The Burning God (The Poppy War #3) - R.F. Kuang Page 0,198

into the cave. The darkness beyond seemed to swallow it whole. Rin traced her fingers along the ridges in the wall for something to guide her, then yanked her hand back when she realized what they were. Her stomach churned.

The walls were lined with faces—beautiful, symmetrical faces of every size and shape; of grown men and little girls; faces without hair, without eyes, and without expression. Rot had not touched the pristine, bloodless skin. These heads hung in a space carved outside of time, now and forever.

Rin shuddered.

The ocean likes to keep its treasures. The ocean doesn’t destroy. The ocean collects.

Once upon a time, Nezha had walked hand-in-hand with his little brother toward this grotto. He’d ignored the countless warnings because Mingzha had begged so hard, and because Nezha could refuse Mingzha nothing. He hadn’t known the danger, and no one had stopped him. Of course no one had stopped him—because Vaisra had let him go, had deliberately sent him in, because he’d known that one day, he’d need the monster that Nezha would become.

Rin realized now why the grotto felt so familiar. This wasn’t like Mount Tianshan at all. The Heavenly Temple was a place of lightness, clarity, and air. This place bore a heavier history. This place was tainted with a mortal stain, was suffused with pain and sorrow, was a testament to what happened when mortals dared to wrestle with the gods.

She’d felt divinity like this only once before, an eternity ago, on the worst day of her life.

Right then, she could have been standing in the temple on Speer.

“General!”

A burst of shouts echoed from the cave mouth. Rin spun around. Her soldiers pointed across the river, where a small, sleek sampan flew over the water toward them. That speed couldn’t be achieved with sails or paddle wheels.

Nezha was on that boat.

“Now,” Rin ordered Dulin.

He knelt and pressed his hands against the grotto floor. Vibrations rolled under Rin’s feet, echoing down the cave’s unfathomable depths. Dust and water streamed from the cave roof, coating them all in dirt.

But the rumbling did not crescendo to an earth-shattering quake. The grotto’s interior did not collapse.

“What are you doing?” Rin hissed. “Bury that thing.”

A vein protruded from Dulin’s temple. “I can’t.”

The sampan was already halfway across the river; it’d reach them in seconds. Conventional means, then. Rin nodded to her troops.

“Fire.”

They obliged, hefting their rocket lances. They aimed; she sent a flame snaking out to light the fuses. Eight lances tipped with powerful explosives flew screeching into the cave mouth. She couldn’t see how far they went, but a moment later, she heard a muffled boom and, beneath that, a low, rumbling groan that sounded almost human.

Then the river surged, and Nezha was upon them.

Rin crouched, bracing for his opening strike. It didn’t come.

Nezha stepped off the side of the sampan, moving as casually as if he’d just arrived for teatime. He’d come alone. His feet didn’t sink when they touched the water, but trod flatly over the river’s surface as if it were marble.

He didn’t pull a shield around him as he drew closer. He didn’t need to. He was confident here in his domain, protected by endless water on all sides. He could ward off any attack she might attempt without trying.

She knew very well she remained standing only because he was curious.

“Hello, Rin,” he said. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

“Why don’t you ask yourself?” She nodded toward Arlong. “City’s burning.”

“I noticed. So why aren’t you there?”

“Thought they could manage without me.”

Her eyes flitted toward Pipaji, who stood hunched inconspicuously behind Dulin. Her eyes were closed, lips moving silently as she sank into a trance. A small black cloud formed around her ankles, gave a tentative pulse, then began to stretch toward Nezha like tendrils of smoke unfurling underwater.

Good girl. Rin just needed to buy her several seconds of time.

“Tell me,” Nezha said. “What did you think you’d do, once you found the grotto?”

“I’d think of something,” Rin said. “I always do.”

Nezha hadn’t even glanced at Pipaji. His eyes were locked on Rin’s. He approached slowly, fingers stroking the hilt of his sword. He’s gloating, Rin realized. He thought he’d blown her plan wide open. He thought he’d won.

He shouldn’t be so careless.

The inky tendrils reached the water under Nezha’s feet.

Rin sucked in a sharp breath.

Nezha flinched and stumbled backward. The poison followed him, racing up his legs and under his clothes. Black lines emerged from beneath his collars and sleeves. Where they touched his golden