The first thing Lin Mei knew was pain. A deep, grinding ache in her ribs, a sharp sting across her cheek where it had been scraped raw. The second was the smell: loam, rot, and a strange, metallic tang that coated the back of her throat, utterly unlike the familiar coal smoke and damp of Shanghai. Her eyes fluttered open to a canopy of leaves so large they were like jagged umbrellas, blocking out a sky that was not the familiar pearl-grey. It swirled with lazy, luminous ribbons of purple and green, the color of a bruise on the face of the world.
She was lying on a bed of moss that felt springy and too soft, cushioning her fall but also making her feel untethered. Every movement sent a jolt of protest through her battered body. She pushed herself up on trembling arms, the short blade still somehow clutched in her white-knuckled fist. The courtyard, the Iron Fist, the searing light—all of it felt like a fever dream. But the gash on her forearm, the grit under her fingernails, and the alien forest stretching in every direction were horribly real. She was alone.
A sound, low and wet, pulled her focus. Something heavy was dragging through the undergrowth not twenty paces away. Mei’s training took over. She pressed herself flat behind the gnarled root of a colossal tree, her breathing controlled, her senses straining. The creature that emerged was like nothing from a natural history book. It was low to the ground, vaguely reptilian, but its hide was the color of iron, plated with overlapping scales that shimmered with a faint, internal light. Its head was blunt, armed with a ridge of bone instead of horns, and its small, red eyes fixed on her with a predatory intelligence.
Mei didn’t hesitate. She burst from cover, not away, but toward it, closing the distance in two explosive strides. The beast was fast, its lunge a blur of muscle and armored flesh. She sidestepped, her blade singing through the air in a tight, economical slash aimed at the softer tissue beneath its jaw.
The steel met the iron-scaled hide with a sound like striking stone. A shower of sparks erupted from the point of contact, and the jolt of impact rattled up her arm to her teeth. The blade bit, but only superficially, scoring a bright mark on the dark scale before skittering off. The beast roared, a sound that vibrated in her chest, and swiped a clawed foreleg. Mei threw herself backward, the razor-sharp tip of the claw passing inches from her throat.
It’s too tough. The thought was cold, clear. Her mortal art, the devastating power of Bajiquan, was designed to shatter bone and disrupt the flow of energy in a human body. Against this living armor, it was like throwing pebbles at a fortress wall. She needed a weak point. The eyes? The joints where the scales met?
The beast charged again, its bulk a battering ram. Mei dropped low, slipping beneath its charge. As it thundered over her, she drove her blade upward with all her strength, aiming for the pale, unarmored underside of its tail. The blade sank in, several inches deep. The creature screamed, a higher, more pained sound, and twisted violently. The motion ripped the blade from Mei’s grasp and sent her tumbling across the moss. The beast, now enraged, turned on her, a frothy saliva dripping from its maw.
Mei scrambled backward, her hands empty. Her heart hammered against her ribs. This was it. The end of a desperate, foolish chase into a madman’s light.
A calm, clear voice cut through the air. “Hold.”
It was not a shout, but it carried an authority that made the hairs on Mei’s neck stand up. The beast froze, its head whipping toward the source of the sound. From the shadowed depths of the forest, five figures emerged. They wore simple, dark blue robes, moving with a silent, flowing grace that spoke of immense discipline. The one in the lead was a man who appeared to be in his early thirties, his features sharp and scholarly, his gaze calm and assessing. He held no weapon, his hands clasped behind his back.
He looked at the beast, then at Mei, his eyes lingering on the spot where her blade had struck the creature’s hide. A flicker of something—not surprise, but intense curiosity—crossed his features. “A temporal resonance signature,” he murmured, more to himself than to his companions. “And so pure. Discordant, but pure.”
The beast, seemingly recovered from its surprise, let out another bellow and prepared to charge Mei once more.
The man took a single step forward. He raised his right hand, palm out, and made a gentle, closing motion with his fingers. The air in front of the beast seemed to… fold. Space itself warped, the image of the forest behind the creature bending as if seen through flawed glass. The charging beast ran not into empty air, but into the space that should have been ten feet to its left. Its momentum carried it forward, and it crashed into a thicket of black-barked trees with a tremendous crunch of splintering wood and snapping bone. It lay still, stunned and broken.
The display of power was so absolute, so casual, that it stole Mei’s breath. It was like watching someone rearrange the furniture of the world with a thought. The gap between her desperate struggle and this effortless control was a chasm.
The man and his patrol approached, their steps silent on the moss. The leader stopped a respectful distance from Mei, his eyes still scanning her, noting the strange, coarse fabric of her Shanghai dress, the modern cut of her hair, the deep bruise already forming on her cheek. His gaze held no hostility, only a profound, analytical interest.
“You are injured,” he said. His voice was as his tone had suggested—measured, intelligent. “And you are a long way from any place I know. Who are you?”
Mei’s body was tense, her muscles coiled for a fight she knew she couldn’t win. She pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly, and fixed him with a steady, defiant glare. “My name is Lin Mei. Where am I? And what in God’s name was that thing?”
He tilted his head. “This is the Spirit Beast Basin, within the territory of the Azure Cloud Sect. That was a low-grade Ironhide Grub. And you…” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as if seeing something invisible around her. “You are not of this world. Your energy is not Qi. It is something else. Something torn.”
He extended a hand, not to touch her, but as if to offer support. “I am Li Jian, of the Azure Cloud Sect. You are under our protection now. Though I suspect,” he added, a ghost of a smile touching his lips, “that ‘custody’ might be the more accurate term, until we understand what you are.”
Mei looked from his outstretched hand to the unconscious beast, to the silent, watchful disciples flanking him. She was a stranger, in a strange land, with no weapon, no allies, and a sister trapped in a nightmare half a world—and possibly a lifetime—away. The cold, hard pragmatism that had kept her alive in Shanghai’s underworld settled over her. She was outmatched, out of her depth, and utterly dependent on the mercy of these unknown people.
She did not take his hand. Instead, she straightened her back, ignoring the protest of her ribs, and met his gaze without flinching.
“I am looking for my sister,” she said, her voice raw but clear. “Her name is Lin Xiao. She was taken by people called the Iron Fist. Help me find her, and I will tell you everything you want to know.”
Li Jian’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes deepened. He slowly lowered his hand. “The Iron Fist,” he repeated softly, the name leaving a sour taste in the air. “That complicates matters. Significantly.” He gestured to his disciples. “Bring her. Gently. Grand Elder Yun will want to see this anomaly for himself.”
Two of the disciples moved forward, their intentions clear. Mei didn’t fight them. She stood tall, her chin high, as they guided her gently but firmly away. She cast one last look at the alien sky, at the impossible forest, and felt the first, cold tendrils of a fear deeper than any she had known in the alleys of Shanghai. The fear of utter helplessness. The fear of being lost in a reality that operated on rules she could not begin to comprehend.