Of Mountains and Rivers 45

As Yuan Ping swung his arm, a half-foot-long flame danced on the blade of his knife, flickering and flying around with his vigorous movements. Although the vines were afraid of fire, they still surrounded him, eager to strike back once the flames went out.

Yuan Ping put down Da Shan and kept him protected within the range of his long knife. He reached out his arm towards Da Shan and said, “Brother, give me your hand!”

But it was too late.

The small amount of alcohol he had ignited burned too quickly, like a fleeting firework. Soon, only a wisp of blue smoke remained. The vines, driven back by him, immediately returned with a vengeance. The massive vines pushed away the knife in front of him, and the back of the knife hit Yuan Ping’s chest hard. He choked on a breath, retreating three or four steps, his chest bruised.

In his pain, Yuan Ping looked up and saw the vines rolling in front of him like a tidal wave. In an instant, they pierced through the chest of Da Shan, and blood and flesh flew in all directions.

Yuan Ping’s face felt cool, as if blood had splattered on it. He widened his eyes, but those murderous vines did not respond anymore.

However, Chu Huan had already followed the sound of the heartbeat and unconsciously walked quite far away.

When he finally noticed, he found that one of his feet was already submerged in the water. Chu Huan wasn’t sure if he had a fever, but despite standing in the icy river water, he felt like he was getting hotter and hotter. Since losing his hearing, he seemed to have lost his sense of direction amidst the oppressive vines.

Chu Huan’s eardrums were in pain, as if the constant thunderous heartbeat would burst them open.

He realized that he had reached the “blind spot” for the Deathbloom Flower. Here, close to their roots, even the thinnest vines were as thick as human legs. Their long, sharp ends extended to the distant bank, making it inconvenient for them to bend back to their own roots.

Chu Huan stood in the water and saw those vines futilely and crazily surging. He was almost in the blind spot of their attacks.

Deep within, the ever-beating sound of the heartbeat guided him safely to this place. Chu Huan couldn’t help but reach out and touch the small “walnut” on his chest. The walnut emitted a crimson glow, but strangely, it wasn’t glaring. Instead, it looked like a ball of fire shining through his fingers. Chu Huan couldn’t help but mutter, “Is this truly a sacred object?”

He cautiously waded through the water, heading towards the roots of the Deathbloom Flower, all the while figuring out how to destroy it. But the first thing that caught his eye wasn’t the ugly rhizomes of the Deathbloom submerged in the water; it was the shocking sight of numerous white bones.

The exposed bones outside the Deathbloom were just the tip of the iceberg. Here was the underground city of corpses—numerous bones of different species, all of different shapes and sizes, but now uniformly twisted into the same form by the vines. Chu Huan looked around and saw a large patch of white bones, all half the height of a person and thin as paper, hanging in a row. Their skulls were deformed and flattened, with black eye sockets, fractured jaws, and a gaping black hole in their mouths.

Crossing species, yet eerily similar.

The vines covered them together, swaying lazily on the water’s surface, resembling a line of clothes hanging from a rope.

The surface of the bones was covered with a faint phosphorescent glow, making it look like they had grown a circle of eerie green fur.

It was as if a group of green-furred monkeys were silently lurking in the darkness.

Green… monkeys?

Chu Huan shuddered violently. He didn’t know why this thought popped into his mind, but when the word “monkeys” flashed through his mind, he suddenly felt a strange sense of exhilaration, as if he had accidentally broken through some barrier.

Even Nan Shan had never seen real phantom monkeys. Chu Huan stared at the pile of white bones and suddenly had incredible speculation. If the phantom monkeys were neither living nor dead creatures, could it be possible that the phantom monkeys were not actually monkeys but these white bones that had been transformed to look like monkeys, symbiotically connected with the plants?

In that moment of hesitation, Chu Huan suddenly heard sounds nearby, resembling the laughter and playfulness of children or small animals. The sound was like ripples, coming from afar and getting closer, gradually filling his ears from all directions.

Chu Huan remained still, knowing that if his speculation was correct, he might be the person closest to the hallucinogenic substance. Everything he saw, heard, and felt could be entirely false.

Nan Shan had mentioned that the “Phantom Monkeys” couldn’t be smelled. Chu Huan pondered for a moment, and with some effort, he bent down and cut his pants into two pieces, with one half already soaked in water and the other half being dry fabric that was originally on the water’s surface.

He covered the wet part over his nose and used the dry part to conceal the outside, avoiding direct contact with the unknown substances in the river water. Then he closed his eyes, stood still, held his breath, and focused for a while until the laughter and noise of hallucinations gradually dissipated.

Afterward, Chu Huan re-examined the core of the Deathbloom Flower.

At this moment, perhaps to reassure himself, Chu Huan felt that his senses had finally cleared up a bit. The ever-present heartbeat sound had disappeared. He saw the massive roots of the plant anchored in the water like a ferocious water monster.

Holding his short knife tightly, Chu Huan slowly approached the group of white bones, facing the “green-furred monkeys.” He looked at the deep eye sockets of the bones, and for a brief moment, doubt crept into his mind—were these shattered bones truly the legendary Phantom Monkeys?

This unfounded doubt caused Chu Huan to frown. In a trance, he absentmindedly lowered the piece of cloth in his hand, and a strange aroma rushed into his nose—somewhat fishy but with a peculiar sweet fragrance, both sticky and alluring. He couldn’t resist taking a light sniff, and suddenly, his bones felt weak, as if he were lying with a lover under warm blankets. The faint sweetness carried a touch of delicate fishiness, leaving ample room for imagination.

Chu Huan snapped back to his senses and felt a faint aroma of osmanthus lingering inside the scent.

Firmly biting his tongue, he exerted enough force to cover his nose again, preventing any more of the fragrance from entering. It was not causing any physical agitation but was having a strong psychological impact. Chu Huan realized that if he continued like this, he might construct illusions based on his own desires. It was as if Nan Shan had merely spoken the words “Phantom Monkeys,” and based on a vague shadow, they had already projected the image of monkeys onto everything they saw.

As Chu Huan attacked the nearby white bones with his knife, the skeletal remains seemed to come to life, moving and twitching as if they had some form of consciousness. The bones were attached by countless thin threads, and when Chu Huan cut some of these threads, the skeleton lost balance and fell into the water, dissolving rapidly.

Realizing he couldn’t turn back now, Chu Huan continued to sweep through the bones, making the water turn increasingly dark green. Soon after, he heard someone wading through the water behind him. Turning around cautiously, he saw Nan Shan, also in tattered clothes with bloodied wounds from the thorny vines.

Chu Huan warned him not to come any closer, but Nan Shan ignored the caution and rushed toward him without hesitation. Nan Shan’s hair was tangled, and he paid no mind to the vines that caught on it, breaking them off as if he couldn’t feel the pain. He stumbled slightly, almost falling into the water, but Chu Huan quickly caught him and held him up, worried about his reckless behavior.

Feeling concerned, Chu Huan couldn’t hide his emotions and yelled at Nan Shan for not listening to him. However, Nan Shan remained silent and held onto Chu Huan without a word. Chu Huan’s heart was pounding, and he suddenly noticed a peculiar fragrance again, sweet and fishy, emanating from Nan Shan. He realized he had dropped the cloth that protected him from the aroma and started to feel uneasy.

Nan Shan then hugged Chu Huan tightly, and the fragrance became stronger. Chu Huan was both alarmed and mesmerized by the aroma mixed with the scent of osmanthus. His alertness kicked in, but before he could react, Nan Shan’s hands were around his neck. Nan Shan slightly stuck out his tongue and licked Chu Huan’s chest.

Startled, Chu Huan wanted to push him away, but when he looked into Nan Shan’s eyes, he was completely captivated, forgetting the situation and allowing his desires to take control. His limbs felt cold but coiled around Nan Shan like snakes, and he struggled to resist the temptation.

Just as the situation was getting out of hand, Chu Huan suddenly felt a sharp, burning pain in his chest, as if someone had pressed a red-hot iron against it.

Chu Huan staggered back several steps, feeling his internal organs churn. He turned his head and spat out a mouthful of blood, which dissolved into the water and turned black. His chest was initially hot, but then it turned extremely cold, sending a bone-chilling sensation through his body.

In horror, he realized that the “Nan Shan” he was holding was actually a deformed skeleton. The bones held a wilting flower that seemed to tempt him. Appalled by the realization, Chu Huan couldn’t believe he had been so easily deceived by the allure of the skeletal remains.

An adrenaline rush surged through him, and he proceeded to ruthlessly clear the area of the white bones. As he acted more assertively, the wilting flower became increasingly agitated. Determined to defend itself, the plant tried to engulf Chu Huan in its vines.

Knowing he couldn’t fall into the water, Chu Huan refused to let the vines drag him down like walking bones. He managed to wedge his knife into the roots of the wilting flower, causing it to bleed a sticky and oily substance.

Then, with the timely arrival of Yuan Ping, an arrow with Chu Huan’s reliable lighter attached hit the roots of the wilting flower. Chu Huan seized the opportunity, and the ignited oil-like resin quickly spread, engulfing the wilting flower in flames.

The wilting flower let out a deafening roar as Chu Huan found himself lifted high above the ground. The raging fire spread rapidly, consuming everything around it. But the roots couldn’t support Chu Huan’s weight, and he fell back down, still holding onto his knife tightly.

As he was falling, Chu Huan made a life-or-death decision. If he fell into the water, he would rather stab himself, but he didn’t want to become a “Phantom Monkey” either. However, before he could execute his plan, Nan Shan caught him once more.

This time, Nan Shan appeared even more disheveled and frantic. With a red gleam in his eyes, he held Chu Huan close and swiftly navigated through the burning vines and roaring roots. Unlike the previous touch of the skeletal remains, Nan Shan’s embrace felt warm, sturdy, and far from sticky or cold.

Chu Huan’s thoughts drifted as he lost consciousness in Nan Shan’s arms. The last thing he remembered was a faint mumble about peonies and death, but he couldn’t finish the phrase.

Amidst the roaring flames, he was left covered in blood and with a sense of impurity.