The plunge was a chaotic tumble through absolute blackness. Air screamed past Chenlu’s ears, thick with the scent of damp earth and stale metal. Bao’s body was a dead weight against hers, the small box of carp remains still clutched tight in her free hand. Just as the darkness threatened to consume her senses entirely, they struck something yielding, yet agonizingly firm, with a sickening thud. The impact stole her breath, sending a sharp pain through her ribs, followed by a chorus of yelps and a splash that soaked them both. She landed awkwardly, waist-deep in frigid, murky water, her mouth spitting out a gritty mouthful of silt. Her vision, initially a blurry kaleidoscope of dark shapes, slowly resolved. They were in a vast, subterranean chamber, the air heavy with the tang of rust and ancient leather. Dim, flickering light filtered in from high, ornate grilles near the ceiling, casting long, distorted shadows across the submerged floor. This was the villa’s arsenal, rumored among kitchen girls to house iron for long-dead rebellions. It was opulent, despite the encroaching flood. Gleaming racks of spear-heads and sheathed sabers stood upright, their lower halves swallowed by the black tide. Elaborate breastplates and helmets, once displayed on mannequins, now bobbed listlessly like drowned statues. Yet, the opulence was secondary to the shrieking. “My silks! My exquisite, embroidered silks! You’ve ruined them! Soaked! Crushed! My profits for the entire year!” Chenlu scrambled upright, the water reaching her waist. At her feet, half-buried beneath a shattered display of lacquered shields, lay a corpulent man, his elaborate tunic of iridescent cloud-silk now a sodden, dark mass clinging to his substantial frame. He flailed like a beached fish, pushing water away with plump hands, his face a mask of terror and indignation. This was Merchant Jianli, who had sold the family their wedding brocades, now thrashing amid his ruined bolts. Bao, sputtering, shoved himself off the man with a grunt. “Ruined? You’re lucky we didn’t crack your skull, old man! We just fell through a ceiling!” “A ceiling you broke, no doubt!” the merchant shrieked, clawing at a bolt of crimson silk that unspooled into the murky surge, its silver needlework bleeding into sludge. “A thousand pieces of silver, this roll alone! You think silver grows on trees?” “I’ve seen more silver than you could ever dream of,” Bao retorted, his own temper flaring as he remembered his sister. “And it couldn’t save a single soul from these Xhafen beasts.” He gestured wildly toward the massive, iron-banded doors at the far end of the arsenal, which shuddered under rhythmic impacts. *Thud. Thump. THUD.* The sounds echoed, deep and resonant, of something large and scaled trying to force its way in. Chenlu ignored their bickering, her gaze sweeping the chamber. The Patriarch’s ledger, held high and sodden only at the edges, documented a sluice channel built beneath the flagstones. Her eyes skimmed past flooded spear racks and floating supply crates, hunting for an iron wheel or sluice gate. Her attention landed on a complex array of brass valves mounted on a stone column, half-submerged in the rising water. It looked like a giant, metallic spider, its multiple limbs ending in wheels and levers, all connected by thick, corroded pipes that disappeared into the wall. This had to be it. The Xhafen clan had always delighted in overly complicated mechanisms, designed to impress rather than function efficiently. “Look, you insolent gutter rat,” the fat trader wailed, clutching a drenched yard of silk. “This was supposed to be for the Spring Festival robes of Governor Ziran! Now it’s fit only for rags!” “Rags you’ll be wearing if those things get through that door,” Bao shot back, kicking at a floating cask that bobbed past him. “Maybe they’ll appreciate your fancy silk as a chew toy.” Chenlu waded towards the brass valve system, the water impeding her progress. The stench of stagnant water was stronger here, mixed with the faint, metallic scent of iron. She ran her palm over the cold, rough brass, feeling the intricate patterns of corrosion. The ledger had mentioned a ‘confluence flow regulation system’ – a grand name for what was essentially a series of gates controlling the water from the mountain springs. One of them, she hoped, discharged directly into the sacred mountain reservoir. The valves were stiff, crusted with years of disuse and decay. She tested the first wheel, gritting her teeth as she tried to turn it. It refused to budge. The carp box, still pulsing faintly, bumped against her hip. The rhythmic thuds against the main doors intensified, accompanied by wet snarls that vibrated in the stone. “Can you two stop squabbling for a moment?” Chenlu snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. She usually deferred to older men, but the rising dread and the urgent need to act overrode her ingrained timidity. “We need to open this.” Bao, momentarily silenced by her tone, glanced at the battering doors, then at the complex mechanism. “What is it?” “A water gate,” Chenlu said, straining against another valve. “It controls the flow. Somewhere, one of these opens the sluice to the carp pool.” She pointed to a chisel mark above one of the wider wheels—a cresting wave cut above three concentric circles, the ancient mark of the mountain shrine. “Shrine channels?” Jianli scoffed, abandoning his ruined silks to wade closer, his bulk displacing the black runoff. “You think a few turns of a wheel will save us? These are the gods’ doing! No mortal device can—” He stumbled on a loose piece of armor, his foot slipping. With a loud splash and a yelp, he lurched forward, his heavy body swinging wide. His elbow struck a prominent, rusted lever on the panel with a dull *thunk*. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a low, grinding rumble began deep within the wall. The dark pool began to churn, dragging silt into an abrupt, spiraling vortex. A section of the stone wall beside the valves slid inward, revealing a dark, churning conduit that vomited a frigid wall of water into the chamber. The sound was deafening, a roaring maw of water. “You idiot!” Bao yelled over the din, scrambling to keep his footing. “You opened it!” Jianli stumbled back, his mouth slack. “I—I only—” The rip pulled hard at his knees, yanking his bulky frame off balance. He lost his balance completely, thrashing wildly. His cries were cut short as the torrent consumed him, dragging him, a flailing, dark shape, into the newly opened aqueduct. He vanished into the roaring blackness, his last panicked shout swallowed by the water. Chenlu stared at the black gap where the merchant had vanished. The rush of water was violent, yet it was their only exit. The hammering against the hall doors reached a crescendo, the hinges screeching as the cedar frame bowed inward. They were giving way. Just as Chenlu grabbed Bao’s sleeve, bracing for the pull of the water, a silhouette drifted through the splintering entryway. Elder Zongwu, his robes pristine despite the chaos, floated effortlessly across the water, his gaze fixed directly on them, a predatory smile slowly spreading across his lips.

Fools in the Armory