A week passed. Shen's shoulder healed. The scar was pink but closed. He moved his arm in circles. No pain.
He went back to the river. The water was still black. Cold. He dove. Felt along the bottom. His palm glowed faintly. The passive skill showed him where things were buried.
He found a rusted watch. A broken knife. A metal box with nothing inside. He put them in his bag.
At the trading post, Old Xu looked at the items. "The watch is junk. The knife can be sharpened. Two coins."
"Three."
"Two."
Shen took the coins. Bought dried meat and water. Went home.
On the way back, a man stepped out from behind a broken wall. Dark uniform. Triangle badge. The same one from before.
"You don't listen," the man said.
Shen stopped. Hand on his hook.
"I warned you. Then you went and killed One Eye. Made more noise."
"He was going to kill us."
"I don't care." The man's voice was flat. "I care about the mess. People talk. Too many people saw."
"Then go after the people behind him."
The man was quiet for a moment. "Stay out of trouble. Next time, we won't warn you."
He turned and walked away.
Shen watched him go. Then he moved on.
One Eye said his boss would come. The Door Court knows something. They're not telling. Maybe the boss is the same one behind the scarred man. Both wanted door items. Both had crews. Same organization?
He pushed the thought aside. One thing at a time.
He got home. Sat on his bed. A knock came at the door.
Three knocks. Pause. Two knocks.
He opened it. Jiang and Wang Mei stood outside.
Wang Mei looked better. The cuts on her arm were healing. Her eyes were still tired, but she wasn't shaking.
"Can we come in?" Jiang asked.
Shen stepped aside.
Inside, Wang Mei sat on the chair. Jiang leaned against the wall.
"I've been thinking," Wang Mei said. "I don't want to drag you into more trouble. I went to Old Chen. He said he could find me a safe place. Or teach me to protect myself."
"And?" Shen said.
"I want to learn. I don't want to hide."
Jiang looked at Shen. "She's stubborn."
Shen was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Your father asked us to take care of you. But if you want to learn, I can teach you some things. Not to fight like us. Just enough to stay alive."
Wang Mei nodded. "That's all I want."
"Then we start tomorrow."
Jiang crossed her arms. "We also need to prepare for the second door. It won't be long now."
"How long?" Shen asked.
"A few days. Maybe a week. The mark gives me a feeling. Like pressure in my chest."
Shen looked at his own palm. The triangle was dark. But he felt it too. A pull. Like something waiting.
"We need supplies," he said. "Food, water, medicine. And weapons."
"Old Chen might help," Wang Mei said. "He owes my father a favor. I can take you to him."
Shen nodded. "Tomorrow. After I teach you the basics."
The next morning, Shen took Wang Mei to an empty lot behind the central ruin. The ground was hard-packed dirt. A few broken walls stood around them. The wind carried dust.
He showed her how to stand. Feet shoulder width. Knees slightly bent. Weight balanced.
"Don't lock your knees," he said. "You'll be slower."
Wang Mei adjusted.
He showed her how to throw a punch. Not from the shoulder. From the hips. "Power comes from your whole body, not just your arm."
She punched the air. Too stiff. He corrected her stance.
He showed her how to hold a knife. "Don't grip it like a hammer. Hold it like you're holding a bird. Firm but not tight."
Wang Mei practiced. Her arms got sore. She didn't stop.
"If you can run, run," he said. "Only fight if you have to. The best way to win a fight is to not be there."
She nodded.
After two hours, Jiang joined them. "Time to see Old Chen."
They walked to the eastern floating market. The path was narrow between collapsed buildings. Rusted cars lay on their sides. The smell of old smoke hung in the air.
Old Chen's shop was a wooden shack between a fish stall and a scrap metal pile. The fish stall owner was gutting a fish with a dull knife. The scrap pile glinted in the weak sun.
Old Chen was a thin man with gray hair and sharp eyes. He wore a stained apron. His hands were calloused.
He saw Wang Mei and nodded. "Your father's girl."
Wang Mei showed him the coin. Old Chen's face softened.
"He was a good man. Died too young. What do you need?"
"Supplies," Shen said. "Food, water, medicine."
Old Chen looked at Shen. "And who are you?"
"He helped me," Wang Mei said. "He fought off the men who tried to take the coin."
Old Chen studied Shen's hook. His eyes moved to Shen's palm. "You're the one who killed One Eye."
"He was going to kill us."
Old Chen didn't answer. He turned and went to the back of the shop. The floorboards creaked under his feet. He rummaged through a wooden crate and pulled out a cloth bag.
He brought it to the counter. "Dried meat, water packs, bandages. Enough for three people for a week. This is for Wang Mei. Not for you."
"I understand," Shen said.
Old Chen looked at him again. His eyes narrowed. "You have the mark."
Shen didn't deny it.
Old Chen leaned closer. His voice dropped. "Your father had it too. He came to me once, asking about the second door. I told him the same thing I'll tell you: I don't know anything about the doors. They pull you in when they want. There's no map. No safe way."
"But you must have heard something," Jiang said.
Old Chen shook his head. "I hear a lot of things. People talk. But I don't listen to talk about the doors. It gets people killed." He glanced at Wang Mei. "Your father didn't listen. He went in and didn't come back. You want to end up like him?"
Wang Mei's face hardened. "I want to know the truth."
"The truth is, the doors don't care about you. They take and they give nothing back." Old Chen turned to Shen. "You want my advice? Stay away from whatever you're looking for. But I can see you won't. So just remember — not everything you see is real. And not everything that looks safe is safe."
He went back behind his counter. "Now go. I've said enough."
They left the shop. The fish stall owner had finished gutting the fish. He looked at them as they passed, then looked away.
Back at Jiang's bunker, they divided the supplies. Wang Mei helped, moving slowly but steadily. She counted the water packs. She stacked the dried meat.
Jiang checked her dagger. The blade was sharp. She ran a whetstone along the edge.
Shen sat on a crate and watched them. His shoulder ached faintly, but the wound was closed.
"We need a plan for the second door," Jiang said. "Not just supplies."
"We don't know what's inside," Shen said. "We can't plan for everything."
"Then we plan for what we can control. Weapons, food, how we move together."
Wang Mei looked up. "I want to help."
"You stay behind us," Shen said. "You're not ready to fight."
"Then why are you teaching me?"
"So you can survive long enough to run."
Wang Mei didn't argue. She went back to sorting the supplies.
That night, Shen lay on his bed. The room was cold. A crack in the ceiling let in a sliver of moonlight.
He stared at the ceiling for a long time. Then he closed his eyes.
He fell asleep.
His palm glowed. Faint at first, then brighter. The triangle mark pulsed in the dark room. Red light flickered across the walls.
In his dream, he stood in a kitchen.
The floor was wet. The walls were stained. A rusty stove stood against one wall. On top of it, a pot bubbled. Red steam rose from it. The air smelled of meat and something else — something wrong. Sweet. Rotten.
A voice whispered from the pot. "Hungry?"
Shen didn't answer. He tried to move, but his feet were stuck to the floor.
The voice came again. "Eat. You'll need your strength."
He stepped closer. His feet moved on their own. The red steam curled around his face. It was warm. Sticky.
He looked into the pot.
Inside, something moved. A hand. A small hand, like a child's. It reached up toward him. The fingers were pale. The nails were black.
He woke up.
His heart was pounding. His shirt was wet with sweat. His palm was hot. The triangle mark was dark again, but his skin still tingled.
He sat up and poured a cup of water. Drank it slowly. The water was cold. It helped.
He looked at his hand. The mark was still. No glow. No heat.
But he remembered the dream. The kitchen. The pot. The hand.
The second door was showing him things now. Not just a feeling. A warning.
He lay back down. Stared at the ceiling.
The crack was still there. The moonlight was gone.
Tomorrow he would teach Wang Mei more. Tomorrow he would check the supplies. But tonight, he knew — the door was almost here.
He closed his eyes. Sleep came slowly. When it came, there were no more dreams.