The stranger never slows down, carries on running, silent except for that steady, measured breathing and those whispered changes in course, and slowly it sinks in for Xiaodan that they’re all he has; deep below the mountain, in pitch darkness, with no idea where he is.

Curiously, it’s not entirely pitch dark.

There are brief moments when the two of them pass a brilliant orange glow, a sliver of something either buried or trapped, somehow, in the walls. The first time this happens, Xiaodan wonders if they might stop for a while, to let him catch his breath, but the stranger – maybe sensing Xiaodan’s wavering resolve – simply tugs him onwards.

So they keep running. Xiaodan remembers he wanted to choose this path because it started out climbing upwards, but they seem to be descending, if anything, overall.

He’s finding it next to impossible to maintain any sense of spatial awareness, but the stranger doesn’t seem to be heading “out”, for want of a better word. They’re moving confidently, with no real sense of urgency now that they’ve left the giant salamander behind.

Not that it was the only one. Xiaodan hears those slow, steady tremors again every so often, mostly in the distance. Once they came close enough the stranger actually stopped dead for a moment, made another of those strange clicking noises then set off again, seemingly on a different route.

Much of the journey takes them through the same cramped, winding tunnels, but there are other caves, great high spaces where the sound of their footsteps ascend some impossible distance, and Xiaodan can hear wingbeats far overhead, or water raining down from a great height.

There’s no further glimpse of natural light, but in one of these vaulted chambers he sees more of those orange pinpoints, far off in the distance, out of reach; like a half-remembered dream about the stars.

“Stop.” Xiaodan tugs at the stranger’s grip. “Stop, stop, stop –”

It’s partly a plea, partly a statement of fact. They’re stopping. His legs are threatening to collapse, and his stomach is cramping so badly it’s a struggle not to double over.

Running through the darkness, it’s starting to feel as if he’s floating; as if, every time he lifts one foot off the ground, there’s a chance it might not come down again.

The stranger lets out a growl of frustration, and doesn’t let go of his hand. But they stop.

“We’re almost there.” The guide hawks up phlegm, briskly, and spits. Xiaodan hears it smack against the wall. “You don’t seem. You know. Very well prepared –”

“Prepared?” He laughs, incredulous. “How was I supposed to prepare for, for, for –” He gestures, uselessly, with his free hand. “For this?”

“Did nobody tell you –?” the stranger begins.

“How about you tell me?” Xiaodan rounds on where the guide must be standing. “So far I’ve had nothing. No name, no idea who you are, where we are, what you’re doing down here, what you’re planning to do with me –”

“I saved your life,” the stranger points out.

“I saved yours!” Xiaodan says.

“You wouldn’t have had to,” the stranger says heavily, “if you’d just listened to me when I told you to put your stupid light out. Are you always this stubborn? Did you honestly think you could come down here and start doing whatever you please? What were you expecting? A guided tour?”

This is the most words he’s heard from them yet.

They don’t speak the language like a foreigner might. They’re plainly fluent and they don’t use any inappropriate vocabulary. But their diction is more stilted than you’d expect, coming from a native. It’s strangely like listening to his grandparents, or Tsang Wai Yi’s elderly friends who are uncomfortable with the common dialect of Heaventongue.

Which is odd, because while the stranger’s voice is a little deep, they don’t sound that old. Xiaodan has the distinct impression they’re his age, or even younger. And there’s something else –

“You’re quite the little shrew,” he says. “Aren’t you?”

“Oh, congratulations.” The stranger snorts. “How long did that take you? And shrew? Charming. You like to throw your weight around, don’t you? That cuts no ice down here, I’m telling you.”

“Cuts no –?” Xiaodan blinks. He’s getting a headache, bombarded with these alien concepts one after another with no time to mull anything over. It’s suddenly hard to breathe. “With who? Why won’t you just tell me?”

“Because,” the young woman says, “this is neither the time or the place.” She sighs. “Have you forgotten already? The local wildlife? If you could just keep your voice down, and stop behaving like a child throwing a tantrum for a little while longer –”

“I am being,” Xiaodan says heavily, “more than reasonable –”

“You’re putting us in danger,” the young woman says flatly. “Let me be blunt; shut up. Or we can do this the hard way.”

“The what?” Xiaodan laughs. It sounds a little hysterical. A still small voice suggests perhaps antagonising somebody who could abandon him in this lightless maze at any moment isn’t the smartest idea, but he ignores it. He’s a swordsman, damn it. There’s no way he’s about to permit this savage to push him around.

“Last chance,” the young woman says.

“Try me.” Xiaodan reverses his grip, seizing hold of her hand instead. There’s a vein throbbing at his temple, and the mountain overhead feels as if it’s swimming around him. “Let me be blunt; you tell me who you are, and what exactly is going on, or –”

He never sees the blow that strikes him in the face. Suddenly he’s staggering back across the tunnel until his shoulders collide with the opposite wall. Xiaodan lets out an incoherent snarl and, digging in the satchel, snatches up his sword; draws the weapon and waves it around, turning wildly back and forth.

“What a surprise,” the young woman mutters. Her own sword comes out. Xiaodan hears it slide hissing from its sheath.

“Come on,” he growls. “Come on, then.” It’s pitch dark, he thinks, we’re both blind, and I’ve studied with Tsang Wai Yi – gods have mercy, I would have made the Hēi Yīng if it wasn’t for my idiot father! There’s no way this, this, this shrew could possibly –

But she can.

Xiaodan hears her sword twine almost idly around his blade as the vibrations travel through his wrist and up his forearm. A sudden jolt and she’s disarmed him, wrenching the blade from his hand to clatter across the tunnel, leaving him powerless to do anything but wave the scabbard around.

“Are you done?” the young woman says.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Is he done? Yes, Xiaodan thinks. I’m done.

His fingers open, and the scabbard falls from his grasp. For some reason the sound seems to be coming from a great distance, as if his senses are shutting down, like candles blown out one by one. He can’t see. He can’t hear. And he’s very tired, as well, his head so heavy he just wants to lie down and sleep.

He’s aware he’s falling over, but there doesn’t seem to be anything he can do to stop it.

As Xiaodan collapses to the floor he catches the young woman letting out a weary sigh, and the sound triggers a fleeting burst of shame. He shouldn’t be leaving things like this, should he? With the last of his strength he resolves to apologise to her at some point, if he ever wakes up again.

Then he’s dead to the world.