The sun was high. It was not quite noon, but close enough to usher haste.

  Hao stared at the two men as they approached, their swords still clanging against each other. The girl Hua Yi’Er had her sword raised up, but there was no chance it would fall on him; he knew it. She twitched like a shored fish.

  Sword-face was getting more aggressive, each of his swings made Hao’s Martial Brother—The man who just ordered the girl to kill Hao—slip on the ground. Even if the sun had turned the mountainside bone dry, the cave held a film of moisture. The ground was slick, not slippery.

  Even if the footing in the cave was nice, the man from Drifting Stream had no chance. He was blocking only. By the time he recovered from the last strike, each aiming to kill him, he had to block another.

  They backed up along the thin stone bridge, which Hao and Hua Yi’Er stood on.

  While his blade fell, the white cloaked swordsman had time to shove Hau Yi’Er aside. The girl fell into the shallow pit where the rain eroded stone over the ages that passed. She recovered quickly, the sword finding itself back in its sheath as she climbed up. Hao could hear her heavy footsteps and groans near the place where he had a fire.

  That was of little concern; he reached out, ready to break his own principle and rip up the flower for whatever it’s worth, when a foot blocked his hand. Watch your step. He said in his head as he stood.

  The two men in their fight crossed in front of him. Both barely managed to avoid crushing that which they fought for. The swordsman made the Drifting Stream Sect disciple seem like a child. Every swing brought the sword closer to breaking flesh than the last.

  “Hua Yi’Er!” The rough voice called again, strained as he held his sword in two hands, its edge chipped away. It was close to his face. Pushed closer, and closer, a moment to breathe, then another strike.

  Hua Yi’Er was out of the shallow pit, quick as she had fallen in. Her sword pulled out again, coming from Hao’s side of the bridge, now the Drifting Stream side in a sense; if Hao wasn’t considered a third party by both men. The bridge was not meant for four people, or three. It wasn’t meant for people at all, a small piece of the mountain erosion just missed. Yet they all fit, barely proceeding.

  She didn’t hesitate this time. The thin blade in her hand, thrusting forward, gave the beet-red, blue-robed man a chance to push back. Not much, the swordsman showed his practice to near perfection. When the two struck together, he deflected one, parrying the blade wide outside the range of any real danger. Whichever sword was second to attack, he wrapped it. His sword’s blade spun around the blade that it touched. With the momentum, he pushed it wide.

  Both blades that were meant for Sword-face were no longer a danger. Not that they were in the first place. He seemed to know which attack was coming before the one holding the handle did. He only had to wait for the right timing to thrust, and one would die. It was as clear as day.

  Hao joined the fray as a third party, which brought him back to the week he left his village and the Island. Everything was different now; that was a child’s spat. But here, each was out for themselves, and killing everyone else would bring the most benefit. They all knew it. A sad thought that only proved true to Hao in the Secret Realm. But there were one or two decent people in the world. Lingli was one for now. Hao knew he, himself, wasn’t.

  Hao did little in the battle. The best he could do in his position was push the group to the side, away from the flowers. He didn’t dare lock into a plan, not after his recent blunders. He had no sword to join their three crossing blades. The one he had was given to Dong Lingli. He had the saber and spear, but he didn’t dare take them out, not when others far stronger in Cultivation at the very least, and more sensitive to the shifts in World Energy, were so close. If they had seen him bare, they had already seen the bag on his chest. They didn’t need to see more or think more of it, other than it was a normal holding bag. If he summoned a saber three times as long as any sword from thin air, they would look at him at least.

  He didn’t think the saber would help him either way. Not the way the swordsmen in white moved. He knew he was not talented with weaponry, but now he knew he was a frog in every sense. The Island was his first well. The little comfort in the routine he found in the Drifting Stream’s lower peak, his Second, which limited his vision.

  Feet danced around the flower, and Hao shoved them to the side. Each step pushed the three further away from the flower. Back to the end of the bridge. The swordsmen didn’t even look at the flower as he stepped around it. He pushed forward to kill. Why, Hao was not sure, secrecy, all their belongings, for the joy, or to take out his anger.

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  There was a complex feeling in his stomach. He knew it would be better to let the three fight. They could exhaust and end each other, and he could off the last one standing. It was better to get rid of all of them, and afterwards, all who knew of the treasure. Even if it meant killing a dozen people that he never knew the names of. That feeling sank into his stomach and made him feel hollow. If not, just the three here. They were the only ones who saw him, still, that was three people. And two of them wore the same robes as him.

  Hao leapt back, gaining some distance from the ground, only using his presence to direct the way they moved. The moment he stepped, he found a wrist to grab. But unexpectedly, he was met with a chuckle. A hot liquid splattered. It was blood, it came in a splash, small droplets across his face.

  “You took too long to come to me. I was worried you would run.” The sound of a body hitting the ground could be heard. It was not the girl; her sword still flickered.

  The grip Hao had was easily broken; the only thing in his hand remaining was the piece of cloak that stretched down to the sleeve of the swordsman. Whom was being held got reversed.

  “Not that you would make it far, but I don’t need you to drag me further into debt with Elder’s Blue Moon by starting a war with your words.”

  The swordsman blocked two more sword strikes from the girl called Hua Yi’Er. All the while, words spilled from his open mouth. “But you are far more important than a small debt, too. You have good treasures on you, don’t you? Did you scavenge them, or are you hiding even more?” He seemed to be having fun. Another sword strike from Hua Yi’Er, and her sword was sent flying. She was sent flying after her arm was nearly severed. A cry could be heard from behind Hao, but he kept his eyes on the swordsman. He had to ignore the whimpers of the girl.

  A helpless, all too familiar feeling bubbled up in Hao; he thought he escaped it again, but it haunted him. He came here, to this secret realm, to get stronger because he felt helpless. He got stronger, but it was not enough. That was obvious, but this man was in Reclamation like him. Yet there was something else bothering Hao, too. That face, now that he was so close, they could have bitten into each other like wild dogs. That face is too similar. No, it’s the exact same. He matched one to one, the face of the man that stood beside the Elder, the overly overt lady who had more leg showing than neck, and led the Blue Moons Mountain’s entire group.

  He stared into eyes far more experienced than his. But the face they rested in wore only a few more years than Hao’s. Hao was unsure of the situation; if it was okay to presume such a thing, it was skewering his thinking. He couldn’t guess the swordsman’s real strength or intentions. Especially if the ‘Hag Elder’ he was talking about was a woman who, even when leading a group of disciples, had a certain appeal that pulled eyes. If he were her disciple, Hao imagined he would have had a little more respect for her. But he had scorn for the Blue Moons Mountain Sect in general.

  What does it matter? Hao pushed his thoughts aside. He was not entirely helpless now, not as helpless as he felt he was. His mind was screaming it, the rest of his body too. Even if his skin held by the jaw-like grip was tearing into his, told him otherwise. It will just take a little sacrifice.

  With a clenched jaw, Hao launched a palm. On anyone else, the palm strike would have left them damaged for life, the teeth and nose shattered. But Hao assumed that man was the Ninth layer of Reclamation, bordering on using World Energy like it was his own, not just to increase his physical strength and sense. It was the most logical conclusion; hitting the peak must have been like stepping into Reclamation from mortality. Or like touching the third layer for the first time. Only people in Reclamation could enter the Mid-Summer cave.

  It sounded like a pot slammed on concrete. Hao felt his wrist fold, but he pushed down flesh; he knew it for a fact, blood and spit exploded on his hand. But he hard pushed the head of the swordsman back. When his hand came back, he saw a bleeding lip and a bent nose below eyes that burned the Nether Realm itself. His pupils seem nonexistent, he exists solely as his sword. The air seemed to scream as he swung it at Hao’s arm.

  Hao pulled as hard as he could, letting sleeve and skin get peeled off by the iron grips and sharp, neatly groomed fingernails. He was confident in his speed, even if it was against someone like this. He was even more confident since the man had caught him the way he did, perhaps he first saw Hao running, when he first spied, or the night while he looked for this cave. Either way, the fact the man held him still gave Hao a little more reason to trust his speed.

  The hand that held him closed full of cloth and flesh as Hao touched the flower’s stem, he would at least two, the biggest ones. The time allowed the seed to gestate just one. It disappeared into the Spirit-Holding bag as his fingers passed it. His hand froze, however, as it touched the rigid green stem, a muffled shout, a whimper dragged his ears.

  “Drop it or I will cut her to pieces.” The Swordsman said, holding the young girl, Hua Yi’Er, by her hair.

  That handsome, regal appearance had faded; all that was left was a pale imitation of tightened features. He shook Hua Yi’Er’s head. Her body seemed limp in his hand, more of her hair balled up as his fingers regrabbed and grabbed until he had her by both hair and neck. She could barely look at Hao, her head pulled back up to the ceiling, her throat on display. The swordsman’s face remained twisted as it relaxed.

  Hao tried to ignore the sounds coming from behind him. He started to put pressure on the ground to uproot the flowers. If the man wasn’t going to approach him, he would harvest the plant and root, then leave.

  His hands froze a second time, however, a scream echoed in the small cave.