I. Awakening in the Moonlight
A drop of water, cold and pure, fell directly onto Zhao Huo's forehead, shattering the silence that shrouded his consciousness. He groaned softly, his eyelids feeling as heavy as lead as he struggled to open them. The first thing he saw was not the suffocating low ceiling of the Hall of Punishment, but a scene that looked like a dream from a fairy tale.
He was inside a vast, damp cave, yet it felt strangely warm. The cave ceiling towered high, adorned with stalactites that shimmered from the reflection of moonlight seeping through narrow crevices above. Most astonishing were the patches of green moss clinging to the stone walls; they emitted a faint, bioluminescent glow, creating a mystical, faded ambiance as if the entire cave were breathing.
Zhao Huo tried to stand, but a sudden stiffness attacked his joints. He remembered the deafening WHACK of the staff, the burning pain in his back, and the cold face of Monk Fa Xing. He recalled being bound to the stone pillar, awaiting a death that seemed imminent.
"Am I... already in the afterlife?" he whispered, his voice hoarse and dry.
He reached back to touch his back hesitantly. Instead of feeling gaping wounds or dried blood, his hand felt smooth skin, though it still felt slightly tender deep inside. He pulled his tattered gray robes aside to look at his shoulder. The wounds that should have been fatal had closed, leaving only faint pink lines. A sharp, fresh herbal scent wafted from his body—a distinctive aroma that could only be produced by high-level alchemy.
"The medicine of the Tang Clan," he muttered in awe. He remembered Tang Feng telling him about the efficacy of his family's miraculous salves. This medical marvel had saved his life in an incredibly short time.
Zhao Huo stood up on legs that were still slightly trembling. He looked around, trying to process his situation. In the middle of the spacious cave stood a medium-sized stone altar that looked ancient yet well-maintained. Beside the altar were several large sacks and clay jars arranged neatly.
With great curiosity, Zhao Huo approached the sacks. Upon opening them, he found dry rations—hard wheat bread, nuts, and dried fruit packed to last for months. Inside the large jars, crystal-clear water, seemingly taken from the purest mountain spring, reflected his face—still weary, but beginning to recover.
II. Echoes in the Midst of Silence
Zhao Huo sat back down on the cave floor, which was covered in soft moss. His thoughts began to wander beyond these stone walls. What was the fate of the tournament that had ended in blood? Were the poisoned clan leaders saved?
He thought of Abbot Xuan Ye. Although the Abbot was the one who had handed him over to the Hall of Punishment, Zhao Huo held no resentment. He knew the Abbot was bound by monastery rules and the pressure from other sects. He prayed silently that his master remained safe from the evil intrigues enveloping Shaolin.
The faces of his friends appeared in his mind. Tan Long, the rough but golden-hearted youth from the Beggars' Sect, who always praised his cooking as if it were a feast for the gods. The calm and wise Feng Yu of Wudang, and the elegant Mei Lin.
"I hope they do not believe those slanders," Zhao Huo hissed. In a place this silent, loneliness felt more painful than the strike of a wooden staff. He felt like a caged bird—not because of sins committed, but because of his inability to prove the truth.
However, as a Zen practitioner who had spent years in the Shaolin kitchen, Zhao Huo knew that lamenting his fate was a form of futile worldly attachment. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing, letting his mind align with the pulse of nature within the cave.
It was then that his sharp senses—usually used to listen for the sizzle of oil in a wok or the boiling of water in a cauldron—caught something different.
Plink... plink... swuuuush...
It wasn't just water dripping from the ceiling. It was the sound of a larger flow. The sound of rushing water, as if an artery of the earth were pulsing nearby.
III. The Labyrinth of Four Directions
Zhao Huo immediately pressed his ear to the cold cave floor. His eyes widened. The sound became clearer; the rustle of water hitting rocks, creating an echo that vibrated deep beneath the layer of earth where he stood.
"Is there a river down here?" he asked the darkness.
Curiosity overcame his fear. Zhao Huo took a small torch that was fortunately available near the altar, lighting it with a flint kept in the side pocket of the food sacks. An orange light now danced on the cave walls, casting long, flickering shadows.
He began to walk deeper into the belly of the cave. The further he stepped, the more humid the air became, and the sound of gurgling water increasingly dominated his hearing. The main path of the cave ended at a vast open space where the path branched into four dark openings resembling giant mouths.
Zhao Huo stopped at the crossroads. He stood still, closed his eyes, and sharpened his senses of hearing and feeling. As a cook, he had an extraordinary sensitivity to wind direction and changes in air temperature.
The first opening on the left felt dead; the air there was static and smelled of ancient dust. The second opening emitted a bone-chilling cold, as if leading to a frozen mountain peak. The third opening carried a thick scent of soil, indicating a dead end or a buried path.
However, the opening on the far right...
Zhao Huo felt a gentle breeze brush against his cheek. The wind brought freshness—the scent of cold mountain water and life. The sound of rushing water was most real from this direction. Not just drips, but a powerful flow.
"That way," he whispered with certainty.
He stepped into the rightmost tunnel. The walls in this path felt smoother, as if they had been eroded by water over thousands of years. As he went deeper, the tunnel narrowed and sloped downward. Zhao Huo had to duck several times to avoid sharp rock protrusions.
After walking quite a distance, his steps stopped in front of a very narrow crevice. The broad path he had traveled before had now constricted into a tiny tunnel that appeared dark and mysterious. It was so narrow that it only fit the size of one adult man crawling or moving sideways.
Despite looking suffocating, from behind the small tunnel, the sound of water was no longer just an echo. It was the sound of a majestic underground waterfall, and a faint blue light seemed to glow from the end of the tunnel, signaling that something extraordinary awaited him behind that stone crack.
Zhao Huo stared at the crevice with firm determination. He felt that his journey within the Hidden Dragon Cave (Qian Long Dong) had only just begun, and what lay beyond that tunnel might be the key to his new destiny.