With that thought, Chen Youzai paddled a few circles along the lake’s edge. The water temperature felt normal, the depth manageable. Gritting his teeth, he struck out toward the center.
Halfway there, he saw clearly that the drowning figure was an older man—solidly built, no longer young. I’d better approach from behind, Chen Youzai reasoned. If he thrashes, we’ll both sink.
Having decided, he swam around and closed in from the rear. Reaching him, Chen Youzai seized a fistful of the man’s hair and dragged him toward shore.
Strangely, the man felt weightless. Too light—like driftwood rather than flesh.
Once ashore, Chen Youzai discovered that the man was in fact broad-shouldered and robust. He forced a sheepish laugh.
“Uh… Uncle, you got lost here too? I can’t find my way back either. If you want to thank me, why don’t we head out together?”
Without waiting for consent, he looped his arm tightly around the man’s, as though afraid he might vanish.
The man’s face remained utterly expressionless. Perhaps dusk was falling, for Chen Youzai had the unsettling sense that the entire figure was steeped in shadow.
He patted the man’s arm lightly—and froze.
Cold.
No warmth. Not the faintest trace.
Combined with that earlier weightlessness, a chill shot straight up his spine.
Could it be… could it be… a corpse? A wronged spirit?
With a shriek, Chen Youzai bolted like an arrow loosed from a bow, plunging into the forest. The memory of that wooden face and hollow body sent him sprinting wildly, reason abandoned, crashing through brush and bramble.
At last his legs gave out, and he collapsed.
When he managed to lift his head, two feet stood before him.
He jerked his gaze upward—met that same familiar face—and scrambled back to his feet, fleeing in the opposite direction.
His lungs burned. He leaned against a tree, gasping, scanning the woods. No sign of the man.
Slowly, he closed his eyes.
When he opened them—
Another pair of unfocused eyes stared directly into his.
His strength fled. He slumped to the ground.
It’s a dream, he told himself desperately. Every time I dream, if I stomp hard enough, I wake up.
Summoning what little strength remained, he stomped repeatedly.
And darkness swallowed him.
When Chen Youzai awoke again, the first thing he saw was that same inescapable face hovering above him.
He snapped his eyes shut.
Still dreaming. Fine. Let’s keep sleeping.
“I only wish to repay you…”
A heavy voice echoed near him.
Tentatively, he opened one eye.
The man now wore an expression—almost a sigh upon his lips.
Whatever, Chen Youzai thought. It’s just a dream. Can’t die in one.
He sprang to his feet—only to realize the “bed” he had risen from was a slab of stone.
“Shouldn’t I be able to fly?” he muttered, jumping hard.
He landed squarely back on the ground. No airy lightness. No drifting grace.
Disappointment flooded him.
“I have lain at the bottom of that lake for three years,” the man said slowly. “Only you were willing to save me. Therefore, I shall repay you.”
Chen Youzai waved grandly. “No need, no need. A small thing. Don’t mention it.”
Futile Devices Scans 
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