The group was not loud. They were only as loud as the rest.

  Hao was initially interested when heard them speaking of a big event, it was even better it was coming from the filterless mouth of a drunk. He kept his ear high as he made his way to the back of the room. ‘Big events’ were rare, and he thought it may have had something to do with the mid-summer cave. But as the group spoke, Hao could feel his heart getting heavy until it was in his stomach.

  The people that worked in the food hall. Those he would usually pass by gathered around the doorway Hao was walking towards. They stared at Hao. Their faces grew bright as his expression sank; Wide-eyed, dilated pupils with frowning mouths.

  He turned back the way he came, walking, this time along the wall. Away from the workers and towards the group he heard speak.

  Hao ripped the man up from his chair. The jar of wine crashing covered the ground with a sour smell. Every person in the group was frozen. He lifted him higher, closer to his face. “What are you talking about,” Hao said. His face warned the drunks that his mouth could start foaming at any second.

  The man didn’t respond, his face was folding, trying to find the right shape to make. For a moment, his eyes were sharp. The rest of the group followed suit, getting ready to stand from their confusion. But shook the man in his hands like a doll, which killed that thought.

  “What are you talking about?” Hao asked again.

  “Th-Some Hunting team was in the l-library tower… An old man offended them. He said something about his wife, legacy, and the sect. That is all I know.” The drunk started sputtering his words. His legs kicked until he found his chair, dragging it over frantically, “Ah, ah, that’s right, they were looking for info on the secret realm… please.”

  Hao dropped the man and stomped out of the food hall. His worst fears were playing games in his head. Nightmares enjoyed themselves as the lock on Hao’s heart wavered. The last thing keeping his sanity contained started to rust.

  Seven colored leaks through his meridians, the vessels Hao was yet to discover. His mind was a concert for the colors and emotions, his mind a haunting orchestra that forced vile images into his thoughts. It played loud, only getting loud, overwhelming him until he could hear nothing else. The patter of rain provided a pace as droplets hit everything around him. His feet slamming the ground in his sprint, water splashing, and stone croaking. The five elements thriving and running from him all the same.

  One of the chains Hao placed long ago in that pond in the forest broke away as he opened the door to the library. No one was inside. It was dark. The only light was from the dreary window above.

  Dread at him from the inside out as new seeds formed inside his stomach like anger and despair before. It sat near them, between the one he held for the First Elder and the other a form of caution towards the Wu women. Both of them were flaring already, yet they were dimmer than the new seed.

  Hao caught his breath in the dark room, how long had it been since he felt tired? Drips fell from him. Wood crushed under the hand holding the door frame. Finally, Hao heard a humming, a song he did not know but heard many times.

  He went back outside, running around the side of the library tower, holding tight to its outside wall. It was drenched, too tall for its roof to block the rain coming from any angle other than straight down. Around the back, he found what he feared.

  She was leaning forward. Her knees sank into the soft, wet dirt. One hand held the wall at her left side. The other held her body up, touching the ground wet grass as she covered her husband.

  She was humming, the most beautiful hum. Hao had only ever heard the man she leaned over humming the song as he rocked her chair or dusted books. Hao felt his steps, which were always becoming lighter, turn to boulders on the ocean floor. He had to fight for each step, a struggle. He knew illusion well, he had to be walking into one. It felt like each step to get over there took an hour. Finally, Hao fell to his knees near the old woman. There was no splash. Even his fall felt slow.

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  Hao listened to her hum. His lips quivered strangely, in a way they had not before. He was unsure why.

  The hum was all he could focus on. If it was not raining, the hum would call butterflies and birds. Cranes would dance above. Perhaps a Phoenix would shed a tear, or a Dragon come to listen.

  She shed no tears, her eyes swollen already. Red marks under her eyes. Her humming did waver. For just a moment her voice paused, and the sound of ten thousand raindrops attacked Hao’s ears.

  “Grandma He. What happened?” Hao asked, his sentence more unsteady than her entire song.

  She did not look up. Her eyes were locked onto her husband’s face, even hearing Hao’s voice or speaking. “I do not know, he was in such a good mood today. He showed me around the library like it was our first time there. He asked me to sing for him for the first time in years. After I sang, he showed me a painting before he started to work on it more. After that…”

  She looked up at Hao, seeing the boy’s face was a hundred colors, none of them good. Her hand raised from the ground, grabbing and pulling Hao into her. Her strength was a surprise to them both.

  “You have not felt grief before, child? Don’t worry, the fright will pass. Thank you for loving my husband enough to grieve for him.” She held Hao’s head on her shoulder, wrapped in her arm, his face hidden from the world as she started to hum again.

  Two more seeds formed. One rested in his belly. The other was hard to swallow.

  “What happened?” Hao asked whenever her humming paused. His voice muffled in her robes.

  She never gave more of a response than the listless mention of the painting. So he stopped asking.

  In time, the emotion hard to swallow became light but did not rest. It fueled the others. It was not a natural death. That could be inferred from what he already heard, but now he could see the bruises. Grief became the greatest fuel. They dare to…

  Hao’s head shot up to a sound from the library. He had to pull lightly away from Grandma He’s arm. This painting that caused the trouble was inside the library’s halls, now a person. Perhaps a problematic one. He stood.

  Grandma He did not stop her humming as he walked away. Inside the library, there were two people, a man and a woman. They made banter as they cleaned. They were sweeping up and moving things behind the front desk. Half of the lights were on, a few stones glowing yellow.

  The woman caught Hao’s eye. She was carrying a few more stones and a torch, walking towards a scroll. Hao could see the scroll from the entrance. It was certainly Grandpa He’s hand. There was a tear on its corner, and a smug at the horizontal opposite.

  Did Grandpa try to defend his painting? Hao shook his head, it made no sense, the man thought of all things as finite, even his beloved paintings. He certainly wouldn’t start a conflict if someone tried to tear it.

  The woman threw the stones down near the painting, waving the torch in the air. “This is what we’re supposed to get rid of, right?” she asked.

  Hao burst in before the man could answer, the woman’s hand going for the paper. He took his spear out of his bag and let its blade reach. Its tip landing at the woman’s neck, “If you touch it, you die.” Hao said, his words frigid and blind. If it was the last thing his Grandpa He did before dying, there was no way he would let anyone touch it.

  “Wait, wait. Senior Brother, it was the First Elder’s orders to get rid of it,” the man said. The woman slowly turned her back all the way back to turn away from Hao.

  First Elder, how is that old beast involved in everything that goes wrong? Hao looked at the painting and instantly knew. He did not get a good look, but he knew the real culprit from what he saw. “Mo Bangcai!” Hao shouted through gritted teeth. The painting had many people in a position of humility, the foremost was the First Elder’s new disciple and his hunting team. There was nothing inappropriate but certainly insulting to anyone involved who wasn’t Hao.

  Hao moved the woman with his spear. She stuttered in her step back, avoiding the razor on her shoulder. He reached out and pulled the painting into his bag. “I’ll have the First Elder’s shriveled corpse before I leave this mountain,” he said while his eye pierced the table where the painting was.

  Suddenly Hao got a slam to the face. His head jerked to the side, one of his molars grinding against his cheek. “Get away from my Wife!” It was the man standing taller than his strength said he could. His punch was weak. Bordering on the second or third of Reclamation.

  It caused little pain but inspired Hao as to what happened in this hall. Grandpa wouldn’t defend his painting, but Grandma would, wouldn’t she? Grandpa would defend her even if it meant death.

  Hao looked up at the people to his side. The man with his fist clenched, a woman scared witless. Am I different from those who kill him? The spear vanished from his hand. He turned and left, walking outside to the downpour.

  The two inside the library remained frozen, shock stuck on their faces. Hao was talking to Grandma He before they started breathing again.

  “Little Hao, could you help me bury him? I have to find a place first.” Hao was helping before she asked.

  “I know a place,” Hao said. He put his Grandpa He into the Spirit-Holding bag, a place safe from anything touching it. The rain was sucked off him, but his body remained untouched. Next, he held Grandma He. Her legs draped across one arm, her neck nested on the other. The rain pounded Hao’s back as he started to walk.

  She put on a bewildered expression in the young man’s arms, “Where did he go?” She asked, there was a crack in her voice.

  Hao looked down, seeing a tear close to forming in her eye. “Don’t worry, I have him somewhere safe,” Hao said, his face as calm as he could get it.

  She reached up and touched his face, its stiff appearance. “You are a good, kind boy, Little Hao.” She said, she closed her eyes, her sleeve slipping back, just enough to see the bruise on her arm. He felt his theory confirmed as she rested her arm back across her chest—Very likely at least—“Fweh…” Hao let out a sigh. Luckily, she fell asleep in his arms, so she could not see his face, and no longer could he hide it or act.

  People passed on the path, younger, weaker, older, stronger. Nearly all of them fell back as they saw him. Some did fall back, finding rain and mud on their back and heels. An angry ghost, an ancient demon, a starving tiger, walked free through the sect.