Heng was sitting on the stairs, waiting. On his lap, he had two copies of the same book, “A New Language of Qi Symbolism and Scriptures”, originally written by his ancestor: one was old, worn out, filled with chaotic notes written through all of his youth; the other was newer, but still filled with pages and pages of extra content, all the ideas he and Old Man Ling had developed and demonstrated now that the new language was actually working.

  He just needed a yes, and they’d be put to fruition. Even without it, he still enjoyed and gained from studying them all over again.

  He was only supposed to refresh his memory, but as all the other times he had “made sure there were no mistakes” in the theories with the old man, he ended up subtly improving his own Cultivation Technique, making it more powerful, more efficient, improving both its long-term and short-term effects…

  It was always a wonder, to stay in his inner world, witness the complexity and beauty of their creation, and make it even more complex and beautiful.

  He was shaken out of it only when someone bumped his leg.

  “We’re done here, Heng.” Xin said. “Should it take long? The guys need to know if they should wait or if they’d be better off going.”

  “Only if you accept.”

  “That doesn’t sound promising. I’ll tell them to leave without me.”

  “Sure, I’ll wait for you in my room.”

  They separated once again, and he went there to prepare both books, more notes, and a few pages worth of paper to write on, putting all of them for show on the bed. The table was just that small; they didn't fit in.

  As he put a little plate under the ink bottle, he felt his heartbeat accelerate, and his lips tug upwards. Despite all that he had going on in his head those days, he couldn’t help but hope for a yes.

  “What's with all that stuff?” Xin asked, leaning on the doorframe.

  “This…” He made a grandiose gesture, as if showing off some kind of treasure. “Is my offer. My gift to you.”

  “You’re nice, but, you know… I can’t read. So, no thanks, I guess.”

  “Ehm, that’s not what I meant. I can make you a new Cultivation Technique, much better and in tune with you than the one you already have. These are just the necessary materials.”

  “Are you sure you can do that? You’re kind of too… young, for that, you know?”

  “I see why you would think that, But!” He began, speaking like an ancient master sharing his truths with little disciples. Or a sketchy merchant. “My approach is different from the one you know about! Years of seclusion? I don’t need them! A deep understanding of a specific face of the Dao? That’s surpassed! (almost).”

  “I’m not sure I like where this is going.”

  “Meditating on the top of Mount Tai, waiting for the spark of illumination, and the scream of Eureka?”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “Long forgotten waste of time! Asking the stars to guide you, and the Moon to hold your hand as you contemplate the truths of the Dao?”

  “That does sound like a good thing.”

  “But it’s not! Not anymore!”

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “For my great ancestor and I have developed a new way to forge one’s path! One not based on abstract ideas and vague concepts, but on logic (mainly), human thought, and ingenuity pushed to new limits never witnessed before, every passing day an opportunity to deepen one’s comprehension without waiting for the universe to reveal itself!”

  “Heng, I feel like you just insulted millions of years of human history, not to mention the Heavens themselves. I’m not sure I want to be here and get smited with you for that.” She took a step back, officially out of the room.

  “A doctor told me the Heavens don’t like me, so if they wanted to, they would have smited me already.” He said, deadpan.

  “I guess that makes sense…” She stepped back in the room, still standing at the hedge.

  She seemed tense, for some reason.

  “SO! I can make you one. Personalized. Just for you. How does that sound?”

  Without answering, she sat down on the floor, focusing, her mind going into her inner world. The Qi around her body moved, sluggish, almost against its own will. It reached the centre of her mass slowly, forcefully. The boy had never seen it act like that.

  It truly is that awful, eh?

  “I accept.” She said, opening her eyes. “What’s the price?”

  “Price? What do you mean?”

  “Uh?! What do you mean!”

  “Why would I need a price for that?” He said, scratching his head.

  “Heng, I’m starting to think you are more than just innocent. The one I use cost me more than a year's worth of savings, and it sucks. I’m not going to take one for free.” She was firm, staring him down despite being the one on the floor.

  “I just… I like doing it. It doesn’t seem fair to be paid to do something I enjoy. You’d feel weird if someone paid you to eat, right?”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  She winced at that.

  “I get where you are going, but I’m not going to accept, if that’s the case. Nothing comes without a price, and if we don’t make it clear, it will come later to bite my ass. If you have no idea how much you want to be paid, I’ll make an offer myself.”

  “I really don’t want to be paid for this, Xin. It would actually diminish its value, for me, if I decided that the thing I love has a price.”

  They were in a stalemate, both convinced of their own ideas and in opposition, despite wanting the same thing.

  “Fine…” The pink-headed girl relented. “No money, I get it. But I will still feel like I’m in debt, so let’s say I owe you one. But! I get to choose how to pay you back. I’ve seen more than enough people get screwed over by some misleading payback. Fine for you?”

  “I guess I… I can work with that.”

  …

  A young man woke up.

  His head hurt like hell, and part of his scalp felt wet.

  He did not want to open his eyes. He knew they’d hurt, too.

  His body was lying on something hard, making him quite uncomfortable. He tried to move, change his position, but couldn’t.

  He was being tied.

  He fell asleep against his will.

  …

  The next time he woke up, his head and back were aching even more. When he looked around, all he saw was darkness, the only sound that of someone breathing, one he was very familiar with.

  “Fen…” He tried to call. His throat burned too much to let out more than a whimper, but was soon answered by the equally pained voice of the woman he held dearest.

  “Zimo… Where are we?”

  He tugged on the ropes that kept him immobile, feeling them coarse on his wrists, wriggling around as he tried to shake them off, to no avail. The only reason he stopped was that he needed to hear her voice.

  “I don’t know… I just woke up. I can’t take these ropes off, give me a hand.”

  “I would if I could, my love. I’m in the same boat.”

  “Do you have any idea how we got here?” He said, moving however he could to get a feel of what was around him. The only thing his hands found was the end of the table he was resting on, and nothing to help.

  “Last thing I remember is walking to your place. Then I woke up here.”

  Zimo tried to think about it, too, and came to the same answer. They had done their shift, left the shop, and took on the road to get home. Somewhere along the way, everything became dark. He couldn’t figure out what had happened there.

  “Same here. I’ll find a way to get us out of here, I promise. I’m not letting anything bad happen to you.”

  “The same goes for you, Zimo! I’ll bite off the face of whoever put us here before they even try and touch you!”

  “You are too good to me, my sunshine!”

  “And you to me, light of my life!”

  As they spoke sappy words, the two of them thrashed more and more against their bindings, hit the tables however they could, tried to find different solutions to their predicament… but nothing came even close to that. All attempts failed, no matter how much they hurt themselves or how clever they tried to be.

  The darkness still surrounded them.

  The knots didn’t loosen.

  The wood didn’t break.

  The hours passed with no change.

  Silence became more encompassing as less and less words were exchanged. Reassurances stopped coming. Fake confidence was abandoned. Their hearts tightened together with their lips, their tense muscles tiring out.

  Worry crept in, and the two tried harder to find a way out.

  More hours passed. Nothing happened. Nothing changed.

  Calling and screaming didn’t get them anywhere. Pulling on the thick ropes didn’t either, not even when their forearms and their calves started bleeding. They tried to reach for something, anything, but their hands grasped only hair.

  Where were they? What hid in that place? Why were they tied up? By whom?

  More questions came, but none found an answer.

  Fear made itself the centre of it all. They didn’t want to imagine the monster that kidnapped them. Its intentions. What it would do to them. But their minds did anyway, giving them the worst of horrors.

  There were far too many stories of poor men and women who wanted meat so desperately that, during the Red Moon months, they became savages, cannibalistic madmen, giving in to the worst of desires. Animals would have to be put down by the end of June. Maybe they were… stocking up on animals that wouldn’t become bloodthirsty monsters.

  Or maybe they had been taken by nobles, who saw their lives as entertainment, for they were so above them. It wouldn’t have been the first story the couple had heard about rich sadists with a knack for torture, and enough money to pay off any repercussions.

  Their minds offered them more and more possibilities. Crazed cultists. Vengeful descendants who wanted their whole families exterminated. Kidnappers who would do anything for a ransom. Spies and assassins, looking for some mysterious information they had.

  Fear had them conjure the most tainted of beasts; those images would fill the darkness and fuel the fear even more.

  Their thrashing became more intense.

  They stopped only when Fen slammed her heel on the wood so hard that it let out a crack. The cry of pain made Zimo aware that it was her girlfriend’s foot to have made the noise, not the table.

  Reassurances came back from him, no matter how fake they sounded.

  …

  The hours passed, and they fell asleep, and they woke up.

  This time, they didn’t talk and didn’t fight.

  A sound was finally noticed, one that had been there the whole time, had they been silent.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  The young man gulped, his throat as coarse as the ropes. As he drew a breath in, a smell accompanied the slow rhythm.

  Blood.

  This time, the only noise he made was that of a crying man, and his beloved was the one to comfort him. Her kind words didn’t help, not when they were drowned by his heartbeat pounding in his ears, his teeth gnashing, his nails scraping both his palms and the board he was on, splinters sticking inside his skin and under the fingernails. He felt like puking. There was no seeing his tears in the darkness, nothing to blur. They could only be felt inching down his cheeks.

  The young woman joined him.

  More nightmares came to life in the surrounding black.

  …

  How long had they been there? A day? More? Neither could tell.

  Still, for the first time in what felt like far too long, a small light appeared as they heard the creaking of old hinges. It barely shone under the seams of another door, the entrance to whatever that place was.

  Then they heard steps. Someone walking down the stairs, and the creaking and slamming shut of the first door, a key being turned. More steps, and a key opening the threshold.

  A candle came into the room, carried by a man they thought they knew well.