“Rat!” a voice calls out, in a harsh whisper that echoes through the cave. “You there? Rat?”

It’s the Yèkǒng.

Stop. Xiaodan seizes his rising panic and stuffs it back down into the furthest recesses of his psyche. Just stop. Things are different now. The creature can’t see him in the dark. It only found him in the mines because he foolishly turned the light on without knowing it was standing nearby, watching. Here in these uncharted caverns it’s as lost as he is.

How did it get down here, anyway? Despite appearances, the Yèkǒng can’t fly; they’re as earthbound as Xiaodan. His skills in lightness martial arts, however modest, mean that arguably he’s better in the air. They’re far more agile, though. Perhaps it climbed the walls? Or maybe there’s another way in?

“Rat?” the Yèkǒng mumbles.

Maybe it’s trying to trick him again, but it certainly sounds lost, or disoriented.

Presumably it doesn’t have a light of its own. The records he’s seen in the archives didn’t go into a whole lot of detail about what the creatures were capable of. Understandable; everybody knows they can speak, and reason, but if they’re trying to kill you it’s got to be hard to take notes on how they’re doing it and stay alive at the same time.

Perhaps he’ll leave the archives some of his own impressions, if he ever gets out of here. If the archives still exist, of course.

A tremor shakes the floor of the cave, and Xiaodan tenses in fright. An earthquake? No, too small. But that wasn’t a person’s internal energy, either. It’s something natural. Something landing from a great height –

He shudders at the dim memories of that long fall, and his frenzied, panic-stricken –

Stop.

But if not that, then what?

“Gǔhuī doesn’t like this,” the Yèkǒng whispers to itself. “No rat. No rat, but – the smell –”

It’s the first time Xiaodan has ever heard one of them discomfited. Vulnerable, even. Strange, given he was practically catatonic with fear of it just a little while ago. That name; it is its name, isn’t it? Gǔhuī? Is that ‘ashes’? ‘Bone ash’, maybe? He can imagine the characters, written down.

He can feel a rocky outcrop just behind his back, maybe a foot from where he dragged himself out of the stream. Xiaodan crouches as low as he dares, just in case any sort of light comes back on, and tries to keep his breathing as quiet and shallow as he can manage.

Another tremor. It’s not something that’s been dropped. This is slow, and measured, like a giant hammer slammed against the earth.

“Stop it!” the Yèkǒng calls out. “Stop! Gǔhuī can’t –”

Silence, followed by tiny scraping and scuffling noises. It’s not hard to imagine the Yèkǒng fitfully turning back and forth, trying to work out what’s going on. Either they don’t know about these caves, or nobody bothered telling this one.

Another tremor, and this time Xiaodan can distinctly hear breathing, a slow, deep wheezing like a huge bellows being forced open and shut. They’re not tremors, but footsteps, the sound of something making its way towards the cave. What in the world is this? From the weight of its tread it must be enormous.

“Rat?” the Yèkǒng whispers, hesitantly.

Xiaodan has to resist the urge to call out – to tell it to shut up, for fear the new arrival will home in on the noise.

But he says nothing.

The footfalls keep coming, and the heavy breathing grows steadily louder.

“Come on!” the Yèkǒng yells into the darkness, without warning. “Gǔhuī’s not scared of you! Come on!”

Whatever the giant creature is, it plainly has the ears to hear that. There’s an exhalation of breath, a wet hiss like a jet of water from a barrel that’s sprung a leak. The earth booms like a drum as it charges, and Xiaodan braces himself in his hiding place, trying not to slide back into the stream. Where is it coming from? Is it about to trample him?

Apparently not. The confrontation seems to be some distance across the cavern. The Yèkǒng screams, a burst of sound released with all the energy it can muster. Even at this distance Xiaodan’s head still sings in the wake of that awful, ululating wail, like nails dragged down a sheet of metal, concentrated right inside his skull.

Any human being around six feet from that would be writhing on the floor or staggering away, hands clapped over their ears, trying to stop the sensation that their brains were leaking through their fingers. Anyone much closer was probably crippled for life, or dead, if they were lucky. Xiaodan’s seen it drop horses in their tracks at full power.

The new arrival doesn’t seem impressed. The heavy breathing continues uninterrupted, and the cave shakes again as it shifts position. The Yèkǒng howls, a clear note of rage in its voice. It must be obvious that the scream had no effect.

A grunt of exertion. The sound of blows impacting flesh. Is the Yèkǒng actually trying to fight this thing, hand to hand?

The Yèkǒng shouts. There’s a rapid flurry of movement – several of those giant footsteps – and a dull thud, followed by a cry of pain from the Yèkǒng. Xiaodan realises the thing just… darted backwards, after the Yèkǒng tried a different strategy. What did it do? Presumably not the same futile blows.

It jumped, didn’t it? The giant creature’s a sizeable foe. The Yèkǒng tried to leap on this thing’s back, only it dashed out of reach –

The creature hisses again. Xiaodan can feel the spray drifting past through the cavern. The ground sways, hard enough he shifts half a foot down the incline from his hiding place. That was the thing lashing out. A crunch, a few breathless moments of silence, then a crash, as of a body, suddenly and violently at rest.

Then nothing.

It slapped the Yèkǒng across the cave as casually as one might swat a bug.

The creature stands in place, breathing heavily to itself, apparently not interested in pursuing this strange aggressor it just defeated. It reeks like a farmyard on a summer’s day, all mud and sweat and rotting manure, magnified by the sheer bulk of it. Xiaodan covers his nose and mouth with his wet sleeve, trying not to gag.

Finally it shifts, turning on the spot, and slowly trudges out of the cavern, presumably back the way it came. If it knows he’s there, it doesn’t seem to care.

The giant footfalls fade into the distance. No sound from the Yèkǒng, whether it’s dead or simply winded or anything in between.

Xiaodan waits, huddled in the dark.

A thought strikes him. He fumbles in the satchel, peeling open the sodden fabric. The contents are soaked, but are they ruined? The poultices in their earthenware bottles are sealed up tight. The tinderbox isn’t waterproof, but it’s been submerged before and come up none the worse for wear.

Xiaodan stands up, as slowly as he can manage, and, working by touch, opens the box. Moves the flint. It sparks. The light, even after mere minutes in total darkness, is blinding. But nothing else happens. He blinks, takes a deep breath, and tries again.

It catches.

He trudges wearily up the banks of the stream, favouring his uninjured knee, holding the tinderbox in one outstretched hand, and stands for a moment, scanning the cave.

He’s alone. Even the bats have retreated, presumably scared off by the noise of the fighting and the threat of whatever felled the Yèkǒng. Squinting into the gloom, Xiaodan can dimly make out the aftermath, with moss and gravel strewn in all directions and great curving smears along the rock where the creature danced this way and that.

Nobody jumps out to chase him. But what should he do now? Where should he go?

He pads across the cave, listening to his footsteps echo back to him from the walls. From the smell, the creature seems to have disappeared into one of the largest tunnels. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to chase after it. There’s another one a short distance away that seems more likely, smaller and narrower and visibly branching upwards instead of down.

Another tremor.

Xiaodan goes rigid.

And then he becomes aware that suddenly, impossibly, there’s somebody standing right behind him.

An arm curls around Xiaodan’s neck, a gloved hand comes down over his mouth, and a voice speaks in his ear. Quietly – barely louder than a whisper – but perfectly audible.

“Don’t scream.”

Not the Yèkǒng. They’re wearing coarse woollen gloves, and this is a human hand, or something remarkably similar. Then who is –?

“That light,” the stranger accosting him says.

Xiaodan is, if not terrified, then stunned silent. All he can think to do is feebly shake his head, as if to say, this can’t be happening.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“Put it out,” the stranger says, exasperated. “Do you even understand me? My accent – never mind –”

And they reach up, with their other hand, to snatch at Xiaodan’s tinderbox and promptly extinguish it.

“You need to keep quiet,” the stranger says in the darkness, still with one hand over Xiaodan’s mouth. “Am I getting through to you? Quiet.” A finger taps his cheek. “Not a sound. It’s coming back.”