The world had shrunk to the frantic hammering of his heart and the ragged saw of his breath. Li ran, not with purpose, but with the blind, panicked instinct of a wounded animal. The image of the soldier's eyes—the shock, the pain, the sudden, flat emptiness—was seared onto his vision, a ghostly afterimage that superimposed itself over the jagged rocks and stark sky. The feel of the shale tearing through flesh and sinew played on a loop in his mind, the sensation of resistance giving way to a sickening softness.
He could still smell the blood. It was a metallic tang in the back of his throat, a scent that seemed to cling to his skin and clothes, a perfume of damnation. He scrubbed his hand furiously against the rough rock of the cliff face as he ran, but the stain felt deeper than skin.
The soldier's shouts from below grew fainter, but they were still there, a persistent reminder that death was not done with him yet. He had killed one, but the other was coming. And this one would not be contemptuous. This one would be angry.
He found Mei where he'd left her, huddled in a deep fissure in the rock, her knees drawn to her chest. Her eyes, wide and terrified, snapped to his as he stumbled towards her. They took in his heaving chest, his wild eyes, the dark, ugly smears on his hand and tunic.
"Li…?" her voice was a tremulous whisper.
"He's dead," Li choked out, the words tasting like ash. He slumped against the rock next to her, his body beginning to shake uncontrollably as the adrenaline bled away, leaving him cold and hollow. "I… I killed him."
He expected horror. He expected her to recoil from him, a killer.
Instead, she uncoiled herself and moved to his side. She didn't touch his bloody hand, but she placed her own clean one on his arm. Her touch was steady. "He would have killed you," she said, her voice low but firm. "He would have killed us both."
The logical part of his brain knew she was right. It was them or him. A simple, brutal equation of survival. But the boy who had polished jade by a peaceful stream couldn't reconcile that logic with the visceral, soul-sickening reality of what he had done.
"It wasn't… it wasn't like the stories," he mumbled, staring at his stained hand. "There was no honor. No skill. It was just… ugly. I felt his… I felt it." A violent shudder wracked his frame. He leaned over and retched, but there was nothing in his stomach to bring up, only bile that burned his throat.
Mei didn't flinch. She just waited, her presence a silent anchor in his storm of regret. She handed him her waterskin, and he took it with a trembling hand, rinsing his mouth and then scrubbing at the blood on his skin until it was raw and red, but finally clean.
The physical evidence was gone, but the stain remained within. He had crossed a threshold, and there was no going back. The innocence he had clung to, even amidst the ashes of his home, was now truly dead.
"The other one is still coming," Li said finally, his voice hoarse but steadier. The need to survive was reasserting itself, a cold, hard shell forming over the raw wound of his conscience. "He'll be more careful now. And he'll be faster, without his partner."
They had to move. The brief respite was over. They gathered themselves, their bodies protesting every movement. Li's limbs felt like they were made of stone, his mind fogged with exhaustion and trauma. But the memory of the dying soldier's eyes was a sharper spur than any fear of the one still living.
They pushed higher, the terrain becoming even more brutal. The air was so thin it felt like breathing through a cloth. The path, what little there was of it, was a narrow spine of rock with dizzying drops on either side. The wind howled around them, a constant, mournful dirge.
Li moved mechanically, his focus narrowed to placing one foot in front of the other. The lesson of the deep pool was forgotten, submerged beneath the cold, dark waters of his new reality. He was no longer seeking a center of calm; he was building a wall around the part of him that could still feel horror, that could still regret.
Hours bled into one another. The sun climbed, its light harsh and revealing. They found a trickle of water seeping from the rock and drank greedily, but their hunger was a growing, gnawing beast in their bellies.
It was Mei who saw it first.
She stopped, pointing a trembling finger ahead. "Li. Look."
Beyond the next ridge, the world changed. The relentless, upward climb of the Jade Dragon Mountains finally broke. The rocky spine dipped down into a high, hidden valley, cradled between towering peaks. It was lush and green, a startling emerald jewel set in a crown of grey stone. A thin ribbon of silver—a river—wound through its center.
The Western Valley.
A sob of relief escaped Mei's lips. It was real. The path, the legend, their destination—it was all real.
But Li felt no joy, only a grim satisfaction. It was not an end. It was merely the next stage. The descent would be as dangerous as the ascent, and they were weaker now than when they had started. The soldier behind them was still a threat, a specter driving them forward.
He looked back the way they had come. The mountainside was vast and silent. There was no sign of their pursuer. But Li could feel him. A predator's patience, a focused intent that seemed to travel on the thin mountain air.
"We're not safe yet," Li said, his voice flat. "He's still coming."
Mei looked at him, and for the first time, he saw a flicker of fear—not of the soldier, but of him. Of the cold, hard light in his eyes, the grim set of his jaw. The boy who had shared berries with her was gone, replaced by this grim, blood-stained survivor.
He turned away from her gaze and looked down into the green promise of the valley. It was a new world. A world without his family, without his home, without his innocence.
He touched the jade sphere in his pouch. It was cool and hard. Like his heart was becoming.
"Let's go," he said, and began the treacherous descent, leaving the ghosts of the high peaks behind, carrying the heavier ghost of his first kill within him. The hunt had taken its first, permanent payment.