A wave of exhaustion crashed over the stranger as the deep delver's final echoes faded into darkness. Something primal whispered never show weakness, driving him to his feet despite trembling muscles. The cavern's contours etched themselves into his mind with surprising clarity, though a dull ache spread across his temples from maintaining such focus.

  Rough stone walls stretched upward, their surfaces marked by the deep delver's crystalline claws. The fissure they'd fallen through was a jagged tear in the ceiling about twenty feet above them, barely visible from this angle. The cavern itself extended maybe thirty feet in each direction before branching into smaller tunnels—natural passages carved by subterranean creatures over centuries.

  "This one requires a moment to compose herself," she said, voice steady despite the pain.

  The stranger blinked—she stood now, though he'd missed her rising during their desperate defense against the deep delver. Her formal speech patterns struck him as oddly archaic, but then, what wasn't strange in this world?

  She shifted position, keeping her back to the wall and maintaining a careful distance from him despite their shared predicament. Her free hand reached into her tunic—the other remained ready at her side, positioned for defense. A soft click followed, then a warm golden glow bloomed between them as she activated a spirit stone lamp—a cultivation tool that converted qi into steady illumination. Though clearly favoring her injured leg, she stayed balanced on the balls of her feet, shoulders tense. The wariness in her eyes never wavered as she watched him, like a wounded animal that hadn't yet decided if he was predator or prey.

  Despite having just saved her life, her cautious demeanor seemed entirely reasonable. She was a survivor—anyone who lasted for any amount of time in this hellhole, alone, would need sharp instincts and a healthy dose of paranoia. It reminded him of that line from The X-Files: "Trust no one."

  The stranger watched with interest as she manipulated the device. His spiritual sense had already painted a clear picture of their environment, making the light almost redundant. The realization gave him pause. When had his perception become so... high-definition? It was like switching from an old tube TV to 4K—every detail of the rough stone walls and branching tunnels rendered in perfect detail in his mind. He'd been practicing with his spiritual sense for a little less than a week, but this level of clarity was new.

  The lamp's gentle radiance revealed the girl more clearly than he'd ever seen before. She appeared to be in her late teens, though he knew better than to trust apparent age when it came to cultivators. Her blue-black hair was pulled back in a practical style, the long strands reaching her waist even when tied. Her face was thin, with delicately sculpted eyebrows arching over eyes that held both youth and mature caution. High cheekbones and a fuller bottom lip gave her features an almost fae quality, while small, close-set ears completed the aristocratic look. Her pale skin glowed in the lamplight, and he thought absently that in his forgotten world, she could have been a model—if not for her stern intensity and the barely visible scar that traced her left jawline. Everything about her spoke of noble breeding tempered by survival.

  The faint glow from the lamp revealed more than just her face—it also highlighted the deep crimson stain at the edge of her tunic. She shifted her weight cautiously, suppressing a grimace as pain flared in her wounded leg. Despite her injury, she stayed poised, her movements controlled and deliberate, as if defiance alone would keep her standing.

  She studied him just as intently, her gaze moving from his face to his clothes and back again, as if confirming something she'd seen before. She shifted her weight against the wall, a slight wince crossing her face. "Those cultivation robes befit your station," she said finally, "though this one finds it curious that a concealed master would don such formal attire within these mines."

  The stranger glanced down at his t-shirt and jeans, then back at her with newfound interest. "What robes do you see?"

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Honored one wears the robes of an esteemed cultivator—muted burgundy with black trim, adorned with celestial patterns and..." She paused, studying the moving symbols. "This one observes peculiar formations, not quite..." She trailed off, noting his expression. "These are not the garments you perceive yourself wearing?"

  "No," he replied, thinking of Yuzhe's wild tales of black flames and demon shadows. "You're not the first to see something different. What formations?"

  "Yes, they look like..." The young woman traced a symbol in the air, her finger moving with practiced precision.

  The shape clicked in his mind—a Greek delta symbol. Or maybe a particular insignia, he thought ruefully. "What else do you see when you look at me?"

  She pressed her hand against her injured leg, and a soft green glow emanated from her palm as she channeled wood qi to mend the torn flesh. "Power," she said after a moment, her voice thoughtful. "Like gazing upon a storm contained in human form. But it does not make sense—honored one's qi flows are murky, like trying to see through smoked glass. Sometimes senior appears mortal, sometimes vast beyond measure, as when you stayed the deep delver's advance." She tilted her head, studying him with sky-blue eyes that seemed to pierce through layers of illusion. "Yet this one's intuition suggests senior is youthful, as this one is." Her gaze flickered to his unbound hair. "And senior is new to this place. Most recently arrived."

  The stranger noticed how her words came out hesitant and clipped—the voice of someone who'd grown unaccustomed to conversation. Her noble education showed in her formal diction, yet she spoke with the careful hesitation of someone who rarely used such courtly speech anymore. However long she'd been here, hiding in shadows, had left its mark. Even now, she seemed to measure each word carefully, as if communication itself was a half-remembered skill, though her noble's habits of formal address remained ingrained. It reminded him a little of Leeloo.

  "Yes, I’ve been here about ten days, give or take," he confirmed. "Though the first two are a bit fuzzy."

  "How does senior create the illusion?" she asked, curiosity briefly overtaking caution. "The technique is remarkable—this one has never seen anything quite like it."

  The stranger frowned, a new thought striking him. "I don't think I'm doing it at all. These clothes..." He plucked at his t-shirt, remembering how they'd been cut from his body during processing, only to reappear later, perfectly restored. "They were destroyed and then somehow repaired. Maybe they're not ordinary clothes at all."

  "Senior did not know? But then..." She leaned forward, studying his attire more intently. "The symbols move, shifting in patterns that..." She traced a finger through the air, following invisible designs. "They remind me of star charts I once studied, but these constellations—I have never seen their like before. They seem to respond to your qi flows, brightening and dimming with your breathing." Her eyes narrowed. "And there's something else beneath the surface patterns. Like shadows of shadows, barely visible..." She shook her head. "If you're not maintaining the illusion, then what exactly is senior wearing?"

  "Could it be spirit armor?" she suggested, her voice dropping lower, excitement briefly overcoming her usual caution. "Spirit artifacts can disguise themselves as ordinary objects. The self-repair, the illusions others see..." Her fingers twitched, as if resisting the urge to touch the fabric. "High-grade spirit artifacts often have multiple layers of enchantment. Though I've never heard of one that appears differently to each person who sees it." She paused thoughtfully, her brow furrowing. "This one would dismiss such a possibility as mere fancy if not for witnessing it with her own eyes. The very concept defies fundamental laws of artifact enchantment, and yet..." She gestured at his clothing, her expression a mix of scholarly fascination and disbelief. "That would explain why the guards and other prisoners show no reaction—they simply see what they expect to see."

  The stranger looked down at his Star Trek t-shirt with new eyes. Just what had he been wearing when he arrived in this world? And why would seemingly ordinary clothes from his forgotten past appear as mystical cultivation robes to others? The idea that he might be wearing some kind of disguised spirit artifact was simultaneously thrilling and unnerving—like finding out your favorite comfortable hoodie was actually enchanted armor. Ok, so maybe just a little unnerving and mostly thrilling, he grinned. What else could it do?

  Through his spiritual sense, he focused on the fabric itself. There—a faint luminescence pulsed within the threads, like starlight caught in a web. Each piece of clothing radiated its own quiet power, dampened as if hiding its true nature. But what caught his attention were the golden threads connecting everything—his shirt to his jeans, his jeans to his shoes, even threading through his socks—forming an intricate web that pulsed in perfect synchronization. A single golden strand extended from this network to his dantian, linking him to the entire system. The connection felt so natural he hadn't noticed until now. It wasn't draining his energy—if anything, it felt more like a resonance, a harmony between his qi and whatever power lay dormant in this mysterious ensemble.

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  He traced the interconnected threads with his spiritual sense, seeking their purpose. Why had the clothes repaired themselves as a complete set? Why did they appear differently to everyone? What other secrets might this unified network hold? Another piece of his forgotten past, perhaps, woven into the very fabric he wore. He'd have to ask the strange girl more about it later—her knowledge of artifacts might unlock more of this mystery.

  The stranger watched as she resumed her healing work, noting the precise control of her qi. First his clothes that weren't quite clothes, and now this... "You see impossible things when you look at me, but I see impossible things too. Like how you move through this place unnoticed, how you've survived here alone." He paused. "And how you're channeling qi right now without a Leash."

  A flicker of something—pride perhaps, or defiance—crossed her face. "The arrogance of the Huang clan became their undoing. They believed that denying this one resources would suffice, that hunger and isolation would break this one's spirit." Her mouth curved in a bitter smile. "They did not anticipate this one's survival beyond a mere week. Certainly not for three years hence."

  She tilted her head slightly, studying him again. "We have not exchanged names." A moment's hesitation, then: "This one is Yuechuang."

  The stranger felt a flicker of frustration. "I wish I could offer you the same courtesy, but..." He hesitated, then decided on honesty. "I can't remember my name. Everything before I woke up here ten days ago is just... fragments."

  Interest sparked in her eyes. "Senior truly holds no memories?" When he shook his head, she frowned thoughtfully. "Most unusual. The processing chamber disrupts only recent memories—yet you speak of complete erasure..." Her expression grew more intent. "Another impossibility surrounding honored one."

  "Why impossible?" He shook his head. "Hold up—you've got it wrong. I didn't lose my memories during processing. I woke up before ever reaching here with zero memory of who I was."

  Her gaze sharpened. "Even more impossible. The higher a cultivator's level, the deeper consciousness melds with soul essence. Each breakthrough strengthens this bond, enhancing both memory and mind." She leaned forward, her scholarly demeanor emerging. "To lose all memory would require catastrophic damage to the soul—damage that none could survive."

  "And yet here I am"—he spread his arms—"walking, talking, and wearing magical clothes that look different to everyone who sees them."

  "Indeed." Yuechuang's gaze grew distant. "Honored one stands before this one—yet another impossibility in a realm that..." She shook her head, cutting off the thought.

  "This one must complete the healing." Yuechuang's calm tone carried an edge of urgency as she glanced toward the jagged fissure above. "One cannot know when the deep delver might return—perhaps with companions."

  "How long do you need?" His eyes darted between Yuechuang and the encroaching shadows.

  "As long as needed," she replied, her voice sharp. "Unless senior wishes this one to risk further injury through haste?"

  The stranger blinked at her sharp response, realizing his question had somehow offended her. He'd meant it as practical concern about their safety, not as criticism of her healing abilities. But maybe here, asking about the duration of a cultivation technique was like backseat driving or questioning someone's professional expertise. Another reminder that he was navigating a world with its own unwritten rules and customs.

  She pressed her hand to her injured leg again. Green light suffused her skin—brighter now. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she closed her eyes, her breathing settling into a controlled rhythm. Each inhale drew energy from the air around them, though her hands trembled with each pulse of healing qi. Her jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in her cheek as she fought through waves of pain.

  Curious, he extended his spiritual sense to observe her technique. As he watched the intricate flows of qi through her meridians, understanding bloomed in his mind unbidden—the precise way healing energies could be channeled, how to maximize efficiency by adjusting the flow patterns, even several variations that might speed up the process. The knowledge felt like remembering something he'd never actually learned. Her qi moved like a mountain stream—powerful but following natural pathways. With a few adjustments to the flow, she could include nodes which would amplify the effect.

  He pulled back his awareness, suppressing the urge to offer suggestions. Given her reaction to his timing question, advice about her technique would be about as welcome as a deep delver at a retreat. He grinned despite himself. The experience left him wondering—how many other forgotten skills lurked in his mind, waiting to surface?

  Minutes stretched in tense silence. Water dripped in the cavern, each drop amplified in the hollow space. A breeze whispered through the fissure, carrying damp stone's mustiness and something else—an acrid, alien scent that made his nose wrinkle. The deep delver. His muscles tensed with the realization that the creature might still be near, perhaps gathering others. His spiritual sense strained against the shadows, searching for movement.

  When Yuechuang finally stirred, the glow faded. She flexed her leg experimentally, nodding slightly. "It will have to do," she murmured, reaching for the lamp.

  "That's remarkable," he said, awe coloring his voice.

  "This one suggests we speak of such matters at a later time, senior," Yuechuang cut him off, though pride flickered in her exhausted eyes. "We should return post-haste."

  They approached the wall beneath the fissure. Yuechuang held up a hand. "This one shall ascend first"—there was challenge in her voice—"Hold this." She passed him the lamp.

  "Has senior ever climbed before?" Her eyes traced the rough stone surface.

  "No. Not that I can remember, anyway."

  She gave him simple instructions about climbing the wall. She then scaled it with practiced ease, her fingers finding purchase on barely visible ledges and crevices in the rough stone. At the top, she paused—a shadow against darker shadows, though his spiritual sense painted her in perfect detail.

  "Senior's turn to ascend," she called from the top. "Remember, three points of contact at all times."

  The stranger tossed up the lamp and started climbing. His body moved with unexpected familiarity, as if remembering movements he'd never learned. Cool, gritty rock pressed against his palms, occasionally slick with moisture. Loose pebbles clattered into the darkness below. The air grew warmer as he climbed, chasing away the cavern's chill, and a strange exhilaration filled him as he neared the top.

  "Senior displays considerable skill," she said quietly, studying his movements. "This one wonders if you truly have never climbed before?" She did not wait for his response. Her calloused hand reached down, pulling him up with surprising strength.

  In the dim light of the maintenance corridor, the stranger could see a new wariness in Yuechuang's eyes, as if their shared moment in the cavern had never happened.

  When the tunnel came to a dead end, she turned and held his gaze. "This one shall demonstrate." Her fingers traced an invisible pattern, channeling qi until the hidden mechanism clicked. He memorized the sequence, noting how each touch resonated with the underlying formation. The door slid open with a soft hiss, just wide enough to slip through.

  As they stepped into the passage, the stranger cleared his throat. "I have so many questions—"

  "If it pleases senior," Yuechuang said, her tone softer now, "this one would be honored to address your questions tomorrow night, an hour after the last meal?"

  "I'll be here," he promised, watching as she melted into the shadows.

  That was not how he expected their first conversation to go. There was something both fierce and fragile about her that made him want to help, to protect—and then there were the mysteries. A cultivator who could heal without a Leash, clothes that weren't what they seemed—just another day in what felt like the strangest season finale ever, except he had no idea if he was in season one or the series finale.

  He traced the qi pattern to seal the door, then hurried back through the brightly lit corridor. His heart skipped at the sight of his open cell door, memories of his first night and the consequences of breaking rules surfaced unbidden. But everything was just as he'd left it—no signs anyone had noticed his absence.

  The gritty texture of cave walls still clung to his hands as he entered his room—a tangible reminder that his adventure had been real and not just another bizarre episode in what was becoming an increasingly strange series.

  He glanced at his wrist reflexively, the ghost of an watch that wasn't there. How long had he been gone? The encounter with the deep delver, the conversation with Yuechuang—it couldn't have been more than an hour, but time felt fluid here, untethered. His hand drifted to his empty pocket, searching for a phone that had never existed here. The familiar weight of disappointment settled in his chest.

  The irony wasn't lost on him—in his forgotten life, he'd probably been one of those people who complained about being a slave to time—calendar alerts, deadlines, notifications. Now he found himself craving those anchors. Tomorrow night's meeting with Yuechuang made the need even more pressing. One hour after the last meal, she'd said. He'd have to pay closer attention to the facility's rhythms, create his own markers in this endless flow of moments.

  Exhaustion from the encounter with the deep delver weighed heavily on him now that the adrenaline had faded. He settled onto his bed, replaying the recent encounter in his mind. As he drifted toward sleep, he reached out with his spiritual sense to check his dantian—and paused. Despite the massive amount of energy he'd channeled against the deep delver, his dantian remained nearly full. Another mystery to add to his growing collection. Maybe Yuechuang would have answers... His thoughts drifted away as sleep pulled him under.