Of Mountains and Rivers - Chapter 60
Approaching the Fallen Land, an immediate wave of fear washed over them, much like animals encountering a natural predator. This fear was primal, instinctive—a survival mechanism compelling them to flee as they neared the Mountain Gate.
Even Luger's footsteps faltered before the imposing Mountain Gate.
Beyond the gate, a dark boundary roiled like thick clouds, resembling a greedy tongue attempting to breach the entrance but repelled by the radiant glow of the Sacred Spring.
Nanshan tapped Luger's shoulders, signaling him to step aside. With caution, he advanced, probing the surroundings with the burning Patriarch staff.
For years, the Patriarch's staff had held its reputation as the "heirloom of the generations." Unlike its peers, it resisted neglect and remained free from blemishes, seemingly possessing the ability to ward off evil and being indestructible by fire.
The flames on the staff acted as a wedge, cleaving a gap in the almost all-consuming darkness.
It appeared as an inconspicuous miracle, yet witnesses were undeniably shocked.
Chu Huan gazed at the fireball, thinking, "A storm begins with a single breeze."
The cold fire illuminated only a small area around the staff, revealing that within the Fallen Land, it wasn't just rocks and trees that remained. Other things were selectively concealed.
Only the area illuminated by the flames unveiled the obscured reality. The Mountain Gate was filled with the piled-up corpses of Gatekeepers. The blood emitted an eerie fluorescent glow under the staff's light.
Living monsters and animals maintained a posture of struggle and fear, frozen like bizarre statues.
Chu Huan glimpsed the Eye-Feasting Beast—a giant beetle with numerous eyes resembling scary human faces.
Nanshan suggested, "We should tie ourselves together with ropes. From now on, no one should leave my side."
Linked by ropes and protected by the Patriarch's staff, they cautiously ventured into the Fallen Land.
The surroundings darkened, illuminated only by the staff's light, as if stepping into a dimly lit and ominous museum where wax figures lacked any semblance of beauty—nothing but terrifying.
Yuan Ping, the last to step inside, turned around immersed in darkness, realizing that everything, including mountains, rivers, vegetation, and people, had vanished from sight.
This leg of the journey stirred turmoil in their hearts. Even the usually talkative Yuan Ping remained silent. They felt like small insects on an uncharted path, facing an uncertain and seemingly endless road with no knowledge of how far they had to go or their destination.
Chu Huan, who had experienced the Fallen Land before, touched the walnut on his chest, but this time, there were no hushed whispers around him. It felt silent as if it hadn't made a sound in ages.
There was no movement in their surroundings. Those bathed in the staff's radiance heard only echoes of their footsteps as if inhabiting a world of solitude.
They walked for what felt like an indefinite distance until Yuan Ping broke the silence with a whistle, startling the others. His tune, whimsical yet mismatched with the gloomy ambiance, injected a sense of childlike horror.
Chu Huan nudged him, saying, “Can you please keep quiet?”
Yuan Ping protested, “I’m trying to lighten the mood.”
Chu Huan replied, “You're trying to create the soundtrack for a horror film. This place is… almost idealistic.”
Nanshan inquired, “What do you mean by ‘idealistic’?”
Chu Huan explained, “I'm no philosopher, but I've read some popular science stuff. ‘Materialism’ believes something exists because it is inherently there, while ‘idealism’ believes something only exists if you think it does.” Chu Huan attempted to extend his hand beyond the aura of the staff, “This place gives me an idealistic feeling. I suspect these things exist because we see them. If we can't see them, they might just…”
Nanshan grabbed his wrist, pulling it back forcefully, “What are you doing?!”
Chu Huan hesitated, “Just trying to touch something, but I think I'd touch emptiness.”
Nanshan sternly asked, “Do you want to lose your hand?”
Chu Huan remained silent, feeling the weight of being scolded.
After a while, Chu Huan cautiously nudged Nanshan’s hand, “Leader, may I discuss something with you?”
Nanshan glanced at him, and Chu Huan bent down to pick up a rock, giving Nanshan a sycophantic smile.
The group stopped, curious about his intentions. Chu Huan held the rock, then threw it back in the direction they had come.
They all knew the path they had traversed moments ago was infested with creatures. Even though the creatures had seemingly become “invisible” after the light moved away, they should still be there in their original place.
In other words, the thrown rock should have encountered unseen obstacles.
However, the rock flew straight without hindrances, creating a smooth parabolic arc until it hit the ground.
In areas where the light couldn’t reach, where they couldn’t see, the place originally filled with piles of creatures was, in essence, “nonexistent.”
The chilling experiment sent shivers down Chu Huan's spine, and beside him, Yuan Ping muttered, “This is not scientific…”
Turning to Nanshan, Chu Huan inquired, “Leader, in the face of this unscientific environment, what’s our next step? Where do we go? Do you have any other instructions?”
Nanshan, unfazed by superficial scientific notions, appeared momentarily perplexed but quickly regained composure, stating, “We’re going to find the Sacred Text.”
No one had seen the Sacred Text, but legend spoke of its immense power, foretelling events for the past five hundred years. It was often described as a manual for the Fallen Land or a key to unraveling it all.
Nanshan’s direction was clear, but the issue was that the Sacred Text didn’t exist in any worldly library. It was a legend, much like the Fallen Land, making legends unreliable.
The most challenging aspect for the group wasn't the boundless darkness but the need to collect legends from different sources and piece together an endless path amidst folklore.
Chu Huan, mentally prepared, calmly nodded, “So, any leads on where this so-called Sacred Text might be?”
This time, Yuan Ping chimed in.
“The most widely circulated theory is ‘at the end of the world’,” Yuan Ping began, “Personally, I find this theory highly irresponsible because, as we all know, the Earth is round…”
Not willing to entertain such nonsense, Chu Huan interrupted, “Let me remind you, you might not be an Earthling anymore. Are there any more valuable legends?”
Luger, silent until now, spoke up, “I have a recollection.”
As the Gatekeepers’ Patriarch, Luger's memories were a complex mix handed down through generations. He reached out to touch the lethargic snake Little Green coiled on his shoulder, staring at the Patriarch’s staff of the Mountain Keeper. Squinting his eyes, he attempted to recall, a sense of age emanating from his gaze.
“I remember it like this,” after a pause, Luger softly sang a verse, “At the end of the divine mountain, at the pinnacle of the sacred water, at the heart of the colossal stone.”
The lyrics sounded peculiar. “Colossal stone” could be understood, but from which world did the odd rhetoric “end of the mountain” and “pinnacle of the water” come?
Yuan Ping, in his candid manner, said, “Patriarch, maybe the passage of time has caused you to remember it incorrectly? Shouldn’t it be the ‘end of water’ and ‘pinnacle of the mountain’?”
Yuan Ping might have been the first person in the history of creation to insinuate that the venerable Patriarch of the Gatekeepers might be getting forgetful, but Luger had raised him like a son, so he let it slide.
“That’s indeed the case,” Luger replied candidly. “It’s precisely because it sounded off that I’ve remembered it for so many years. Otherwise, with the passage of time, I would have long forgotten about it.”
They all fell into a simultaneous silence, sensing the impracticality of this line of thought.
Chu Huan pressed his fingers against the frames of his glasses. At this moment, this high-tech gadget’s functionality had become limited, mainly serving basic functions like timekeeping and long-range vision. It had become nothing more than an electronic watch.
The time indicated that they had been traversing the Fallen Land for nearly ten hours. Yet, Chu Huan noticed he neither felt thirsty nor hungry. His metabolism seemed to have come to a halt, but his body displayed no signs of fatigue, as if he had become a human perpetual motion machine.
How could a person possibly remain active without eating or drinking?
If someone were to venture into the Fallen Land after them, wielding a similar external artifact like the Patriarch’s staff of the Mountain Keeper, what would they think upon seeing them? Would they perceive them as statues, just as they perceived the Eye-Feasting Beasts?
“Let’s not dwell on this,” Nanshan suddenly interjected. “We’re heading to the Sunken Star Island.”
As soon as the words “Sunken Star Island” left his mouth, Chu Huan’s ears suddenly itched. He involuntarily turned his head, as if someone had whispered something in his ear, a mixture of laughter and a sigh.
Chu Huan’s hand clenched the small walnut hanging from his chest, once again feeling its faint warmth.
“The Sunken Star Island was once a forbidden place many years ago,” Nanshan explained as they walked. “It is said that back then, our region was teeming with people, and any merchandise from the Sunken Star Island, even a small pebble, could fetch a high price. Rumor has it that the route to the island was riddled with hidden reefs or something of the sort, making it perilous and shrouded in mystery.”
“Even earlier, there were many bored individuals who fancied themselves as adventurers and tried to explore the Sunken Star Island, but none ever returned,” Luger chimed in, “Gradually, no one dared to venture there anymore. Sunken Star Island became increasingly mysterious and took on an aura of dread.”
Luger paused for a moment, deep in thought, and continued, “However, you’ve just reminded me; I recall that when the legends of the Fallen Land first started making waves, rumors were suggesting that it might be connected to the Sunken Star Island.”
The group’s journey was exceptionally urgent. Initially, they had agreed to take turns keeping watch every night, with the watcher being responsible for ensuring that the Patriarch’s staff remained lit. However, they soon discovered that within the Fallen Land, all fatigue was psychological. If Chu Huan didn’t report the time, they wouldn’t even feel tired or gauge how far they had traveled.
Time had become somewhat unnecessary.
Each member of the group was well-versed in wilderness survival, and distinguishing directions wasn’t a challenge even in the absence of the sun.
They passed by the Mountain Keeper’s stone tablets, and Nanshan’s last recorded patrol seemed like it had been inscribed only yesterday. After passing the stone tablets, they continued to wander aimlessly for nearly two months until they encountered people for the first time in this desolate place.
The encounter with those individuals wasn’t at all pleasant. At that moment, while Chu Huan endured Yuan Ping’s ear-piercing whistling, he suddenly heard a faint noise.
In this instance, the hallucination in his ears was remarkably clear, almost as if it were real. It was the voice of a woman, her speech carrying a slight, youthful, and somewhat sharp timbre. She called out a person’s name.
Chu Huan couldn’t help but stop in his tracks, and in a low voice, he repeated the name. It was as if he was involuntarily influenced by the voice’s owner, and when he called out that name, his tone was filled with deep affection.
Yuan Ping halted and rubbed his cheek. He then asked Nanshan, “Is this your nickname?”
Chu Huan raised a finger to his lips and began searching around. The four of them were bound together, so if one person moved, the others had to follow suit.
Yuan Ping said, “What are you looking for… Ah!”
He suddenly stepped on something beneath his foot. Yuan Ping bent down to take a look, and his expression turned grim. He quickly took a step back, bumping into Luger. The unenthusiastic Little Green dodged slightly and then approached him, licking him listlessly. Yuan Ping was now in even worse shape, letting out a high-pitched scream.
The light from the staff dispersed the darkness, allowing the group to see clearly. What Yuan Ping had stepped on was a young girl, who was crawling on the ground with a frightened and despairing expression. With one hand on the ground, her other hand reached out, palm open as if pushing something.
Her body was surprisingly soft, carrying the warmth characteristic of a living person.
In the midst of the darkness filled with countless specimen-like flora and fauna, the sudden appearance of a warm-blooded human being had a different psychological impact.
Chu Huan circled around her and said, “Nanshan, don’t you think she resembles those old soldiers in your cave?”
He had never seen anyone from this world before as he only heard stories from the Mountain Keepers and Gatekeepers. It had never felt real to him until he saw this young girl with his own eyes. Chu Huan suddenly realized something peculiarly illogical.
Assuming that, for some reason, certain areas became uninhabitable for humans, the most natural reaction for survivors would be collective migration to places that they had yet to fall. Following this logic, shouldn’t the divine mountain of the Mountain Keepers be crowded with refugees from all over the world?
Even monsters knew to approach the Mountain Gate. Why didn’t humans?
How was it possible that there were only the Mountain Keepers and Gatekeepers from the beginning to the end?