There was no daylight in the ravine.
As they went deeper, the stone walls on either side rose higher, squeezing the sky into a thin slit. White vapor drifted up from the water, layer upon layer, cutting their vision into fragments. They could see the ground beneath their feet, but nothing ten yards away.
The stream grew hotter, bubbling as it welled out of cracks in the rock. The soaked stones were slippery; they had to test each one with a toe before stepping onto it.
Chen Chong walked ahead, his saber still sheathed. With his left hand against the stone wall, he edged inward step by step. Yu Che followed, copying him.
After roughly four hours, a narrow opening appeared ahead.
The two walls closed inward, leaving a channel barely wide enough for one person. Water squeezed through the gap with a roaring rush.
Chen Chong stopped.
The water was too loud. Footsteps, breathing, even the sound of a blade being drawn would all be swallowed by it.
He was just about to speak.
Before the words left his mouth, three arrows shot out of the white vapor.
They skimmed the water, rising from below toward their calves and knees.
Chen Chong raised his saber and swept its sheath sideways. All three arrows snapped against the stone wall.
Almost simultaneously, men emerged from cracks on either side of the opening.
Nine in all.
Two came from the left, two from the right, and five squeezed through the gap, blocking the way ahead. Footsteps sounded behind them too. Someone had cut off their retreat.
The man in front was around forty, wearing a coarse red tunic with a flame embroidered on the chest. The other eight wore the same clothing, though their embroidery was paler.
The Flame Martial Sect.
They