The shadows in the forest slowly closed in.
Branches and leaves swayed gently in the night wind.
Chun's figure were soon swallowed by darkness.
The silence that followed was unnatural.
So quiet it made the skin crawl.
Wei felt his heart drop hard in his chest.
At that moment, a short black figure appeared soundlessly at the edge of the suspension bridge.
A blade shaped like a crescent moon carved a cold arc through the night.
A sharp slicing sound cut the air.
The keen edge severed the bridge's cable in a single stroke.
The taut rope gave a short, desperate cry.
The withered vines that secured the narrow wooden bridge were cut at the same instant.
They snapped with brittle cracks, like old bones breaking.
The bridge swayed once.
Then the entire span tilted violently to one side.
Wood scraped against wood with a shrill burst.
The sound of ropes tearing apart rang clear in the midnight air.
Wei's footing vanished.
His balance collapsed without warning.
For a fraction of a second he did not even understand what had happened.
His body was flung away with the collapsing bridge.
Momentum hurled him toward the rocky wall on the opposite side.
His back slammed into the cold, rough stone.
The air was crushed from his lungs.
A muffled groan escaped him.
The taste of blood rose in his throat.
Loose stones shook free and rattled downward.
In the instant of weightlessness, the world became strangely quiet.
Wei had thought he would be afraid.
But he was not.
He did not think of death.
He thought of her.
He thought of the day Chun stood in the rain, complaining that the wild honey he had brought her was too bitter and too sour, yet she still ate it mouthful by mouthful.
There had been a smear of honey at the corner of her lips when she smiled at him and said, next time do not gather something so wild, you fool.
He suddenly understood.
Perhaps he had already lost from that moment on.
He had told himself he was only a companion.
Only fulfilling a duty.
Only helping because it was convenient.
But when a person is falling, he does not lie to himself.
Chun.
This time he was not calling out for her to hear.
He was saying it to himself.
Then he heard stones sliding somewhere above him.
An angry shout followed, muffled as if through a wall.
I do not care if he is dead or alive. I want to see him either way.
Do not think you can escape. I will find you again.
The mist swallowed the final words. Only cold wind and the occasional clatter of falling stones remained.
Wei's body dangled in midair, his feet suspended over nothing.
The vine he clung to was stretched tight, creaking softly and steadily, like a bowstring drawn to its limit.
He did not dare look up.
He did not dare look down.
He could only stare at his own whitening fingers.
The coarse bark of the vine had torn open his palms. Warm blood seeped out and dripped down his wrist.
He clenched his teeth and tried, inch by inch, to press his body back against the rock face.
If he could just steady himself. If he could get one foot against the wall.
Then he felt it.
Something was wrong.
The vine was moving.
Not swaying in the wind.
It was sinking. Slowly. As if the world itself were losing weight.
He was not climbing upward.
The vine was sliding downward.
First came a trickle of sand.
Then pebbles.
Then larger stones crashing down against the cliff beside him, echoing hollow in the night.
The footsteps above suddenly stopped.
Someone leaned over to look down.
Wei heard a faint, cold laugh.
The vine in his hand jerked violently.
In that instant, he understood.
Someone had cut the vines on the other side of the bridge.
The remaining beams, dragged by their own weight and momentum, tore loose the soil anchoring them.
The entire structure fell like a meteor into the abyss.
With his last support gone, Wei dropped again.
The abyss opened beneath him like a black mouth.
His vision went dark.
Consciousness slipped away.
His fingers loosened from the vine.
He fell into darkness.
The last sensation he felt was something rough and barbed biting savagely into the flesh of his waist.
He heard the relentless snapping of dead vines.
Then nothing.
At some point, pale morning light struggled through the mist.
He seemed on the verge of waking.
But when his body shifted, the movement tugged at the vines still wrapped around him.
A fragile cracking sound followed.
Soft. Clear. Enough to chill the heart.
Before Wei could open his eyes, the world lost weight again.
It was as if someone had kicked him straight into the abyss.
All sound vanished at once except the roar of wind exploding past his ears.
Instinct drove him to reach out wildly.
His nails scraped across stone, tearing fire through his fingertips.
He caught nothing.
He fell like a meteor knocked off course, spinning and plunging deeper into darkness.
As his body dropped, Wei's mind went blank.
Wind flooded his ears. He did not even have time to shout.
This time he fought with everything he had, grabbing at anything his hands could reach, like a drowning man searching for something to keep him afloat.
Chun. I will not die like this.
That heat inside his chest surged again.
Stronger than before. Stronger than on the bridge.
Like a volcano about to erupt.
He let out a low roar.
Not despair.
Rage.
None of you will have your way.
The heat rushed through his limbs. His fingertips burned.
He grabbed.
Not stone.
Empty air.
An invisible force burst from his palm.
His fingers drove into a hidden crack. Stone shattered. Flesh tore.
But he held on.
His body jerked to a stop. He no longer fell.
The wind still howled through the abyss. But he did not drop.
He lifted his head.
Through the mist, he saw a faint silhouette.
A short dark shape. Or someone else.
His thoughts blurred.
Yet he heard it.
Light footsteps drawing closer.
Then a faint sweetness in the air.
It brushed against his nose.
Like the wildflowers in Chun's hair. Or like some life saving medicine.
A bloodstained smile touched his lips.
Chun. Wait for me.
Even if I must crawl out of hell itself, I will take you back.