Xiaodan sinks back into his seat, but his mind is only half-focused on the lecture. His position seems a lot more secure now that Sain’s decided to trust him, but for all he could do with an ally in this strange, lightless place, that’s not what sticks with him.

How is it these people have been down here for more than three centuries? And –

If that’s what he wants. Sain sounded, of all things, disappointed. Why? What was she expecting?

For the next few days he has precious little time to dwell on either of these questions.

First and foremost, he needs to learn how to cope with the mundane realities of living in a place where one of his five senses serves no purpose. He thought he had some idea of how hard this would be. It swiftly becomes clear he didn’t have a clue.

It’s decided, in some meeting Xiaodan wasn’t invited to, that Sain is going to be the one to look after him. This doesn’t seem to help advance their relationship.

“I could ask them to pick somebody else,” he suggests, sitting on the floor in her living quarters.

“I wouldn’t want to do that to anybody.” She kicks out, sulky as a child. Xiaodan hears her moving, and the clatter of one of her stools as it dances across the flagstones. “Besides. Is that a complaint? What’s it to you?”

There’s that disappointment again, as inexplicable as before. Xiaodan bites his tongue.

Marking the passage of time, at least, is easy enough. The clock he heard, wandering through the city, is how people keep track. It chimes the hours and also sends out an especially sonorous boom to help the populace get to, or wake up from sleep. Everything else is considerably more difficult.

Xiaodan knows that it’s just a matter of rote learning, in large part, the same way as anyone who loses their sight is expected to cope. The city isn’t going to change, and – in theory, at least – anybody he could possibly meet is either in much the same boat, or has no interest in taking advantage of him.

So he practises. Sain is out for most of the day. That meeting she attended wasn’t unusual. She has responsibilities of some kind, though she hasn’t told him what they are, and Xiaodan doesn’t feel ready to ask. Still, she gave him a key to the front door, so he ventures cautiously outside, walks back, and tries again, getting a little further with every attempt.

The members of the Jīngguò sect seem willing enough to talk to him. New arrivals seem to be a rare occurrence, but not unheard of. After a few quick pointers, Xiaodan begins to get a rough picture of the city. The upper level is mostly houses and storage for more valuable perishable goods, for example, while the lower is for administration and security.

It’s more of a small town, really, but still big enough he ends up losing his way twice, trying to be daring. He’s escorted back home – for want of a better word – by an eight-year-old boy the first time, a cheerful elderly lady the second. Sain says nothing, but Xiaodan can sense she finds this drily entertaining.

Still, whatever she’s disappointed with, she doesn’t suggest he stop.

But it’s hard.

Xiaodan can’t shake that unsettling, alien feeling that creeps over him when he leaves the house and everything outside is still pitch dark. The orange stars overhead are too far away to see by. Apparently these lightstones die soon after being chipped out of the rock, and mishandled, can even explode. There are very few in the city.

There are no open flames allowed, since the blind might accidentally set something else alight. Cooked food is prepared in giant kitchens on the lower level – even then, mostly with huge, super-heated flat stones or dung fires – and collected or else trusted to porters to deliver.

It’s a never-ending list of little details. Porters carry water around the city, too, for drinking or flushing away waste. Learning how the toilets worked was as humiliating as Xiaodan feared, but at least it was over with quickly. It helps that everyone places a great deal of importance on leaving everything arranged just so each and every time.

“You still need to watch out,” Sain says. “While you’re here. Just in case. Careful with anything from somebody you don’t trust. Food or drink especially. If someone just hands you a bottle –”

“You’re feeding me,” Xiaodan points out.

“Because you’d starve otherwise.” He hears the soft rustling sound of her hair moving as she shakes her head, exasperated. “Just some free advice. Take it or leave it.”

“You’re sitting down to eat with me.” He feels the urge to keep teasing her. “You trust me that much?”

“Funny man,” Sain shoots back with her mouth full. She swallows, followed by the noise of her spoon as it falls ringing into her empty bowl. “I’m your guarantor. Not your wife.”

I have a wife, Xiaodan thinks, yet for some reason he can’t bring himself to say it. They were only engaged, for one thing, and that’s all gone out of the window, now, given he killed –

No more marriage. No more money. He can hear Zhong weeping. I’ll see your mother and father served up to those things on a platter if you don’t open the door –

Xiaodan forces himself to keep eating, though the food is suddenly tasteless.

And for all the effort he puts in, he can still feel the stress building up; day after day, every time he wakes. That moment of adjustment – wearily accepting that no, the lights won’t be coming on – gets ever more taxing, until at one point he opens his eyes and sees Tsang Wai Yi, clear as day, on the stool beside the bed.

Xiaodan blinks.

The vision swims against the void, distorts, but doesn’t disappear. Aau Hei, the frog, leans forwards and soundlessly shoots out his tongue for a non-existent fly.

Inwardly Xiaodan acknowledges this is probably a bad sign.

His head hurts, and he’s sweating profusely. The bedspread is damp to the touch, as if he were a child who’d had a bad dream. He struggles to sit up, pushing the coverlet aside, reaches out with a trembling hand, and –

Stomach cramps leave him doubled up in pain. Xiaodan topples out of bed, the vision disappearing as his fingers pass through it. He writhes on the floor, and vomits over the matting, so hard that for a moment his vision goes red.

Someone’s put him back to bed.

He passed out, didn’t he? Sain is nearby, down near the floor. There’s a rhythmic wet slapping sound, and Xiaodan realises she’s mopping up the mess he made, presumably down on her knees.

“Are you awake?” Strangely there’s no trace of disappointment in her voice, or frustration, or anything besides genuine concern.

Xiaodan buries his face in his hands.

“You were seeing things, right?” Sain says softly. “Why didn’t you say something? If you were having problems?”

The sound of the cloth against the floor starts up again.

“Didn’t want to bother you,” Xiaodan whispers. His throat feels painfully sore, and his mouth still tastes rotten.

“Idiot.” She sighs. The cloth lands, dripping, in a bucket, and she picks her way across the floor. “Come on. Up you get.”

He sits up, shuffling backwards along the mattress with her arm around his shoulders supporting him as she leans over the bed.

“Here.” Sain straightens. She pulls a cork free in the darkness, and Xiaodan can’t help smiling after their earlier conversation. “Wipe that smirk off your face.”

If someone just hands you a bottle –

“I wasn’t,” he begins, instinctively.

“Yes you were.” She snorts. “Just drink it, okay? It helps you get used to the dark. Not being able to use your eyes. Saves me from having to mop the floor again, as well.” She holds the bottle to his lips, surprisingly gently. “Here we go. You only need a bit.”

It’s thick, and bitter, and so strong Xiaodan almost doubles over with a spasm of coughing. It brings back childhood memories of the pungent herbal liniment his father wanted to smear on his arm after the accident, which feels unsettling. He’s managed not to think about that since he arrived down here.

“I did say you only needed a bit.” Sain sucks in air through her teeth. “Look, I… I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Xiaodan says weakly.

“I should have given it to you earlier. I just…” She trails off, drumming one foot on the floor.

“Do I need to keep taking it?” Xiaodan asks.

“I doubt it.” Sain takes the bottle away. “It lasts a pretty long time. Shuts down the internal energy flows, where otherwise your mind starts trying to fill in the blanks for anything it can’t see.”

“Does it have…” Xiaodan belches, and grimaces at the aftertaste. “Side effects?”

“Not that I know of.” She straightens. “Some of these do. There’s one that toughens up the inner ear, helps us stand up to the salamander’s scream and things like that, but that’s... nasty.” She’s concentrating on something else. “Gives you the sweats, shakes, nausea, everything you can think of. This one’s – there we go.”

Xiaodan hears the whisper of fabric being tugged loose.

“Close your eyes,” Sain says, bending down again. “Get your head up. Like that. Tell me what you think.”

Her hands come down either side of his head, and she drapes a length of fabric around his face – over his eyes. She’s tying a sash over his eyes. Which must mean –

He remembers the last look he got at her, in the caves, as they were escaping the salamander, and that flash of green.

“Is this yours?” Xiaodan starts to turn, and Sain clips him, lightly, on one ear.

“I’ve got more. And...” She takes a long breath through her nose. “It’s not much use to me at this point. It was my grandmother’s, though, so. Don’t lose it. Or we’ll be having words.”

“Thank you,” Xiaodan says slowly. The sash already feels like a gentle, almost subconscious reminder not to bother exerting himself trying to make sense of his surroundings. It’s a reassuring sensation.

“Not necessary,” Sain says. “But duly noted. Now. Get some rest. Let the medicine start working. I’ll bring you something to eat later.”

She straightens.

“Is there anything I can do?” Xiaodan offers.

“I just said I don’t need you to show me how grateful you are.” Sain bends for the bucket, wincing as the muscles in her back protest at the strain.

“Seriously,” Xiaodan says. “I don’t know how much longer you’re keeping me down here, but –” He shrugs helplessly. “There must be some way I can pay you back. You or anybody else who’s helped me settle in. I want to.”

For a moment he can almost feel Sain watching him in the darkness, and he wonders what her expression might be.

“No promises,” she says at last. “But I’ll ask around.”