the pain to comfort her sister.
Yisha's lips managed to produce a weak, yet bloodied smile in return. "Of course! You drill me day and night."
Qianyi's gaze fell to her ruined wedding dress, the red silk smeared with the filth of the floor of the pit, the green and blue embroidery torn. "I suppose the wedding is off." A hoarse, broken laugh escaped her.
The sound was so absurd it startled a giggle-snort from Yisha, which in turn set Qianyi laughing harder, the hysterical noise echoing in the pit. Then, as suddenly as it began, Qianyi's laughter died. Her face smoothed into a mask of terrifying calm.
The moonlight caught Qianyi's usually gentle eyes and illuminated something sinister that would terrify the soul of the worst villain; and in their depths was a promise of pure, undiluted death.
"When we get out of here," she said, her voice soft and devoid of all emotion, "he will beg me to kill him."
Yisha nodded in agreement, but cold air caused her body to shiver, the warmth of their shared laughter freezing in her veins. "Yeah. But how do we get out?" She scrambled to her feet, patting the cold, slick stone walls.
Qianyi went still and they sat in silence a moment. Then, her head cocked. "Shāshā, do you feel that?" She was on her knees instantly, crawling toward the opposite side of the pit. "Air. There's a draft."
Yisha focused, pushing her exhaustion aside. She straightened, bringing her fingers back to her lips to whisper, "Yǐn."
A wisp of silvery light, no thicker than a thread, seeped into the pit. It was not enough to see by, but it was a guide, flowing like water toward a specific spot on the wall. Yisha followed it, her hands searching the stone until they found a patch that gave way: soft, wet earth, recently packed.
"Here. It's not stone. It's mud."
Qianyi raced to her side. "Then we dig." With a determined twist, she pulled a long, sharp, golden hair stick from her elaborate, now messy hair, and her long, dark locks fell.
Yisha patted her own undone locks and smirked. "Sorry, I left mine in your husband's hand."
This time, their laughter was lower, sharper, a shared weapon in the dark.
Qianyi stabbed the hairpin into the soft earth, carving out chunks of mud. Yisha dug in beside her, using her bare hands to claw it away. For an hour they worked, until the wall of mud grew thin, then brittle. Qianyi mustered what little strength Yisha's incantation afforded her, and delivered a powerful kick to the wall, and it collapsed inward, revealing a void of absolute blackness.
Yisha stepped through first, raising her hand once more. "Yǐn." The silvery thread flowed into the dark room, leading her cautiously across the rough-hewn floor until it hovered before a shelf. Her fingers closed around a slender, cylindrical object.
"A fire stick?" she wondered aloud. She pulled the top off and blew, sparking a feeble flame that pushed back the oppressive dark.
"Look!"
The flickering light revealed a crude cell: a roughly constructed bed, a makeshift stove, a wooden desk littered with dusty tomes.
"Someone lived here," Yisha breathed, her curiosity piqued.
"More like they were hiding. Or imprisoned." Qianyi's voice was grim as she knelt, her fingers brushing against a pair of rusted shackles bolted to the floor. A fresh draft of air tickled her neck. Her eyes scanned the walls, landing on one that seemed different, its stones fitted too perfectly. "Bring the light."
She ran her hands over the cold stone, searching for a seam, a lever, a weakness. She pressed an indent. Nothing. Another. Still nothing.
"Allow me." Yisha held the fire stick close, the flame dancing in her dark eyes and whispered, "Xiǎn."
The incantation flared and illuminated six numerals etched into the wall glowing in a hexagon pattern. Three of them—1, 4, and 6—shone with particular intensity.
Without hesitation, Qianyi pressed the three glowing indents. A deep, resonant click echoed through the chamber, and the massive stone slab groaned inward, revealing a passageway that smelled of damp earth and old secrets.
Qianyi stepped into the darkness without a backward glance.
"Děng děng! Wait!" Yisha darted back to the desk, sweeping the dusty books into her arms before scrambling after her sister.
Qianyi sighed, a faint smile touching her lips. "Hurry up," she said, her voice echoing slightly in the confined space.
They moved quickly, the promise of freedom pulling them forward. Soon, a subtle grey light filtered from ahead, outlining a steep staircase carved from the living rock. Relief, sharp and sweet, flooded them.
Weakened but determined, Qianyi stumbled on the first step. Yisha was there in an instant, grabbing her arm, steadying her as they climbed, step by painful step, until they emerged into a small, grassy clearing, surrounded by a forest of silent, hooded trees.
Qianyi knelt, placing a palm flat on the earth. She closed her eyes, feeling the subtle flow of energy through the soil. "We're not far from Wàng Yōu Zhèn," she announced, her voice stronger now.
"Can you make it?" Yisha asked, her own body trembling with fatigue.
"Wǒ méishì."
"Are you sure," Yisha asked, making sure Qianyi could carry on.
"I said I'm fine. I can make it."
They pushed into the woods, following a forgotten path until it met a proper road. For two long hours they walked in silence, until the sprawling, lantern-lit silhouette of Wàng Yōu Zhèn rose before them. A secluded, well-hidden playground for the wealthy, a haven for the few lingering immortals, a den for demons and spirits. The perfect place to heal, to hide, and to plot a perfect revenge.
"Qiānqiān. Let's go home," Yisha said, her smile finally reaching her eyes.
But as they moved toward the towering gate, Qianyi froze, her body locking in place.
"Zāo le!" she whispered, her voice strangled with a dread she hadn't felt even at the bottom of the pit.
"Qiānqiān? What's wrong?"
Qianyi's gaze was fixed ahead, her eyes wide with terror. She reached out, her fingers brushing Yisha's hand. "She's gonna be pissed!"
A shared, horrifying realization passed between them.
"Wán le!"