Morning came cold and grey.
I woke to the smell of tea and the sight of Lin Mei sitting in the perfect lotus position, eyes closed, hands resting on her knees. She had not moved all night. I knew this because I'd woken up three times and each time she'd been in the exact same position, like a statue that breathed. Her chest rose and fell at precise intervals. Her face was slack, relaxed, but not in the way a sleeping person relaxes — it was the stillness of someone who had complete control over every muscle.
She opened her eyes when I stirred. "You are awake."
"So it would seem."
"This one brewed tea. There is a cup on the rock beside you."
There was. I picked it up. The cup was warm, the tea inside a pale green, almost clear. I took a sip. It tasted like grass, morning dew, and something I couldn't name — a floral note that I didn't recognize, probably from a plant that didn't exist in my world — but it immediately made me feel slightly more alive. The warmth spread from my stomach outward, pushing against the cold that had settled into my bones overnight.
"This one's personal herbal blend," Lin Mei said. "It helps with spiritual recovery."
"I don't have a spiritual core."
"Then it will help with general recovery instead."
I drank the tea. It definitely helped with general recovery. I could feel the warmth spreading through my chest, pushing against the last remnants of the poison. My arm was still discolored, still weak, but the pain had faded to a dull ache instead of a constant scream. The purple had receded to just below my elbow. Solid progress, all things considered.
"Thank you," I said.
Lin Mei inclined her head. "This one does not require thanks. This one acted as any cultivator would."
"Most cultivators would have left me to die in the forest."
"Most cultivators lack curiosity."
"Curiosity about what?"
"About you." She stood, brushing invisible dust from her robes. "This one has met many beings in two hundred years. Demons. Gods. Beasts. Men who claimed to be dragons and dragons who claimed to be men. But this one has never met someone whose existence is a contradiction."
"I'm a contradiction?"
"Your body rejects spiritual energy. Your arm should have been incurable without a healer of significant power. Yet you remain alive. Your spirit — if you can be said to have one — registers as null. A void. And yet you walk and talk and make observations that should be beyond someone of your apparent cultivation level."
"I'm good at talking."
"Talking does not explain why the universe seems to have left a blank space where your data should be."
I took another sip of tea. "What's your theory?"
"I have several. This one has narrowed them down to three possibilities. One: you are a divine entity in a sealed form, which would explain the null reading but not your behavior. Two: you are a demon wearing human skin, which would explain your behavior but not the null reading. Three: you are something this one has never encountered before, which is the most likely explanation and also the most frustrating."
"Which one are you leaning toward?"
"Three." She looked at me with those calm, assessing eyes. "This one dislikes not understanding things."
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
"Yeah. I've noticed."
We broke camp in silence. Lin Mei moved with the efficiency of someone who had done this ten thousand times — a single gesture folded her meditation mat, a flick of her wrist sent her tea set into her storage ring, a breath extinguished the fire without smoke. She packed her supplies in a specific order, each item placed in the exact same position relative to the others. She was a machine of perfect habits.
Han, who had woken up at some point and was eating a piece of dried meat, watched her with the expression of a man cataloguing data for future reference.
"She moves like she's following instructions," he whispered to me.
"I noticed."
"Like she's running a program."
"I noticed that too."
"Do you think she knows?"
"I don't think she's ever considered it."
We descended the mountain. The path was rocky, winding between bare trees and patches of snow. The morning light was weak, filtering through clouds that hung low and heavy.
The forest at the base was quiet. Too quiet. The birds were silent, the insects were silent, even the wind seemed to be holding its breath. Lin Mei noticed before I did. Her hand went to her sword.
"Something is approaching."
"How do you know?"
"The forest is afraid."
Three seconds later, a demonic beast exploded through the treeline.
It was large — maybe the size of a horse — with black scales that caught the light like oil on water, glowing red eyes that tracked us independently, and tusks that curved like scythes. It roared, revealing rows of teeth that were too numerous and too sharp to be biologically practical. Drool dripped from its jaws, steaming where it hit the cold ground.
Lin Mei moved.
She didn't rush. She didn't panic. She stepped forward, drew her sword, and began a sequence of movements that looked like a dance. Each motion was precise, economical, perfectly timed. The beast attacked. She sidestepped, the tusks passing inches from her robes. It swung its head. She ducked under it. It lunged. She cut.
Seven seconds flat. The beast collapsed in a heap. Every cut was clean, surgical, exactly where it needed to be. She hadn't used a single unnecessary movement.
She looked at the body. Then at me. "This one apologizes for the disturbance."
"That was..."
"Standard beast disposal procedure. The Azure Frost Sect requires all disciples to master at least four hundred combat forms. This one has mastered nine hundred."
"Nine hundred combat forms."
"The sect is thorough."
Han emerged from behind a tree where he had taken cover. "Did you just... calculate the exact number of cuts needed to kill that thing?"
"Eight cuts are standard for a beast of this classification. Seven were sufficient due to an existing weakness in its left flank."
"You accounted for its weak point without stopping to look for it."
"The forms include identification of weak points as part of the approach sequence."
I looked at the beast. Every cut was clean. Every movement had been part of a larger pattern. She hadn't improvised a single moment of the fight.
"Was that the same sequence you'd use for any beast of that size?"
"Modified form 247-B. Adapts for height and tusk curvature."
"You didn't make any adjustments on the fly."
"Adjustments introduce inefficiency. The forms are optimized."
"But what if the beast had done something unexpected?"
Lin Mei paused. "This one's forms account for thirty-seven variations in beast behavior."
"What if it had done a thirty-eighth?"
She didn't have an answer. She looked at the beast, then at her sword, then at me. For a moment, she looked almost confused. The expression was so foreign on her face that it took me a second to recognize it.
"This one is... not accustomed to being questioned about her combat methodology."
"Maybe you should be."
She stared at me. I wasn't sure if I'd offended her or intrigued her. Possibly both. Her sword slid back into its sheath with a click that sounded final.
We walked in silence for another hour.
Lunch was a quiet affair. We stopped by a stream where the water ran clear and cold. Lin Mei produced a perfectly arranged meal from her storage ring — rice, pickled vegetables, sliced meat, all arranged on a lacquered tray with the precision of a museum display. She ate with her back straight, her chopsticks moving in precise arcs, every bite exactly the same size.
I ate with my hands. Han used a carved stick that he'd sharpened that morning.
The afternoon passed. The forest thinned. The village appeared in the distance, smoke rising from chimneys, the roofs of houses just visible over the treeline.
We were almost there when Lin Mei, cleaning her sword by the stream, muttered something under her breath.
"Two hundred years and I still can't get the blood out of the engraving."
Normal speech. Flat. Tired. Human.
She froze.
Her hand stopped mid-motion, the cloth hovering over the blade. She stared at her sword, then at the water, then at nothing at all. Her breath caught, just for a second.
She didn't look at me.
I pretended I hadn't heard.
"I think we can reach the village before sundown," I said, as if nothing had happened.
Han, picking up on my cue, said, "Good. I'm running out of logbook space."
Lin Mei sheathed her sword. Her face was composed again. Perfect. Serene.
But her hands were shaking. Just a little.
She didn't say another word for the rest of the walk.