The stew was thick and glistening with a layer of yellow oil. Wei Xiao stared into his bowl, seeing chunks of grey meat and dark, stringy roots. It was salty and heavy, the kind of food that sat like a stone in the gut.
For someone who had spent a week running on nothing but stolen scraps and rainwater, it was a miracle. He watched the others. Most were practically licking the wood of their bowls, desperate to catch every lingering scent of fat and salt.
Elder Vane walked through the rows of survivors. He didn't look like a teacher. He looked like a wolf inspecting a new pack. He stopped near the head of the long table, his dark purple robes swaying with a metallic clink.
"The first lesson is simple. Food is life, and life belongs to the one who takes it," he said. His voice was calm, yet it cut through the sounds of chewing and heavy breathing.
"Only fifty of you are left from the thousands that stood at the gate. This is the natural order of the Myriad Hunger Sect. The strong eat, and the weak are eaten."
He reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out a handful of small, black iron tokens. He tossed them onto the table. They scattered, bouncing off the stone with sharp pings.
"Take one," the Elder commanded. "That is your identity. In our sect, you are currently ranked as Kitchen Slaves. It is the lowest rung of the ladder. Above you are the Outer Disciples, the Inner Disciples, and the Core Disciples."
Wei Xiao grabbed a token. It was cold and heavy. On one side, the number '42' was carved into the iron. On the other, a simplified drawing of a wide, open mouth. He tucked it into the rope he used for a belt.
"Follow me," Elder Vane said.
He led them out of the dining hall and toward the back of the sect grounds. The terrain changed quickly. The flat stone paths gave way to jagged, volcanic rock. The air grew colder, and a faint, whistling sound echoed through the air. They stopped at the edge of a massive, circular hole in the ground. It was so wide that the other side was lost in the grey mountain mist. It looked like an endless, black throat.
"This is the Pit of Gnash," the Elder said. He stood at the very edge, his heels hanging over the drop. "You will stay down there for exactly one month. There is no food provided. There is no water provided. There is only the Qi that flows from the earth and whatever you can find in the dark."
The survivors looked at each other in silence. The shock was visible on their faces. This wasn't just a test. It was a death sentence.
"Jump," the Elder said.
"Jump?" one man stammered, his face turning pale. "We'll die! It's too far!"
The Elder didn't even look at him. He simply waited.
Wei Xiao looked at the darkness. He felt a cold sweat on his neck. But he also remembered the way the Elder had killed those thousands of people in the field. If they didn't jump, they would be pruned like the others.
He also knew that a sect wouldn't go through the trouble of feeding them just to kill them five minutes later. There had to be a way to survive.
He stepped forward. He gave a small, nervous smile, his teeth chattering slightly. He didn't want to show how terrified he actually was.
"I've slept in worse places," Wei Xiao whispered to himself.
As he leaped down.
Elder Vane's cold eyes followed him. A small, genuine spark of interest appeared in the man's gaze. He watched the boy disappear into the blackness.
The first few seconds were peaceful. The wind rushed past Wei Xiao's ears. Then, the speed began to pick up. The peace turned into a raw, screaming panic. The walls of the pit were closer than he thought, but they were rushing past him in a blur.
'Wait, this is too long!' Wei Xiao thought. 'I'm going to hit the bottom! I'm actually going to die!'
The fear was like a punch to his stomach. He flailed his arms, trying to grab at anything. His hand brushed against the cold, damp stone of the wall. It ripped skin from his fingers instantly. He screamed, the sound swallowed by the wind.
'The Qi! The fire in my gut!'
He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on the warmth of the stew in his belly. He tried to push that heat toward his hands and legs. He imagined his body becoming heavy and solid, like a mountain.
He pulled his short sword from his belt. His hands were shaking so much he almost dropped it. He slammed the blade into the stone wall.
SCREEEEEEECH!
The metal sparked against the rock. The jar of the impact traveled up his arm, nearly dislocating his shoulder. He wasn't stopping, but he was slowing down. He used the halberd in his other hand, digging the axe-head into the wall.
He was dragging along the stone now. The friction sent heat through his weapons and into his palms. He could smell burning metal and blood. His fingers were slippery with his own gore, but he gripped the hilts with everything he had.
Finally, with a heavy thud, his boots hit something soft.
He tumbled forward, rolling through a patch of thick, damp moss. He lay there for a minute, gasping for air. His heart was hammering against his ribs so hard it felt like it would break through.
He looked at his hands. They were a mess of red, raw skin and dirt. He felt a surge of pure, manic joy.
"I did it," he croaked. He sat up, a wide, greedy smile spreading across his face. "I fucking did it!"
He stood up and looked around. It was almost pitch black. The only light came from faint, glowing mushrooms that clung to the high walls. The ground was uneven, covered in bones, moss, and jagged rocks.
He heard more thuds in the distance. Screams echoed from above, followed by the sickening sound of bodies hitting the floor. Some people didn't have the presence of mind to slow their fall. Some simply hit the rocks and stopped moving.
Wei Xiao didn't stay to look. He kept one hand on the cold wall, feeling his way forward. He found a dense patch of tall, purple-leafed bushes and crawled inside. It was a small, cramped space, but it was hidden. He curled into a ball, clutching his halberd to his chest.
Three days passed.
The first day was okay. The Qi in the air was thick and heavy, and as he practiced the "skin breathing" the Elder had taught them, he felt his wounds starting to itch and heal. But by the second day, the hunger returned. It wasn't the normal hunger of a slave. It was a sharp, biting pain that made his head swim.
By the third day, the cavern was full of the sounds of desperate people. The silence of the pit was broken by the sound of scuffling and angry shouting.
Wei Xiao sat in his bush, his eyes wide and bloodshot. His stomach was cramping so hard he couldn't stand up straight. There was no fruit on the bushes. There were no animals to be seen.
He looked out through the leaves. The fifty survivors were now spread out, but the space was smaller than it seemed. Everyone was becoming "hangry"—that dangerous mix of starvation and rage.
Wei Xiao felt a dark heat rising in his chest. It wasn't the Qi. it was the survival instinct he had learned on the streets. He couldn't wait any longer. If he didn't eat, his body would start to consume itself.
He slowly reached for the halberd. He checked the short sword at his waist. His hands were still tender, but the skin had closed. He stood up, his movements slow and careful.
He heard a sound nearby. It was a low, pathetic sobbing. Someone was hiding behind a rock just a few yards away. They were weak. They were crying.
Wei Xiao gripped the wooden shaft of his weapon. He didn't feel sorry for them. He only felt the void in his stomach. He began to move toward the sound, staying low to the ground, his eyes locked on the shadow behind the rock.