“Junior Brother…” Lang looked at Hao, soaked in blood head to toe, his blue robes shining brown in the firepit.

  “Junior Brother, you have a wound as well. You should wash next. I kept most of the dirt out of the water. I left a bucket behind.” He looked away from Hao, finding the ground a better thing to look at.

  He carried his wife in his arms. It seemed he washed her properly, and didn’t just dunk or pour water on her. Yao gave him the tip, or so she said.

  Bao’s legs and arms were bare. Her midsection, covered with shredded clothing. Lang must have washed as well. The blue Drifting Stream Sect robes were not spotless. A few marks of blood remained. The giant slash that nearly split the clothing in two would need more than water and ash to mend.

  She was still pale, but her eyes were moving beneath her eyelids. Her chest was moving up and down. Seeing it made Hao pinch his fingers together behind his back.

  Hao took her eyes off the limp woman, looked over to Yao, who had yet to bathe either. She had as much right as he did.

  Yao slipped the shawl from her neck and shook it. “It’s not a problem, you can go. I could use a few handfuls of that water to wash my clothes first. A place to dry them would be nice, too.”

  Hao stood, his backsliding along the stone wall, as he looked down at Yao. Her lips were pouted, pushed out together as she looked up at him. He had no choice but to nod his head.

  A sigh escaped him. “Fine,” he scratched his head. “It would be good for Senior Sister to warm up. You might have enough time to dry her clothing a bit.” Hao was speaking clearly to Lang, but the man just kept his head on the ground, as if he were trying to hide his face. At least bring her close to the fire. If nothing else, he could sit while holding her and wrap her tighter in dry clothing.

  “Does everyone still have firewood…”

  Hao got firewood, made a starter flame from a branch to give to Yao, then built a small frame. A rack to lay clothing on, above the main fire. It took an hour and a bit of frustration. Being stared at under pressure after being laid upon with pressure, an obligation that was not his, and a dozen desires that made his mind muddled. Yet he did what he thought was right. That was all he could do now, now that he knew the feeling of blood and pain at his fingertips.

  Yao followed behind Hao once he moved towards this so-called pool. Catching up to his side, her sleeve brushing his before passing him. It was clear she was more uncomfortable than she acted. She tried to keep that cold, calm she spoke with and carried, even covered in all that blood and gore. Her hips were still bouncing as she walked in large strides, yet she unpredictably switched the starter torch in her hands back and forth. Whatever hand was free, she used to pick her fingernails and pull her sticky, mud-covered collar away from her neck.

  Lang didn’t move until the two of them were beyond his back. Hao looked back to see the man press his head against Bao’s chest. He was slow with every move—his fist tight like he was holding sand, afraid to let it slip through his fingers. Managing to lift his neck and hands, he pried his fingers open and removed the damp shreds of cloth from Bao and himself. Both were bare, clothing dripping water into the flame. They tried to shiver to warmth.

  Hao didn’t have to see the man’s face to imagine it. “Senior Brother, do you want me to bring back some water for a broth? Senior Sister Bao will need to eat something.”

  Lang’s shivering stopped, half turning his body, slow with every movement. He was nearly as pale as she was in the face, even next to the orange flame which gave him color.

  Lang looked Hao in the eye, the first time since he handed over the needle and thread. He barked, “It will be fine!”

  Hao waited for the man to pull his eyes away, staring at both the man and his wife. It was hard to look away. He could barely see Bao, just the upper one-third of her body. She was as pale as ocean bottom sand, except for her hair flowing like night currents and her rose-colored nipples. The top of the wound was in sight, flesh pulled tight together. Ribs in rows like reflections on display, she was as skinny as he surmised from her spider-like fingers.

  He held in a sigh, still feeling the pressure, hearing the buzz of her screaming breath on his palm. A twitch in his fingers made him turn away.

  Wash.. Wash… What is the point…

  Hao’s head shot up, he took a subtle, long breath, the thoughts vanishing from his mind as he walked further down the tunnel in a semi-meditative state. He forgot the world. His mind slipped into a void, threads of colors dashing in the dark clashed with each other.

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  The room where the water was stunned Hao. It was surprisingly well lit, not naturally, of course. Spirit Stones were scattered, placed, or thrown around, a few deliberately placed, facetted in grooves on stalactites hanging down from the ceiling. Shining down on the water, making it appear clear as crystal. The ripples in the water were formed by a drip from the same source. The ceiling was glossy. All the gray stones in the room had the same luster, but Hao couldn’t find a single crack in the stone larger than his eyelash, except for the tunnels that the Pangolin beasts had dug to find this place.

  Yao was leaning down. The silver of her medallion was glowing as it swung between her chin and chest. One of her knees rested on the stone floor. The other leg was bent, her foot bare, toes squeezing down between folds in the stone. She was steady but decisive, careful not to drip any muck or blood into the source of water.

  It must have been a few days since the Pangolin beasts were in the room. There were no stains on the floor, no smell in the air. Not even a spot of color on the surface of the water.

  She dipped a bucket in, held together by a rusty band, with nails just a red holding a rope to its rim. From the bucket, she poured a small amount of water into a wine jar. The bucket was set aside, and the jar was swirled around to rinse it. The jar was clean, and it seemed she knew that pouring that little bit of heavily diluted wine over her sleeve. It was nearly clear coming out of the jar, but nearly black dripping out of her sleeve. She repeated the process two more times. Until both her hands and her neck were cleaner.

  The floor slanted down away from the water. The black streaks of water climbed down to Hao’s feet. He stepped over it, his foot slapping the moist stones, getting a side eye from Yao as she slowly filled the jar to its rim, half a bucket at a time.

  “You should boil the water before you drink it. If you want to drink it.” Hao put his hands behind his back, his fingers interlocking. Walking like an old Senior. Old Senior Ya appeared in his mind, It had been a long time since he had seen the man. Perhaps he finally returned to the Drifting Stream Sect after disappearing half a year ago.

  Yao held his eye, if he didn’t know any better, he would have taken that arrogant smirk and tightly knit eyebrows for exasperation. If she wanted to wear exasperation, he had more to say. “It will help get some of the dirt out of your clothing, too.”

  She turned her head back, scooping up more water. Black threads of water falling from her. “Does Little Brother know a lot about being a maid and cleaning clothes?”

  Hao knew she was watching him, that smirk getting wider on her lips, dimples deepening on her cheeks, glistening with drops of water. “I just know a beautiful woman willing to teach me.”

  “Hmm? More beautiful than me?”

  Hao thought he could hear a smile, but her voice could have turned the pool solid and made stalactites grow icicles. It’s unfair to remind me of Meiqi and then act like her. His own lips curled as his head fell back. He stared at the curves and points of the ceiling. A single laugh escaped him.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t know the color of your soul.”

  She let out a single sharp guffaw, “Khah! The color of my soul? Is that what little brother Hao is looking for when he can’t take his eyes off my medallion?”

  Yao took her hand off the jar, the back of her finger tapping the round chunk of silver and jade. It spun, the jade wing flickering as it twirled. She arched her back up, standing tall. The medallion stopped spinning, landing square in the center of her chest. A condescending smirk, just one side of her lip lifted, one dimple on her left cheek for droplets of water to gather. That smile burned into Hao. She turned away, going back to retrieve her water. Anyone would be eager to wash.

  Hao took one hand out from behind his back, he was not far from her now. He started scratching his neck, looking down at her. “Are you trying to provoke me?”

  Again, feign exasperation, a gasp of annoyance, a false one. “I think you, little brother, are trying to provoke someone, something. Perhaps you think that as long as you don’t act first, your actions will be justified. You can kill us all and forget about it, like it never happened. Or spare Bao, tell her only you and she survived, that you saved her life. She will be forever grateful, and you can keep her as a loyal concubine. A pet to boil your water and wash clothes for you, that’s all Lang is to her right now.”

  Hao’s fingers dug deeper into his own neck. The feeling of bugs swarming his throat was driving him mad. Something was biting into his legs and pinching. “You…” was the only thing he squeezed out before. Just do it now, kill her, she is a danger, a real threat. End this farce. Make it to the center of the mountain, you have to avenge Grandpa He. You have to get stronger to save Meiqi and Zhengqi. Help them meet the youngest of their family, Zhengqi’s daughter. Why were they afraid? Why are you looking for distractions? Everything you need is in the center of the mountains.

  Hao pulled his hand away from his neck. Returning it with great speed and a load of force. The slap pressed his flesh to bone and made a popping sound like he was opening a giant beast’s joint. It stung, but at last the buzzing around his neck was gone.

  Yao looked back at him with clear confusion, Hao continued where he thought he left off. “... You have a rather vile imagination.”

  She turned back, silent as she began pouring the last two buckets of water into the knee-high, wide-bellied brown jar. He took the last few steps, his eyes peeling over her, forgetting the room was around them as he looked down.

  Hao stopped behind her, looking down at the water, which was deeper than it was wide. The surface shimmered, but the depth was as dark as night. A closed eye, pointed up, peering at him.

  His voice came from him cold, “How deep is it?”