Deep within the mountain—
Before a wall of rough black stone hung swathes of brightly colored silk, draped so lavishly the cavern glittered like a palace.
Court lanterns cast a flowing wash of gold across the crude chamber.
Several carved wooden pillars coiled with dragons stood in place—not so much to support the roof as to display their craft. Pearls rested in the dragons' jaws, each set with a luminous stone. Their cold glow tangled with the warm flame of bronze lamps, light and shadow weaving together until the entire cavern seemed to breathe.
It was a hall built to the specifications of a palace side chamber—a place where powerful ministers might debate affairs of state.
In the shadows sat a man.
He wore a gray robe. The cloth was old but clean, the cuffs bleached pale with washing, the edges carefully mended. In one hand he held a celadon teacup. Steam curled upward, illuminating half his face in the dim light.
The fingers of his other hand tapped the table in a steady rhythm.
Tok.
Tok.
Tok.
The sound was soft, yet in the hollow hall it echoed with unnerving clarity.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps shattered the rhythm.
His most capable subordinate, Qishan, strode in bare-chested, wearing only a leather skirt. He dropped to one knee and leaned close, whispering into the gray-robed man's ear.
The tapping stopped.
The teacup settled gently back onto the table.
The man fell silent for a moment, his gaze sinking into the depths of lamplight and shadow.
"Capture the intruders."
His voice was calm, as if asking someone to refill the tea.
"Find out how they got in. What they know about this place. Then—kill them."
The subordinate hesitated."My lord… what if they simply wandered in by accident? What if they know nothing?"
The gray-robed man raised his eyes.
They were as cold as the snow beyond the mountains.
"All the more reason to kill them."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"We cannot allow even a whisper of the royal family to escape. If the Mongols discover this place…" He let the sentence hang."Every one of us will be buried with it."
The air seemed to freeze.
"My lord… one of them appears to be an acquaintance of yours. A young man named Wei."
"An acquaintance?" The gray-robed man lifted his tea again."Wei? That little fellow?" He chuckled softly."Interesting. So he didn't die after all…"
"My lord, should I let him go?"
"No. I have another plan."
He leaned close and murmured a few quiet instructions into Qishan's ear.
"Understood."
The firelight flickered, catching on the man's lowered lashes.
Like a venomous snake coiled deep within the mountain's belly.
Wei was dragged into a narrow side cavern deeper inside the mountain.
The tunnel was long and low. Damp air hung heavy. Water seeped through the stone walls. In one corner lay several pale bones, some still tangled in scraps of cloth. The air carried the sour mix of rot and old blood.
Qishan hurled Wei to the ground.
Poor Minnow was dragged aside—apparently to serve as translator. Or perhaps he himself was the weak point they intended to break.
"Speak. Why did you come here?"
Wei pushed against the ground, trying to stand, but his legs trembled. He had just managed to raise himself halfway—
Bang.
A vicious side kick struck his ribs without warning.
His body flew like a sack of rags, slamming into the rock wall before sliding down again.
This interrogation would not be gentle.
Minnow's eyes were already wet again.
"He was brought here by bandits! I was too! If you want answers, interrogate the bandits! Instead you bully us—you… you're really…"
He searched for a vicious word.
Unfortunately his mind came up empty. Perhaps he had never practiced such things.
Wei wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth—and laughed instead.
"Can you tell me how Chun is doing?" he asked quietly.
Minnow translated.
"You're still thinking about her? Damn, you're pathetic."
Smack.
The slap landed hard across Wei's face.
Wei sat on the ground and laughed.
"What, you scared of me, grandson?"
Qishan froze for a heartbeat when he noticed the words scratched in the dirt.
"What the hell are you supposed to be?"
He rolled his shoulders. His joints cracked sharply.
"Good. I needed a punching bag."
"Don't play dead. Let's see what you've got."
Thud.
A brutal kick landed squarely on Wei's old chest wound. The air burst from his lungs in an instant.
Wei flopped like a dying fish thrown onto shore.
Qishan strolled to the cave entrance, lit a stick of incense, and wedged it into a crack in the stone at the southeast corner.
A thin thread of blue smoke rose into the air.
"Since you're injured, I'll give you a chance," he said lazily as he turned back.
By now he had seen through Wei's weakness.
The amusement was already fading.
"Boring. Bring in the spy."
Dragging sounds came from the tunnel.
The one shoved inside—
was the old woodcutter.
The old man's face was gray with exhaustion, but his mouth was as sharp as ever.
"You greedy bastard," he spat."Careful you don't choke on it."
Qishan replied mildly,
"You. Fight him. Knock him down within the time it takes that incense to burn."
"You live."
"Otherwise—he lives, and you die."
The air tightened instantly.
The woodcutter lifted his head and glanced at Wei.
There was no pity in his eyes.
Only calculation.
He glanced at Qishan again. His expression hardened like iron.
"Fine," he said coldly."If that's what you want. Killing a kid isn't exactly hard work."
Wei understood.
This wasn't a fight.
It was a slaughterhouse.
As if suddenly remembering something, Qishan added,
"Last the whole incense stick, and I'll let your companion go. Otherwise—he dies too."
He grinned toward Minnow.
"Pretty face like that? That's a crime in itself."
He seemed very pleased with his own joke.
Minnow said nothing. He bit his lip, his large eyes fixed stubbornly on Wei.
His expression said it all: Even if this is a dead end, I won't beg.
Wei looked at Minnow. Then at the woodcutter.
He spat out a mouthful of blood.
And raised a gesture of contempt—
whether toward Qishan, or the woodcutter, was unclear.
The incense ember glowed red. Smoke curled slowly upward along the wall.
Wei clenched his fist quietly.
But his wrist was weak. His fingers tingled with numbness.
It wasn't fear.
It was powerlessness.
What the hell was happening to his body?
Ever since he ate that bright fruit in his dream, it felt as though a curse had settled into his bones.
Bang!
The woodcutter, who spent his life climbing mountains and chopping timber, swung a fist thick as a vine.
Thud.
Wei's stomach convulsed. Sour bile spilled from his mouth.
Another punch.
The blow landed on his back like a stone hammer.
Wei thought he heard his ribs creak in protest.
He lay on the ground and simply stayed there. If he got up, he would only be knocked down again.
There was a saying: wherever you fall, you rise again.
Wei had his own version—
wherever you fall, lie down properly.
He curled up with both hands over his head, the universal signal: hit me if you must, just not the face.
Before long the woodcutter was panting with exhaustion.
The incense had already burned more than halfway.
Qishan watched with growing boredom. He glanced at Minnow, but the thin boy showed none of the panic he wanted to see.
With a flick of his hand, Qishan tossed a knife into the center of the cave floor.
The woodcutter's eyes fixed on it.
He looked back at Qishan.
A silent question: You want me to finish it?
Qishan folded his arms and leaned against the wall, waiting for the show.
"Time's almost up."
The words dropped like poison.
The woodcutter's eyes lit up.
He lunged for the blade.