Shen woke with his palm still warm.
The dream clung to his skin like grease. The kitchen. The red steam. The small hand reaching up from the pot. He sat up and looked at his mark. The triangle was dark now, but the skin around it felt tight. He touched it. No pain. Just a memory of heat.
He got up and dressed. Outside, the sky was gray. The wind carried dust. He walked to the empty lot where he trained Wang Mei.
She was already there, practicing her stance. Feet shoulder width. Knees bent—hands up.
"You're early," Shen said.
"Couldn't sleep," she said.
He watched her throw a few punches. Her form was better than it had been last week. Not good, but better.
"You've improved a lot," he said. "Just keep practicing."
Wang Mei lowered her hands. "Can I go with you? Into the second door?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"You're not ready. One more week of practice and maybe you can defend yourself against one man. The door is not one man."
Wang Mei's jaw tightened, but she didn't argue. She went back to her stance.
Later, Shen went to Jiang's bunker. Wang Mei followed.
Jiang was checking her dagger, running a whetstone along the blade. She looked up when they came in. "Hey. You look serious."
"I had another dream," Shen said. "About the second door. The hunger kitchen."
Jiang put the dagger down. "What? That's impossible. Have you been inside before?"
"No."
"Then how can you dream about it?"
"I don't know. The mark showed me." He sat on a crate. "A pot with red steam. A hand inside. A small hand. A child's."
Jiang's eyes narrowed. "A child?"
"Yes."
She touched her key-shaped mark. "Mine has been hurting. Not burning. Just a dull ache. Like something pressing on my chest."
"It's the door," Shen said. "It's close. Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow."
Wang Mei stood by the wall, listening.
"We need to prepare," Jiang said. "Based on your dream, we should bring extra food. This door is about food."
They spent the afternoon sorting supplies. Jiang packed dried meat and water packs into a canvas bag. Shen checked his bone hook. The edge was still sharp. He wrapped a strip of cloth around the handle for a better grip.
Wang Mei helped, moving quietly. She tied bandages into rolls. She counted the water packs twice.
"You stay with Old Chen while we're gone," Shen said.
Wang Mei nodded. "I know."
In the evening, Shen returned to his room. He sat on his bed, checking the black stone. Cold. Nothing. He put it back.
A knock came at the door.
He opened it. The man in the long coat stood there. Hood up. Face in shadow.
Shen's hand went to his waist for his hook. It wasn't there. He had left it on the table. He stepped back, ready to grab it.
The man raised his hands. "Hey, hey, relax. I'm not here to fight. I just want to cooperate. You have the mark too. You know the second door is closed, right?"
Shen stopped. "Cooperation?"
"Inside, there will be others. Some are dangerous. Some are desperate. If we meet, we should work together. Not fight."
"Why should I trust you?"
The man lowered his hands. "We're not asking you to trust us. Just temporary cooperation. Inside the door, there are more than just our two sides. Other groups. You'll need help."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small metal cylinder. "A signal flare. If you're in trouble, fire it. Someone from our side will come. And if you see a girl named Lin — young, dark hair, carries a short sword — she's one of ours. First time in a door. Keep an eye on her if you can."
Shen took the flare. "I don't make promises."
"I'm not asking for one. Just a suggestion." The man turned and walked away. "Good luck."
Shen closed the door. He looked at the flare. Lin. Another name. Another thread tied to his father.
He put the flare in his pocket.
That night, Shen and Jiang gathered at her bunker. Wang Mei was there too, but only to say goodbye.
"Old Chen is expecting you," Jiang said. "Stay with him until we come back."
Wang Mei hugged Jiang. Then she looked at Shen. "I'll train every day. When you come back, I'll be stronger."
Shen nodded. "Good."
Wang Mei left. The door closed behind her.
Shen and Jiang sat in silence. The bunker was quiet. The only light came from a small oil lamp on the table.
"What do you think the door will be like?" Jiang asked.
"Hungry," Shen said. "The dream showed food. Red food. The old man at the market said don't eat anything red."
Jiang touched her key-shaped mark. "Mine just hurts. No dreams."
"Maybe your mark works differently."
They checked their weapons one last time. Shen's hook. Jiang's dagger. The spare knife for emergencies. The bag of supplies.
The lamp flickered.
Shen's palm grew warm. Then hot. The triangle mark glowed red.
"It's starting," he said.
The ground shook. Not hard, but enough to rattle the cups on the table.
Shen grabbed Jiang's arm. The light grew brighter. The room dissolved.
White light. Then darkness.
Shen landed on dirt. Soft, dry dirt. He pushed himself up. The air smelled of wood smoke and cooking. He was in a village. Small houses made of stone and wood. A well in the center. A drying rack with clothes. A few chickens pecking at the ground.
Jiang landed next to him. "You okay?"
"Fine."
She stood up and looked around. "This is the hunger kitchen? It looks like a village."
"I know."
She scanned the area. "Strange. Where are the others? I thought other teams would come in too."
"I don't know," Shen said. "Let's explore."
They started walking toward the houses. Before they took ten steps, people poured out from the southwest. A group of five or six. At the same time, another group appeared from the west. Four or five. Men and women. Some carried weapons. Some had nothing.
They looked at each other. No one spoke.
Shen scanned the crowd. Then he felt it. A gaze. Someone was staring at him. He turned his head.
A girl stood near a wooden cart. Maybe sixteen or seventeen. Short hair. Sharp eyes. A short sword hung from her belt.
Their eyes met. The girl's face lit up. She ran toward him.
"Are you Shen Yangui?" she asked.
Shen put his hand on his hook. "Who are you?"
"I'm Lin." She stopped a few feet away. "The Old Dawn told me about you. They said if I met you, I should stick with you."
"I don't need a follower."
"Not a follower. Cooperation." She straightened her back. "This is my first time in a door. They said you're strong. I won't slow you down."
Jiang looked her over. "How old are you?"
"Seventeen. I can fight."
Shen was quiet for a moment. "Fine. Stay close. But if you cause trouble, you're on your own."
Lin nodded. "Deal."
A man in a clean but torn robe stepped onto a stone platform in the center of the village. He rang a small bell. The crowd went quiet.
"Welcome to the Hunger Kitchen," the man said. "Every day at noon, a dish will appear on this platform. One of you must eat it. Eat the right dish, and you live. Eat the wrong dish, and you die. Refuse to eat, and everyone in this village dies. The first dish comes in ten minutes."
The crowd erupted. Some argued. Some tried to leave the village. But after a few steps, they hit an invisible wall. They couldn't get out.
Shen lowered his voice. "Don't eat anything red. We watch first."
Lin pulled a small bottle from her pocket. "I brought medicine. Emergency. If someone gets poisoned, this might buy time."
Jiang raised an eyebrow. "You came prepared."
"My uncle taught me."
Ten minutes passed. A large clay bowl appeared on the stone platform. Inside was red soup. Chunks of meat floated on the surface. The smell was sweet. Too sweet.
The crowd pressed forward. Some wanted to draw lots. Others refused. A few tried to run again.
Shen stared at the red soup. The dream. The warning. Don't eat red.
"Stay back," he told Jiang and Lin.
A big man stepped forward. He was tired of waiting. He grabbed a ladle, scooped up the soup, and drank.
Seconds later, he clutched his throat. His face turned purple. He fell to the ground. Twitched. Stopped moving.
The crowd screamed and backed away.
Lin whispered, "So red is bad."
The man on the platform spoke again. "The first dish has failed. There will be no more dishes today. You have tomorrow. Remember: two days without eating, everyone dies."
The crowd split into groups. Some blamed the dead man. Others argued about tomorrow's choice. A few started talking about fighting back.
Shen led Jiang and Lin to the edge of the village. They sat near a broken cart.
"What's the plan?" Lin asked.
"Survive," Shen said. "See what tomorrow's dish is."
"We need more information," Jiang said. "That man on the platform is part of the door. He won't help. But someone else might know something."
"I can ask around," Lin said. She started to stand.
Shen grabbed her arm. "Not alone. Tomorrow."
Lin hesitated, then sat back down.
Night fell. Torches lit the village. The groups stayed apart, watching each other.
Shen closed his eyes. His hand stayed on his hook.
Jiang whispered, "The hand in your dream… was it that man's hand?"
"No," Shen said. "Smaller. A child's."
Lin heard them. She didn't say anything. She just hugged her short sword tighter.
The man on the platform stood like a statue. Unmoving.
The children appeared again. They ran between the torches, singing a strange song. Their voices were too high. Too hollow.
The first night was long.