Liang Wei sank.
The water wrapped around him like cold silk. His lungs burned. His chest screamed. The arrow wounds had reopened, leaking warmth into the endless cold. The cannonball dent in his ribs pulsed with every beat of his heart.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqh2nftn2w7
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I cannot die, he thought. But this feeling is unbearable.
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But his body would not obey. His arms hung limp. His legs dragged behind him like dead weights. He tried to paddle. He could not.
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The light from above faded – blue to gray to black. The pressure grew. His ears popped. His skull throbbed. The darkness pressed against his eyes.
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Still, he did not lose consciousness.
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I cannot breathe, he realized. The need for air was unbearable. His chest heaved. His throat closed. Water filled his mouth. He swallowed it. Coughed. Swallowed more.
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This is how drowning feels.
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Something large moved past him.
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Too fast for its size. A blur in the darkness – white, enormous, gone before he could focus.
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He thought he had imagined it.
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It came again. Closer this time. He felt the displacement of water, a current that spun him slowly. A trail of bubbles rose past his face.
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Again. A third pass. Closer still. He saw scales – pearl white, each one the size of his palm. A flash of an eye, dark and deep as the ocean floor.
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Then it stopped.
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The creature hovered before him. A dragon. Not the spirit dragon from the storm – a real one, living, breathing. Its body was longer than three junks placed end to end. Its snout was narrow, its horns curved like the crescent moon. Its scales shimmered in the dim light, reflecting a glow that came from nowhere.
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It moved closer. Its eye – large as a shield – examined him. The pupil contracted. Dilated. Contracted again.
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Then it darted away.
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Liang Wei sank deeper. His skin had turned red from the struggle, from the lack of air, from the pressure. His vision blurred. The darkness closed in.
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He saw the dragon again, far in the distance. It was circling, watching.
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Help me, he thought. He did not know if the words left his mouth or stayed in his mind.
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The dragon moved.
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It shot toward him like an arrow, faster than anything so large had a right to move. Before he could react, it had swept beneath him. He felt its scales against his back as it carried him upward, sideways, through currents he could not feel. The water rushed past his face.
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They emerged in a cave.
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Air.
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Blessed, wonderful air.
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The dragon placed him on a shelf of rock, just above the waterline. He coughed. Water poured from his lungs. He gasped, choked, breathed.
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The dragon turned to leave.
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"Wait," he said. His voice was a croak. "Who are you?"
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The dragon paused. Its head turned. One enormous eye regarded him.
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Its voice was not a sound. It was a thought placed directly in his mind. Feminine. Calm. Curious.
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I am Ning. This cave is safe. Rest. Heal.
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"Why did you save me?"
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Your qi is powerful. I felt it from across the current. Few mortals burn so brightly. You would have been wasted on the sea floor.
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Liang Wei tried to stand. His legs would not hold him. He settled for sitting, his back against the cave wall.
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"I am Liang Wei," he said. "Master of martial arts. Teacher of the Dragon's Fist. I owe you my life."
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You owe me nothing.
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"I do not wish to be indebted to anyone." He bowed his head as best he could. "Tell me what you want in return. Gold? Service? My techniques?"
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Ning was silent for a long moment. Her eye did not blink.
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You are not ready to discuss payment, she said finally. Heal first. Grow strong. Then we will talk.
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"But—"
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She was gone. A flicker of white, a rush of water, and the cave was empty.
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Liang Wei sat alone in the darkness, listening to the drip of water, the beat of his own heart.
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***
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The tall men emerged fully from the trees. There were seven of them, each standing between 180 and 200 centimeters.
General Feng Jian held his ground. His sword was drawn. His men had fanned out behind him, forming a loose shield wall in front of the servants and crew.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGFJCoc5rMh
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One of the guards stepped forward. He had been a soldier for five years. He had fought bandits, pirates, even a rebel uprising. He was not afraid.
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He lunged.
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His sword struck the nearest tall man's chest.
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The blade hit the leather armor and stopped. It did not pierce. It did not cut. The tall man did not even stagger. He looked down at the sword, then slightly raised his gaze at Zhao.
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His milk‑white eyes reflected the torchlight like twin orbs of pale glass.
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The guard’s hand trembled. He tried to pull the sword back. It would not move – not because it was stuck, but because his own arm had gone weak.
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"Demon," he whispered. Then he stepped back, his sword falling to the sand.
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The tall man did not attack. He did not even raise his spear. He simply watched.
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One of the others stepped forward. He was taller than the rest, his robes a deep indigo with patterns of gold thread. His voice was deep, like stones rolling in a river.
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He spoke words none of them understood. The sounds were strange – heavy vowels, sharp consonants, nothing like Chinese but a little bit like the smattering of the Arabic the navigator knew.
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But then he slowed down. He gestured to himself, then to the group, then to the trees behind him.
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"I know you cannot understand us," he said – or seemed to say. Their language was a mystery, but his tone was calm. "But we are not hostile . We do not wish to attack. You look troubled and traumatized and some of you are injured.” He pointed to a few injured crew members, “ Please. Come with us.”
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General Feng Jian heard the sounds, not the meaning. But he saw the open hands, the lowered spears, the way the tall men stood – relaxed, not poised to strike.
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"Lower your weapons," the general said quietly.
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The guards hesitated.
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"Now."
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Swords went down. Spears tilted. The crew released their grips on makeshift clubs.
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The tall man in indigo stepped forward. He stretched out his hand – palm open, fingers relaxed.
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The general understood. He had seen this gesture before, in markets and courts across China. It was an offer of peace.
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He sheathed his sword. He reached out. Their hands met – the general's light brown hands against the tall man's nearly black. The grip was firm and warm.
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The general bowed – a small bow, just a dip of his head.
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The tall man did not bow. He simply smiled.
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It was a strange smile. His teeth were white as his eyes, and his lips were plump . But there was warmth in it. Or perhaps the general only wanted to believe there was warmth.
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The tall man turned and gestured toward a path that led away from the beach, into the trees. Fires flickered in the distance – more torches, perhaps a village.
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"Follow," he said, using hand signs. He pointed at the general, then at the path, then made a walking motion with his fingers.
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The general looked back at his people. The servants were huddled together. Li Hua had stopped crying, but her face was pale. The crew clutched their remaining supplies. The guards held their weapons low but ready.
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"We follow," the general said. "Stay close. Stay aware. If anything feels wrong, we run for the boats."
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He turned and walked after the tall man.
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The others followed in a loose column.
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The torches bobbed ahead, casting dancing shadows on the trees. The path was narrow but well‑trodden. The air smelled of smoke and something sweet – flowers, perhaps, or incense.
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No one spoke. The only sounds were the crunch of sand beneath their feet and the distant crash of the waves.
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Li Hua walked beside the general. She kept her eyes on the tall men ahead.
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"General," she whispered. "Do you think the master is alive?"
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The general did not answer for a long moment.
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"I have to believe he is," he said finally. "Because if he is not, we are truly alone."
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They walked on into the darkness.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9jKUB5N1Qd
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