A gust of wind carried the scent of ash, firewood, and blood all the way into the cave. After every twist and turn in the cave, it kept enough force to make the hair dance. Not flakes of dust or blood came off them, but the slurry that was dripping from Yao’s left sleeve as she got another bucket. Again, she managed to avoid getting any of it inside the mountain cave pond.

  The bucket clicked on the stone as she straightened her back. Hao could see both of her hands placed on her waist from the corner of his eye as she bent back. She seemed to have gotten shorter in the short time they knew each other, or he had grown. Her frizzed strands of hair stood out, poking his cheek. It stunk awfully of a long journey. Not a peaceful one on the road, either. She kept bending back, her arms freed from her hips, the back of her fist tapped Hao’s shoulder, and the other hand pulled on her elbow.

  Yao spoke, her voice coming out strained in her stretch, “I don’t know, I haven’t been in.”

  A sarcastic remark that was easily brushed aside. One quickly forgotten when he turned his head, his mind was turning cursed, he would swear it.

  He glided his head over to look at her. He could see clearly down her unfit robe. Nothing sensitive, but the shapes were on display. He didn’t love the woman—or even like her much, for that matter—but he saw her in a completely different way than he saw Bao. Even though he had to call both of them Senior Sister. Even seeing Bao bare, he felt nothing towards the woman; she was attractive, not shapely but sharp, and skilled. Perhaps it was because of the injury. He never felt anything for her beforehand, either.

  Still, even in Yao’s display that could mesmerize him, his skin threatened to boil off when he saw that arrogant, knowing smirk. What could she possibly know? Hao was already bored with the secrets and scheming. That was all that was left of him in the Secret Realm: Secrets. If she was going to do something to him, if he was going to, he wished someone would spring their trap already. He had waited long enough since entering the Secret Realm after leaving this place, he would leave the virtue of blind patience without reason behind.

  Yao’s smirking melted as she opened her mouth for a sigh and a gasp that could have been mistaken for a yawn. Muck dripped off her wide sleeves that slipped down to her elbows as she straightened out. Her arms fell back to the jar ahead of her. She lifted the jar as heavy as two or three men with ease. Not in an easy way either, the water moved, and the jar danced with it, trying to escape her hands. She took it only a step away before setting it down. Running over to a slightly raised bit of the floor to Hao’s right, a perfect place to store stuff, the torch was there, leaving black marks on the wall beside it.

  Hao slowly let his eyes drift away from her, looking down, staring at the rippling surface as Yao gathered herself. He was half expecting some to be inside, waiting for something to come bubbling up. He was sure why he was expecting such a thing; it was just a pool of water. A problem will always find its way to the surface, no matter how deep it is.

  The patter of small feet not bare by the sound came over right at his side. Yao pulled on his shoulder, but Hao didn’t budge, “You should wash before you get it, use the bucket right there. Don’t take long, but don’t be too quick either. We will have to rest awhile if we continue with those two, or you and I can go on alone.”

  Hao thought he heard her laugh, her voice fading until he was alone in the blue room. The words haunted his thoughts. They were evil words, soft words. A blessing from a beautiful woman to go on a journey together, to leave others to die so they could go forward. He couldn’t die, he couldn’t, that’s all he knew. He wanted out of this mountain to see the sun again; the stones were as much of a prison as the ocean around the Island.

  “The worst decision a person can make is who lives and who dies. The gratitude of the person you save can’t become a shield to save your life when you’re alone. As for those you let die or condone to death, their hatred will follow your soul, and those who loved the dead will find their revenge. That is why only those who can pass the breaktide can take a life. It’s only that which thrives in our waters, on our lands we lay our hands on, and never interfere with human life—THAT…” Is for fate to decide. The words echoed back at him.

  Hao let the words trail off, remembering the old faces of the Elders, the details had already faded. He remembered nothing but the color of their hair and eyes, because they were all the same.

  Lifting his head, he found he was alone; Yao was no longer standing there at his side. Just a bucket, rusty bands holding it together, moldy ropes threatening to escape while resting flat on the ground. A few steps forward from where Yao was just standing, a puddle of pale red and brown shook to his voice, it must have been where Lang wiped down his wife.

  He may have saved her life, funny that the Island Elders would scold him for it, maybe they would, the ocean needed food. If the fish starved, so did the people. He had taken life, too. Faces he had forgotten, names he never knew. For how against killing anything the Elders were—except for what they wanted to eat—he would have likely been drowned for his daily actions. What rule on the Island hadn’t he broken yet? Well, there was one, the one sin his father committed that was irreparable, getting an outsider, and a woman from the land at that, Hao’s mother, pregnant.

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  Hao took the last step forward, his shoes coming off beneath him, his toes floating above the water. He took out a Spirit-Stone. He didn’t have many that were the plain normal blue, but the holding-bags of dead men did. Flipping it up into the air, it hit the water with a plunk, floating and flipping up and over until it began to sink. The blue light spread down below the surface as bubbles floated to the top.

  Hao watched as the pond beneath the mountain, a closed eye, seemed to open. A shining bright blue pupilless eye, looking up at him. After fifteen seconds, the stone hit the bottom and stopped sinking. It was just water. More stone at the bottom, debris that had sunk. No bones or people or anything inside looking up at him. This cave is starting to get to me. He threw a few more, one in each corner, then a second, a little closer to the center from the corners. And a few more in the darkest places.

  He stripped naked in the shining blue of the room, his robe clinging to his skin, taking a few hairs from him as it was peeled free. Along the rough hand-stitch seams, it folded, hardly held together. Other places remained stiff like boards, cloth fibers made rigid by a mud of blood and dust. It remained in one piece, but had more stitches than Bao’s body. Those subtle threads were the first Hao had ever made. It seemed only days ago, but in the skyless caves, he didn’t know.

  He scooped a bucket full of water and walked to the scorch marks left by the torch, pouring the bucket over himself and down upon his robe beneath him. The blood dried to his skin, refused to budge, clinging to him. While the rest, including the gray dust that hid the color of his hair, turned to a slime, running down him. He repeated the process, using the frayed fibers of a branch and ashes to wash himself and its sturdy end to beat his robe nearly clean.

  Hao wasn’t sure how long he had to himself; he was hoping it was a few more than what he got, hardly finishing chores before he was interrupted. He refilled Yao’s strange water storage artifact and placed it on the stone for the woman to take. Filling the last of his bottles and jars with water.

  Lang walked into the room just as Hao got his blue silken trousers propped up on a stick to drip a little drier. The tall man was no younger than forty, maybe sixty in the face now, since the events earlier in the day. It was impressive how quiet his footsteps were. His feet were bare, but the rest of his robes were back on, his holding bag too, tied to his side.

  It would have been an act of common courtesy for Hao to put on some clothing, too. He had an extra reason as well. The Spirit-Holding Bag was still tied to his chest. Half of the bright red gemstone touched just above his heart. Hao crouched, moving the bag to the ground, flipping the bucket over the top of it. He stood again, with the blue shreds of his robe covering his lower half. Seeing Lang right in front of him.

  The man’s teeth were pinched together as his lips quivered, his jaw an anchor, and eyebrows knit close together, the bridge of his nose was scrunched up, and his forehead scrunched down. His lips opened, just too close, then opened again, finally lifting his head, still angled down to look at the younger Hao.

  His voice was crisp autumn leaves without the gold and red hues. “You saw her, you touched her…” It was empty of color, his eyes opened seemed hollow, like they were looking at the ground behind Hao, not at him.

  Hao felt his head twist, inside and out, angling his head slightly to his shoulder, he couldn’t help it.

  Lang reached out and grabbed Hao’s bare shoulders, just barely missing the injury that was stitched together by the man’s wife, “If something happens to her…”

  Hao let one side of his robes, covering his leg fall, that same hand coming up to push on Lang’s chest. He tried to keep his face still, but his nose pulled up to his brow, skin creasing as he scowled. The man had weapons in his holding bag, while Hao had nothing with him. A torrent of rage seemed to pour from Lang onto Hao, it felt like death trying to whisper in Hao's ear. The palm strike was silent, as light as Hao could manage. Lang was not himself, so lost in his own mind, he didn't even notice Hao's hair had changed color. But the threat he could pose made Hao forget as well.

  “All I’ve done is try to save her. I don’t even know her!” His voice came out as poison, a mistake, and unintentional in every way.

  Lang started sliding backwards from the strike to his chest. The man tried to catch himself, his fingers scratching Hao's skin and pinky poking his stitches. His hand moved and swayed as if to catch his balance. Feet stumbled as he went back, his damp shoes now wet from the stones that were dyed a mix of rust and black, slipping as he just barely caught himself.

  The man, grown full, married, at the age where he could have a dozen kids and handsome enough to walk through a town of forty people and attract a dozen women, turned his head. His eyes stared at the ground again. His wolfish face seemed more rabbit than anything with fang or claw.

  “Will she? You are right, I…” Lang tried to lift his hand to gesture, but it looked like a thousand invisible mountains tied his wrist down; it fell freely, limply hitting his hip with a bounce. “Will she survive? Can we rest a while first?”

  Hao situated himself, calming at the sight of the limping hound. Unsure if the man heard anything that Yao suggested not long ago. “I do not know, I just… We will find out, but we can’t remain in this mountain forever now, just because we found some water or for any other reason.”

  Lang turned his back, walking with his head hanging, “I… yes, I owe you for trying, if for nothing else. And more when she opens her eyes again. I will try to feed her again, mhm.”

  The man walked away, his fingers twitching.

  Hao called to Lang while he walked away, seeming to curl up; he didn’t want to harm the man, but he needed to make those twitchy fingers hesitant. “Senior Brother, if you plan to kill me, I hope you have a reason for it. I would like a reason to feel guilty after stepping over you…”

  Lang froze for just a moment, starting again after the pause, becoming smaller as he walked down the tunnel, to a fire, Hao could see just the faint glow of.