Chapter 112: Run For Your Life!

The tunnels of the Dragon Peaks were not, Yòu Lín discovered, nearly as fun when you were running for your life.

Crystals that had sparkled invitingly now loomed like teeth. Passages that had opened easily now seemed to twist and turn, leading them in circles. The light that had been warm and golden was now harsh and unforgiving, casting shadows that looked like claws.

“Is she following us?” Ruì Xuě gasped. His legs were shorter than Yòu Lín’s. He was already flagging.

Yòu Lín looked back.

The tunnel behind them was empty. Glimmer had fallen behind somewhere in the chaos, her green scales lost in the maze of crystal and shadow.

But he could still hear her.

Not Glimmer. The other one. Zhàn Yù. Her footsteps echoed off the walls, slow and absolutely terrifying. She wasn’t running. She didn’t need to. She knew these tunnels. She knew where they led. She was playing with them.

“Faster,” Yòu Lín said. “We have to go faster.”

“I can’t—” Ruì Xuě stumbled. His foot caught on a crystal root and he went down, his knees hitting the stone with a sound that made Yòu Lín’s stomach lurch.

“Ruì Xuě!”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. Just—just go. I’ll catch up.”

“I’m not leaving you!”

“You have to—”

“I’M NOT LEAVING YOU!”

Yòu Lín grabbed his brother’s arm and hauled him up. Ruì Xuě’s knee was bleeding, a bright smear of red against the pale stone. He was shaking. They were both shaking.

The footsteps got closer.

“You can’t run forever, little pests.” Zhàn Yù’s voice drifted down the tunnel, smooth and cold. “These are my tunnels. My territory. My home. And you—” Her shadow appeared at the far end of the passage, long and thin and hungry. “—are trespassing.”

Yòu Lín looked at Ruì Xuě. Ruì Xuě looked at Yòu Lín.

They ran again.

They burst out of the tunnels into a cavern that was, thankfully, not empty.

Cāng Jì was there.

The golden dragon was sprawled across a stone bench, his robes immaculate, his hair arranged, his expression the particular blend of boredom and irritation that he wore when he was pretending not to wait for something. A plate of half-eaten pastries sat beside him. A cup of cooling tea steamed gently at his elbow.

He looked up.

He saw two small, terrified cubs, one bleeding, both shaking, burst out of the tunnel.

His face went through several expressions very quickly. Confusion. Alarm. Then he realized.

“Oh no,” Cāng Jì said.

Behind them, the tunnel lit up with lightning light.

Zhàn Yù emerged.

Her scales crackled with electricity. The crystals around her hummed with it.

“Lowlander pests,” she said. “In my territory. On my rocks. Speaking to me of their cursed mother.”

Cāng Jì immediately stood between the cubs and the woman, his scales flaring.

“Zhàn Yù,” he said, and his voice was not the dramatic, huffy voice he used when he was complaining about monkeys or demanding soup.

“You will not touch these cubs.”

Zhàn Yù stopped.

She looked at Cāng Jì. At his scales, flared in threat. At his stance, balanced for a fight. At his face, which held an expression she had never seen on him before.

“You defend them,” she said. “Lowlander pests. The get of that—”

“They are my family,” Cāng Jì said. “They are the Burning Sky’s grandchildren. They are guests of the First Generation. And you—” His voice dropped. “You will not touch them.”

They stared at each other.

The crystals hummed. The air crackled. Yòu Lín held Ruì Xuě’s hand so tight his claws ached.

Just then, a small, green shape dropped from the ceiling.

Glimmer landed between her mother and the cubs with her wings were spread. Her tail was lashing. Her scales, which had been dull gray with fear, were flaring back to green, bright and fierce and unafraid.

“You’re mean,” she said to her mother. “You’re so mean. They’re my friends. They’re the best friends I’ve ever had. And you—you almost—”

Her voice cracked. Her wings drooped. But she didn’t move.

Zhàn Yù looked at her daughter.

For a long moment, no one moved.

Then Zhàn Yù’s hand came up. Yòu Lín tensed. Cāng Jì shifted. Glimmer flinched.

And Zhàn Yù’s hand landed on her daughter’s head.

Not a slap. Not a blow. A touch. Almost gentle.

“You,” she said, and her voice was not cold anymore. It was tired. It was something that might have been sad, if it had been allowed to be. “You are too soft. Like your father was.”

Glimmer stared up at her. “You said you didn’t remember Father.”

“I lied.”

The words fell into the silence like stones.

Zhàn Yù looked at the cubs. At Cāng Jì. At her daughter, who was crying now, silent tears tracking down her green scales.

She turned and walked away.

The tunnel swallowed her. The light faded. The crystals stopped humming.

Yòu Lín stood in the sudden quiet, Ruì Xuě’s hand still clutched in his, his heart still pounding, his legs still shaking.

“Did that,” he said carefully, “just happen?”

“It just happened,” Cāng Jì said faintly.

“Should we tell Mama?”

Cāng Jì looked at the cubs for a long moment. Did he want to risk the wrath of Bai Yue? Absolutely ot.

“No,” he said finally. “It’ll be our little secret. You’re lucky I was here!”

Cāng Jì’s voice rose with each word.

“What were you THINKING?” Cāng Jì demanded, rounding on them. “The tunnels? Alone? Without an adult? Without a DRAGON? Do you have any idea how DANGEROUS those tunnels are? Do you have any idea how many dragons would have eaten you before you could say ’help’? Do you have any idea—”

“We were with Glimmer,” Yòu Lín offered weakly.

“Glimmer is a BABY. She’s younger than you! She doesn’t know the dangerous tunnels from the safe tunnels! She doesn’t know which dragons are friendly and which dragons will—will—” He threw his hands up. “Will do what Zhàn Yù almost did!”

Ruì Xuě, who had been very quiet since they stopped running, made a small sound. His knee was still bleeding. His lip was trembling.

Cāng Jì stopped yelling.

He looked at the snow leopard cub’s face. At the tear tracks drying on his fur. At the way he was leaning against his brother, like his legs weren’t quite working.

His expression shifted.

“The both of you,” he said, and his voice was quieter now. Sharper. But not angry. “You could have been hurt. You could have been—” He stopped. Swallowed. “Your mother would have killed me. She would have killed me and then she would have found a way to kill me again. In a different way. A worse way. She’s very creative when she’s angry.”

Yòu Lín thought about Mama’s face when she was angry. The way her eyes went very calm and her voice went very soft and everyone around her started backing away very quickly.

“She would have been sad first,” Yòu Lín said quietly. “Before she got angry.”

Cāng Jì sighed.

“Come here,” he said.

He knelt down, his perfect robes brushing the crystal floor, his golden hair falling forward, and took Ruì Xuě’s leg very gently in his hands. His fingers glowed faintly, a soft gold light that made the cub wince at first and then relax as the warmth seeped into his skin.

“What are you doing?” Ruì Xuě whispered.

“Dragon magic,” Cāng Jì said, not looking up. “It’s very advanced. Very rare. Very difficult. You should be grateful.”

Yòu Lín watched the light spread over his brother’s knee. Watched the bleeding stop. Watched the cut close, leaving behind nothing but a faint pink line that faded even as he watched.

“That’s amazing,” he breathed.

“It’s adequate,” Cāng Jì said, but his ears had gone pink. “Now. Both of you. Look at me.”

They looked.

“I am going to tell you something,” Cāng Jì said, “and you are going to listen. The tunnels are not safe. Zhàn Yù is not the only dragon who doesn’t like lowlanders. And Glimmer—” He paused. “Glimmer is a child. She doesn’t know the rules yet. She doesn’t know which dragons are dangerous and which are just sad. You cannot follow her into places you don’t understand.”

“We just wanted to see the bouncy rocks,” Yòu Lín mumbled.

“I know.” Cāng Jì’s voice softened. “And the bouncy rocks are wonderful. I used to play on them when I was small. But you need to be safe. You need to be—” He stopped. Looked at their faces. At the way Ruì Xuě was still leaning against his brother, the way Yòu Lín’s tail was still tucked between his legs.

He sighed.

“Come on,” he said.

“Where?”

Cāng Jì stood. He brushed off his robes. He arranged his hair. He looked at the cubs with an expression that was trying very hard to be stern and failing completely.

“I’m taking you flying.”

Yòu Lín’s ears shot up. “Flying?”

“Flying,” Cāng Jì confirmed. “Real flying. Not the slow, careful flying we did when your mother was pregnant. Not the flying where we have to be careful of the baby. Real flying. Fast flying. The kind that makes your stomach drop out and your ears pop and your fur go flat against your head.”

Ruì Xuě’s eyes went very wide. “Really?”

“Really.”

He stepped back. Shimmered.

The golden light that filled the cavern was blinding, warm, familiar. Yòu Lín shielded his eyes and watched as Cāng Jì’s human form folded and shifted and became something else.

The golden dragon lowered his head to the cubs.

“Well?” His voice echoed in their minds, warm and amused. “Are you coming, or do you plan to stand there gaping all day?”

Yòu Lín grabbed Ruì Xuě’s paw. “COME ON!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep