Chapter 1 horrible dream
When Lu Zhao woke, his back was hurting from something hard digging into it.
He tried to roll over on instinct. His elbow knocked against something hard first. Not a mattress. Stone slabs. Cold. Coarse. Like the blue-grey flagstones that paved his old family courtyard.
He reached out and felt again. A slick of greasy moisture coated the stone surface. His fingers scraped across it. Like touching fat left out far too long.
This isn't my bed. His heart tightened. He snapped his eyes open.
Above him arched a stone ceiling. Drab with dust. Cracks zigzagged from the center all the way to the corners. Their edges were blackened. As if scorched by fire.
No lamp. A blood-red light seeped through the fissures in the walls. It fell across the stone slabs. It stained them the color of liver. Dark. Matte. No reflection.
The air had a smell. Rotting meat mixed with rust. It clogged the back of his throat. He couldn't swallow it down.
He sat up. Beneath him was a stone platform. A mattress covered it. Stained in patches of black and brown. Stiff as board. So stiff he couldn't twist it.
He looked down at himself. Not his nightclothes. A coarse cloth shirt. Greyish. Covered in large dark stains. The collar was shredded. The cuffs had frayed down to threads.
These weren't the clothes I wore to bed!
Lu Zhao's heartbeat hammered wildly. He drew a deep breath. The stench rushed up his nostrils. It made him cough.
He forced himself to calm down. He got to his feet. The moment he took his first step, his foot pressed down on a loose brick. Creak. He jerked his foot back. His heart slammed against his ribs.
Where on earth am I?
He scanned his surroundings. The room wasn't large. Seven or eight paces, end to end.
A wooden rack stood against the wall. A round shield rested on it. Its face was caved in. Its rim blackened. Beside it hung an iron sword. Eaten clean through by rust. The hemp cord on its grip had come loose.
His gaze stopped at a low table in the corner. One of its corners was missing. Books were piled haphazardly on top. Their pages were blackened and brittle. Many had scattered loose. By the table leg lay a stub of charcoal pencil. Still.
Lu Zhao walked slowly to the table. He picked up one of the books. He flipped through it. His fingertips brushed the pages. He felt the unmistakable texture of genuine age. He frowned slightly. He murmured to himself, "The texture is incredibly real. And these words... I feel like I've seen them somewhere before."
Suddenly, a sound came from beyond the door. It cut his thoughts clean short.
He looked toward the wooden door. Its lower half had rotted. Soft and crumbling. Its edges were blackened. As if steeped in some kind of liquid. The light coming through its cracks was brighter. Blood-red. The same as what came through the walls.
It wasn't footsteps. It was a dragging sound—like something wet and heavy scraping along the ground. Once. A pause. Then again. Now and then, a clack-clack noise broke in. Like bone knocking against stone.
Lu Zhao stared at the crack in the door. Perfectly motionless.
What the hell is out there? Why does it give me that hair-raising, bone-chilling feeling? His heart leapt into his throat. His knuckles went chalk-white.
The sound moved away.
He let out a long, slow breath. Cold sweat drenched his back. The coarse shirt clung to his skin. Wet and clammy.
Lu Zhao waited for what felt like a long time. His legs went numb. The sound never came back.
Stealthily, he crept to the door. He peered out through the rotted-away gap.
The corridor was narrow. Shut wooden doors lined both sides. Torch brackets studded the walls at intervals. The flames were long dead. Only black stains remained.
At the far end of the corridor stood an iron gate. Rust had pitted and mottled it. Its surface was cratered all over. A symbol of crossed swords was engraved upon it. In the center of the corridor, four massive stone pillars stood in silent vigil.
I need to find a room that gives me some sense of safety. He turned his head. He looked toward the other end of the corridor.
Something was moving over there. The light was too dim to make it out clearly. Only a silhouette. Man-shaped. Its neck was crooked to one side. One leg dragged behind it. The thing was facing the iron gate. It was shuffling step by step this way.
Lu Zhao pulled his head back in. He crouched down. He felt around on the floor. His hand closed on a broken brick. He gripped it tight. One deep breath. He aimed through the gap in the door. He aimed at a spot beyond the monster. He hurled the brick with all his strength.
The brick landed. The sound bounced a few times through the empty corridor. It rolled another half-turn. It smacked against the wall with a sharp pak.
The thing stopped. Slowly, it turned its head. It looked toward the source of the sound. A moment passed. Then, dragging its chains, it pivoted. It shuffled away in that direction. Step by step.
Holding his breath, Lu Zhao eased the door open just a crack. The hinges stayed mercifully silent. He slotted himself through sideways. He pressed his back to the wall. He moved swiftly toward the iron gate at the far end. Short, rapid steps.
The soles of his feet gave off faint scuffing sounds on the stone. Every few steps, he paused. He glanced back at the creature's retreating form. Its silhouette grew smaller. The clank of its chains grew fainter.
But he hadn't gone far. He sidestepped a puddle on the floor. His clothes brushed against an iron torch bracket. It jutted from the wall. It had long rusted solid in place. Too brittle to survive even a touch. It tore from the wall. It crashed to the ground. A deafening clang.
The sound exploded through the corridor. It bounced back and forth off the walls.
Lu Zhao froze.
The creature stopped dead in its tracks. It didn't turn around. It only tilted its head. Then, slowly, it twisted its neck around.
It saw him.
"Keke—" The thing let out a hideous shriek. It came charging at him, dragging its chains.
It was close now. The blood-red light fell across its face. Lu Zhao finally saw it clearly. The face had rotted. Half the skin hung loose. The cheekbone and the row of teeth lay bare beneath. An eyeball dangled by a thread. It swayed with every movement. It wore a ragged leather cuirass. The chest was eaten clean through. The ribs beneath were greyish brown. In its right hand it gripped a longsword. Its blade was notched all over. Iron chains wrapped its wrist. They clanked as it ran.
Shit! Forget it—just get inside first!
No time left to think. Lu Zhao simply bolted toward the iron gate. The chains clattered closer behind him. Clatter, clatter. Like the sound of death itself snapping at his heels.
He ran as if his life depended on it. The iron gate was right in front of him. His hand touched the handle. The clanking of chains behind him suddenly stopped.
Before he could even turn his head—a chill shot through his chest. The kind of cold that only steel laid flush against the skin can bring.
Then the pain came.
He looked down. A length of blade jutted out of his chest. The steel was coated in rust. Now slick with his own blood.
He tried to scream. No sound came. His lung was pierced through. He couldn't draw a single breath.
"Hrk—hrk—"
The sword wrenched back out. The pain exploded. Something rushed from the wound now. Pouring out along with the blood. With each surge, he felt himself empty a little more.
His legs gave out. He pitched forward. His face smacked against the stone. The taste of blood in his mouth. Mingled with the dank, raw-earth smell of the floor. He tried to push himself up. His arm buckled. All strength gone.
Behind him came the sound of dragging. Chains scraped across the ground. Clatter, clatter. The thing walked right past him. Trailing its sword. The tip scratched a long white line into the stone.
Lu Zhao lay on the ground. His cheek pressed to the cold stone. At the far edge of his vision stood that iron gate. The symbol still engraved upon it.
At that moment, a wave of violent dizziness surged through him. Not from the pain. From somewhere deep inside his body. As if something were pulling him upward.
About to wake up...
The thought had barely crossed his mind when everything went black.
Hah! Hah! Hah!
Lu Zhao's eyes flew open. He gasped for air. Cold sweat drenched his back. His T-shirt clung to his skin.
He instinctively felt his chest. The skin was intact. But a dull ache lingered near his collarbone. He looked down. A small red mark. Shaped like half a tooth-mark. It hadn't been there before he went to sleep.
He glanced at the alarm clock by his bed. Less than an hour had passed since he'd gotten up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. He had struggled through so much in the dream. Yet so little time had elapsed in reality.
Thankfully, the pain was slowly fading.
This dream... what the hell was it...? Lu Zhao recalled the figure that had hunted him down. A chill shot through his heart.
Damn it!
Lu Zhao swung his legs over the side of the bed. He sat up. His fingers were still trembling faintly. He clenched his fist. Released it. Repeated the motion three times. Only then did the shaking barely stop.
He buried his hands in his hair. He felt the sweat that drenched them.
I've had nightmares before. But never anything this real. This time I actually died in the dream.
He panted heavily. Trying to dilute the shock of having died inside that dream.
Just then, someone knocked at the door.
Thud, thud, thud. "A-Zhao. Were you shouting just now?"
His sister Lu Ting's voice came through the door. It was tinged with worry.
Lu Zhao wiped the sweat from his forehead. He drew a deep breath.
"It's nothing. Just had a nightmare."
"All right then, as long as you're okay. You've been so jumpy lately—is something going on at school?" Lu Ting pressed.
"It's nothing... really, just a nightmare." Lu Zhao paused for a moment before answering.
"Breakfast is ready. Come have some warm milk. It'll make you feel better." Lu Ting said it reassuringly, then turned and walked away.
Lu Zhao sat on the edge of the bed. He was still turning the dream over in his mind.
It wasn't his first nightmare. But this one felt stranger than anything he'd ever experienced. And more real.
He touched his chest again without thinking. Then he stood. He walked to his desk. Swoosh. He yanked the curtains open.
Blinding sunlight flooded the bedroom. So bright he could see the dust motes hanging in the air.
He was just an ordinary high school student. Three years at Hui'an High. The college entrance exam was already bearing down on him.
His father ran a grocery store. His mother was a kindergarten teacher. Their combined annual income didn't even reach a hundred thousand.
His sister Lu Ting was still away at university. She would leave again in a few days. She was only home for a brief visit.
So, most of the time, I'm still the only one home.
Lu Zhao said nothing. He reached out and pulled open his bedroom door.
Outside, the hallway was bright and white. Washed in sunlight.
From the kitchen came the sounds of Lu Ting busily washing up. Clink, clank. Crisp and pleasant to the ear.
Lu Zhao walked into the kitchen. He picked up the warm milk from the counter. He downed it in one go.
Lu Ting had a pure, clean look. An oval face. Gently curving brows and soft, smiling eyes. Skin so fair it was luminous.
She didn't care much for dressing up. Always a white T-shirt and loose jeans. The only striking thing about her was that waist-length black hair. It hung smooth and soft down her back.
Lu Zhao set down the milk cup. He picked up a piece of warm bread. He ate it in small, quiet bites.
"Mom and Dad are out today, so I'm in charge of meals. But I'm leaving tonight. You need to take care of yourself. Don't make people worry about you all the time."
Lu Ting turned. She took off her apron. She sat down on a tall stool by the counter. She picked up a cup of milk for herself. She took a sip. Chattering all the while.
"Mm."
"Is the money for the swordsmanship club still enough? I earned a bit from my holiday job. It should be enough for now. If you run short, remember to ask me." Ever since a string of unprovoked robberies and killings had started in the city a few months ago, Lu Zhao's parents had encouraged him to take up swordsmanship. For self-defense. And to build up his fitness.
"Enough."
"..." Lu Ting thought for a moment. "Want any local specialties? There was a trade fair at my school a while back. I had a look. It was pretty good. Stuff from Huixi. If you like, I can mail you a figurine. I hear the craftsmanship on those is really fine. A lot of my classmates are into them..."
Lu Ting was off on another one of her rambles.
Lu Zhao listened in silence. Only after Lu Ting had been chattering for more than ten minutes did he quietly reply.
"Nothing I want."
"Fine... Don't be so withdrawn all the time. Go out and socialize when you can. Keep this up and no girl's ever going to like you." Lu Ting said it with exasperation.
Like many of her close friends in the dorm, she placed great importance on family. Her perpetually quiet younger brother had long been her greatest source of concern.
Whenever she thought of her friend's older brother—still unable to find a wife at forty because of his withdrawn nature—she felt a stab of urgency in her chest.
"I know."
Neither spoke for a while. They just lowered their heads. They ate their breakfast in silence.
The bread on the plate was soon finished. The milk cups quickly emptied.
Lu Ting set her hands down. She looked up at Lu Zhao.
"A-Zhao, I work part-time at university. I have enough money. If things get really hard for you, you can call me."
"Got it, Sis." Lu Zhao replied, head lowered.
"A-Zhao." Lu Ting suddenly reached out. She placed her hand on his left shoulder.
"When I'm not around, you're the man of the house. Help Mom and Dad more. They're having a hard time right now. Something happened at Mom's kindergarten a while back. A child went missing. From the class she was in charge of. They're still dealing with it. Mom wasn't directly at fault. But she still bore some responsibility. They docked her pay..."
Lu Zhao nodded.
"Don't worry, Sis. I'm fine here."
"Then why is your face so pale?" Lu Ting asked. Her worry showed.
"Is it that bad?" Lu Zhao blinked. Caught off guard.
"Go look in the bathroom mirror. You'll see." Lu Ting said it with resignation. She let go of his shoulder.
Lu Zhao turned. He walked quickly out of the kitchen. He went into the bathroom.
He looked up. The mirror reflected his current state. Sword-like brows. Finely shaped features. But his face was pale. His lips were utterly colorless.
"Didn't you sleep well last night? Why don't you go back to bed for a while?" Lu Ting's concerned voice came from just outside the bathroom door.
Lu Zhao touched his lips. They were dry and rough. The skin peeling.
"I... had a nightmare last night. It's fine. I'll be better in a minute."
He didn't want his family to worry. The nightmare had been disturbingly real. But his tone remained deliberately light. As if it were hardly worth mentioning.
"All right. I'm heading out first. Got things to do. When you get back from school at noon, just heat up some food for yourself. Don't wait for me. Mom and Dad went to Grandpa's today. So you'll be home alone. Remember to take your keys when you go out."
"Got it."
Soon the sound of the front door closing came from behind him.
The whole house fell silent at once.
Lu Zhao stood alone before the mirror. He stared at his own face. He didn't know why. But a sudden feeling came over him. That nightmare from last night wasn't going to simply pass.
I'll keep an eye on it. If the same dream comes again, I'll have to figure something out... Lu Zhao made a mental decision. If even the memories of a past life could awaken, then nothing was impossible anymore.
Lu Zhao turned. He left the bathroom. He walked into the living room.
On the long rectangular wooden table lay two one-hundred-yuan notes.
He reached out. He took the money. He said nothing.
This was his allowance for the next two months.
Before, his allowance had been a hundred a month. Meals were covered by the school.
Only about three yuan a day to spend... I'll have to be tight with it. Lu Zhao got up. He headed to his room.
He changed into his school uniform. Blue with white trim. On the left chest was pinned the school badge. The large characters for Hui'an beneath it.
He tidied his schoolbag. He put on a pair of ordinary blue-and-white trainers. Then he hurried out the door.
Hui'an High School. Senior Year Class One. Most of the seats in the classroom were filled.
At the lectern—"Class, the constitutional monarchy of the Vira Empire emerged in..."—the teacher was reading aloud a passage from the history textbook. In standard Vira. This system had been adopted by many countries in Lu Zhao's past life as well.
After muddling through the morning's lessons in a daze, Lu Zhao leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes. Someone sat down next to him. Their chair scraped against the floor.
"Hey, Lu Zhao. Why are you looking so wilted today? Like an eggplant hit by frost?"
He Wei stacked her textbooks on the desk. She fished a water bottle out of her bag. She unscrewed the cap. She took a sip. She wore her hair in twin ponytails. An oval face. Delicate features. Fair skin. Neither plump nor thin.
"Didn't sleep well."
"What were you up to last night?"
"Had a dream. Then couldn't get back to sleep."
He Wei glanced at him. A trace of worry in her eyes. Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something. But she didn't speak. She stuffed the water bottle back into her bag. She pulled a newspaper out of her desk. She spread it open on the table. Her hands were slender. Her nails trimmed neatly. As she unfolded the paper, her fingers deliberately crept a little closer to Lu Zhao. The tips nearly brushed his arm. Then she drew them back.
"Did you see this? The library just got a new batch of books. Shipped over from Hreya, it says. A lot of them are in the original language."
Lu Zhao opened his eyes. A small ad was printed in the newspaper: World History & Culture Week—New Arrivals of Historical Documents from Various Nations at the Library.
He Wei folded the newspaper. She stuffed it back into her desk. She turned sideways to face him. When seated, she stood half a head taller than most of the girls in the class. Tall and graceful. With an easy, natural poise. But now her posture tilted slightly toward Lu Zhao. Her shoulder almost touching his arm.
"Let's go together. We don't have class tomorrow afternoon." Her voice was so soft. It didn't sound so much like an invitation. More like she was afraid of being turned down.
Lu Zhao looked at her. He Wei had been his deskmate since their first year of high school. Over two years now. They'd never changed seats. They often ate together. Walked home together. They had a good relationship. But now he noticed her eyes were bright. Fixed on him. Not as casual as usual.
"I heard they even have old maps. Could be interesting." She added this while her fingers traced circles on the desk. Without thinking.
Lu Zhao didn't respond right away. He remembered seeing on the news that Hreya was Vira's northern neighbor. Relations between the two countries were tense. They had severed diplomatic ties the year before. That a shipment of books like this had made it through was a rare thing.
"So are you coming or not?" He Wei tilted her head. Her ponytail slipped from her shoulder to her chest. Her tone carried a hint of coaxing sweetness. But it was so subtle. She herself might not have noticed it.
Lu Zhao looked at her. She didn't look away. The corner of her mouth curved up. Her eyelashes fluttered faintly.
"All right. I'll go check it out." He said.
He Wei paused for a second. Then she broke into a smile. Her eyes curved into crescent moons.
She turned her head away quickly. She reached up to gather her hair. Her fingertips paused behind her ear. She pretended to flip through the textbook on her desk. But the tips of her ears had turned red.
After a few seconds, she turned back. Her tone deliberately even. "Then it's settled. Tomorrow afternoon. At the school library."
"Mm."
She nodded. She neatened her pile of textbooks. She tapped her fingers twice on the desk. As if to cover something up. Then she stood. She gathered her books. She walked away. At the door, she glanced back. She waved at him. Her ponytail bounced over her shoulder. Her eyes were bright. A smile still lingered at the corner of her lips.
Lunch was eaten at school.
As soon as afternoon classes ended, He Wei was dragged off by a group of girls. Before she left, she flashed him a hand gesture. Don't forget about the library tomorrow. Lu Zhao nodded to show he understood. He packed up his textbooks. He grabbed his schoolbag. He left the classroom.
Lu Zhao got off the bus. He walked a few minutes along the streets of the new district. The leaves of the plane trees lining the road were a glossy green. Beneath them sat a row of gleaming private cars. He turned into a lane. Newly built mixed-use buildings flanked both sides. At street level, cafés and convenience stores glowed with warm yellow light. From behind their glass windows.
At the end of the lane stood a three-story building. Its façade was clad in cream-colored tiles. Clean and crisp. The ground-floor shopfront housed a flower shop. Promotional posters plastered across its glass door. Beside it, an iron gate stood open. Next to it hung a stainless-steel plaque. Engraved with black lettering. Polished to a shine. Tengshi Swordsmanship Club. Beneath the plaque was a poster recruiting new students.
An iron staircase led straight from the ground floor to the second. The treads were made of anti-slip steel plating. Painted with grey anti-rust coating. They gave off a muted, muffled sound when stepped on. The handrail was stainless steel. Cold and smooth to the touch.
Lu Zhao went up to the second floor. He pushed open the door. Inside was a spacious hall. Fully equipped with a front desk. A meeting room. Changing rooms. And restrooms. The light-grey sports flooring was laid smooth and spotless. In the corner, rows of brand-new protective gear and mats were neatly stacked. Wood-colored sword racks lined the walls. Long and short wooden swords arrayed in order. Hilts outward. Each sanded smooth to a warm, polished finish.
As Lu Zhao stepped inside, the girl at the front desk spotted him. Emma—her hair in a topknot. Her eyes lit up. She put down her phone.
"Hey, Lu Zhao! You're here!" She greeted him with a smile. "You've been coming for a while now, right? How do you like it? Is this place working out for you?"
"Pretty good."
"Good." Emma propped her chin on her hand. She smiled at him. Her finger idly traced little circles on the desk. "Hey, did you know? Things have changed around here. Zhao Yazhi quit. She opened up a new place somewhere else. Sister Liu Yan is holding down the fort here all by herself now."
Lu Zhao paused. "Why?"
Emma pursed her lips. She lowered her voice. "They said it was over differences in teaching philosophy. They argued about it several times. In the end Zhao Yazhi just pulled her investment and left. Honestly, it's between the two of them. We don't really know the details."
She paused. Then she added, "But Sister Liu Yan's teaching is really good too. You should keep training with her."
"Okay. Got it." Lu Zhao nodded.
Emma smiled. She waved him on. "Go on, go on. Sister Liu Yan's inside."
Lu Zhao entered the main hall. He set his schoolbag down on the dark-brown leather bench against the wall.
Inside the room, eight or nine students in black training uniforms were practicing basic movements. Wooden swords clacked together with crisp pap-pap sounds. Occasionally punctuated by the coach's shout. "Wrist! Flip that wrist over!"
Lu Zhao changed into his gear. He began warming up.
He changed. Then he stretched his legs. His chest still felt uncomfortable. But it wasn't a problem. He moved his arms around. He rotated his wrists.
"Line up!"
Coach Liu Yan clapped her hands. Lu Zhao moved in with the other students. He stood in the back row.
Liu Yan swept her eyes over the group. She rested her wooden sword on her shoulder. She was around twenty-seven or twenty-eight. An oval face. Clean, sharp features. A tightly bound ponytail. Her waist was slim. Her hips rounded. The black training T-shirt she wore made her look both efficient and alluring.
"I've been watching you lot for a while. What the hell are you doing?" Her voice wasn't loud. But every word was crystal clear. "Your forms are breaking down. Your wrists are stiff. Every thrust you make is floating all over the place. With this standard, forget real combat. You can't even pull off the right look."
No one made a sound. A few students exchanged glances. Then they looked down again.
"I'm going to teach it again. Pay attention." She raised her wooden sword beside her right ear. She turned sideways to face the class. "Returning Breath Swordsmanship isn't for show. It's a real combat art. If you're just here to sweat a bit and stretch your limbs, then do whatever you want. But since you've come and you're putting in the time, you're going to take it seriously."
She paused. She scanned the group.
"Returning Breath Swordsmanship is divided into three parts. Stances. Basic techniques. And sword skills." She raised three fingers. "We covered stances last time. They're not too hard for you. Today we're doing basic techniques. They're a lot harder. If anyone does what I just saw again, you'll be training an extra half hour on your own."
A lanky student in the front row raised his hand. "Coach Liu, how many basic techniques are there?"
Liu Yan raised three fingers. "Thrust. Slash. And spiral. But today we're only doing the thrust. Master one technique first. That'll do you more good than anything. Don't be greedy. If you can't even thrust properly, everything that comes after is a waste of time."
She turned sideways to the class. She raised her wooden sword into the starting stance. Left shoulder forward. The sword held upright beside her right ear.
"Watch closely. Start from the stance. Pay attention to where the power comes from. The strength is concentrated in the wrist. Not the arm." She settled her shoulders. Her wrist pressed slightly downward. "A lot of people push their whole arm forward when they thrust. That's wrong. The power travels down from the shoulder. It's released at the wrist."
A short, stocky student asked quietly. "What about the waist? Should it turn?"
Liu Yan glanced at him. "Of course the waist comes into play. But that's in a later stage. If you rotate your waist now, and your hand can't keep up, your blade will go off target. Get the hand right first. Then add the waist."
With that, she flicked her wrist. The wooden sword sliced down from above her head. It stopped mid-air. The blade hummed in the air.
"You see? It's not a slash. It's a thrust. The tip travels in a straight line. Not an arc. A slash goes from top to bottom. A thrust goes from back to front. Don't mix them up."
She withdrew her sword. She turned around.
"All right. Everyone give it a try. Don't worry about speed. Just get the movement right first. Don't stop until I say so."
The students dispersed. They went to get their swords.
Lu Zhao took a wooden sword from the rack. He walked to a corner of the mat. He assumed the starting stance.
He tried to focus his attention on his wrist.
Sword upright beside his ear. Left shoulder forward. He thrust forward. The tip went off target. Veering right by a fist's width.
He drew the sword back. He tried again. Still off.
His chest felt vaguely hollow. It didn't affect his movement. But something still felt off. He furrowed his brow. He took a deep breath. He thrust a third time. The deviation was smaller this time. But the power was still scattered. It felt light and insubstantial.
Liu Yan was on the other side correcting another student's form. Her voice carried over. "I'm not telling you to use brute force. Your arm is ramrod straight. That's called poking. Not thrusting. A thrust has a spring to it. The sword goes out. But it has to be able to come back."
That student grunted an Oh. He tried again.
Lu Zhao said nothing. He practiced a few more times on his own. On the fifth attempt, the tip finally stayed true. But his chest still felt hollow. He stopped. He pressed a hand against it.
Liu Yan walked over. Still holding her own sword.
"Lu Zhao. Did you watch closely just now?" She stood beside him. She looked him up and down. "You don't look well."
Lu Zhao paused for a second. He pressed his chest again. "I watched carefully. It's just that my chest feels a bit hollow. I can't seem to put any strength into it."
"Your chest?" Liu Yan frowned. "Are you hurt?"
"No. It's just some discomfort."
She raised her own sword upright. She slowly thrust it forward. Halfway through, her wrist flipped. The tip quivered.
"You see that? That last bit. This flick. That's where the power penetrates. If you don't flick your wrist, the blade just goes straight. There's no penetration. But if your chest feels off, don't practice. Go sit on the side."
Lu Zhao didn't move. "Let me try one more time."
"Then take it easy." Liu Yan stepped back. She folded her arms. She watched him.
Lu Zhao reset his stance. He focused on his wrist. The hollow feeling in his chest was still there. But it wasn't too bad. He thrust forward. The tip still drifted a little. But it was better than before.
"Not bad." Liu Yan said. "At least the direction's right. That's enough for today. Go home and rest. Don't push yourself."
She turned away to coach another student. Lu Zhao didn't stop. He practiced a while longer. The discomfort in his chest eased a little. He put the sword away. He walked to the wall. He sat down. He unscrewed his water bottle. He took a sip of warm water.
He leaned back against the wall. He closed his eyes for a moment. He rested. Then he stood. He returned the wooden sword to the rack. He picked up his schoolbag. He walked out the door.
He didn't know that death was only the beginning.
And the nightmare had come to stay.
