Of Mountains and Rivers 62

“Wait, where's that girl from earlier?”

“Girl? She's gone. I told her to leave that cave.”

“What do you mean by ‘leave that cave’? Can you speak plainly?”

Chu Huan sighed, “It's just a feeling, hard to explain.”

Yuan Ping hopped around him, lamenting, “Can you handle this? Patriarch, what kind of savior have you brought us? Can't we find someone more reliable?”

They hurriedly fled without a chance to glance back and see what was happening behind them.

After leaving, the shadows continued attempts to encircle the girl, resembling a statue. Yet, they failed repeatedly. She maintained her original posture; not even a strand of her hair moved. Suddenly, a slender beam of light flowed from the palms of her hands, initially just the length of a fingernail, slowly growing like a sprouting bean sprout submerged in water, standing independently in this world.

Chu Huan and his companions ran for what felt like an immeasurable distance. Eventually, Chu Huan became numb to the concepts of time and distance.

Encountering scattered individuals on their way, trapped in extreme fear like the young girl, they had been running. Terrifying sounds of horns rang in Chu Huan’s ears, wondering if these people had gone mad.

When Chu Huan attempted to reestablish contact with them, inexplicably, he couldn’t. Forced to run for his life, he passed by these people.

“Will we be chased all the way to Sunken Star Island?” Chu Huan wondered, feeling despair. Considering getting lost and obstacles, it might take a year or more. He suspected they might end up like the flat people, poisoned by Wangsi Flower and running until they broke their legs.

Chu Huan, usually the hunter, now inexperienced as the pursued, faced an impervious, elusive foe. Empty-handed with his long knife, frustration was palpable.

“This endless running feels like Forrest Gump 1, 2, 3, 4!” Chu Huan remarked.

Nanshan, harboring grievances, remained silent.

Luger asked, “Who is Forrest Gump?”

Yuan Ping loudly replied, “A fool!”

Chu Huan stayed silent, a profound sense of sorrow lingering.

This grim situation persisted until they crossed a river.

The river itself was unremarkable, like countless others in the Fallen Land—devoid of vitality, motionless, and lifeless. Yet, when Chu Huan glanced at it, his heart skipped a beat.

His inexplicable sixth sense came into play, a blessing or a curse, prompting him to turn around on a whim.

Chu Huan saw the shadow that relentlessly pursued him unable to cross the river for some unknown reason. It churned restlessly on the narrow opposite bank, like two serpents hissing with frustration.

Little Green, the venomous snake on Luger’s shoulder, seemed to find a worthy adversary. Raising its head high, it made a threatening gesture, knowing this was not the place to show off. It postured and hissed, tail tightly wrapped around Luger’s body, without making any actual aggressive moves.

Finally, the group could catch their breath—though not physically tired, their cardiovascular system struggled.

Chu Huan almost wanted to sit down, but noticing Yuan Ping had already done so, he forced himself to maintain an upright posture. He staggered over to Nanshan and asked, trying to find a topic, “Leader, do you think it's afraid of water or something on our side?”

Nanshan’s face remained stern as he chose his words carefully, “It’s not the water.”

Chu Huan moved closer, ignoring the two bystanders behind him. He casually put his arm around Nanshan’s shoulders, asking with feigned innocence, “What’s wrong? Although that girl was like a statue, she's now glowing. Despite setbacks, our efforts on this side have been overall successful. Don’t you think so?”

Nanshan’s jaw tightened. He apparently didn’t share the sentiment.

He endured for a moment, lacking deep self-restraint. He couldn’t help but ask, “Do you always talk to girls like that?”

Chu Huan, “…”.

This “married man” remained silent, pondering whether this was a “matter of principle” or a “trivial matter”. Before he could conclude, his “good friend” Yuan Ping answered first. “That’s right, Patriarch Nanshan, it’s the same on the other side of the river. Otherwise, how did he get the nickname ‘Peacock?”

Chu Huan, “…”

Chu Huan gave Yuan Ping a deep, calculating look, wondering when would be the right time to kill and eat this man.

“Well… this, this is actually…” Chu Huan was wracking his brains for an explanation when his gaze fell upon the Patriarch’s staff. His eyes narrowed, and he asked, “Wait a minute, Nanshan, does your Patriarch’s staff shrink? Why is it shorter by a section?”

At the start of his statement, he aimed for a flippant tone, but as he delved into the second half, his expression abruptly shifted to seriousness, leaving everyone bewildered.

Chu Huan had experienced the "shortening of the staff" before, but the previous instance was less noticeable. He had dismissed it as a trick of his eyes. This time, however, the staff had significantly shortened by about five centimeters, akin to a pair of high heels. Even the less observant would easily spot the change.

Yet, hadn't this staff been passed down from ancient times? Hadn't it burned for eighteen hundred years? How could it shorten?

Upon hearing this, Nanshan promptly reached out to measure it, ignoring the mildly unpleasant vinegar odor, and commented, "It's half a finger’s length shorter."

Luger sighed, "I fear it will keep shortening as it burns."

Was there news more shocking than discovering a "protective umbrella in a crisis is actually consumable"?

Chu Huan inquired, "Why… why is that?"

"In the words of the Elder of the Mountain Keepers," Luger said, resting his fingers on the staff, closing his eyes as if silently listening to the wood burning, "the Patriarch’s staff burns with ‘life force.'"

Nanshan spoke in a deep voice, "I once lit it when we were besieged by Mutayi around the mountain."

"That's it then, it probably started shortening since that time," Luger explained. "When the Fallen Land closed in, and the Mountain Gate was sealed, even the life force on the divine mountain couldn't sustain itself. Naturally, the staff would consume itself, shortening as it burns."

Yuan Ping shivered, "So… if we can't find a way out in the Fallen Land, do we just have to watch it burn out?"

Luger nodded.

"… and then what?" Yuan Ping asked.

Chu Huan replied, "Then we'll all die together, what else? What's there to ask? But from what it looks like now, unless something unexpected happens, the staff's burn rate seems constant, so we should still have time. Don't worry."

Nanshan sighed, "In any case, let's pick up the pace."

Already in confusion and fear, now a time constraint added pressure!

Chu Huan gauged the staff's burning rate, feeling as if a sword hung over them, ready to "crack" them at any moment.

Whether Mountain Keepers, Gatekeepers, or fierce serpents, all, despite exuding confidence, seemed diminutive in this shadowed world, like a few mice scurrying for their lives.

Chu Huan flexed his ankle joint, exerting a bit too much force. With a resounding "crack," sharp pain shot through him. He immediately felt relief—pain meant security, ensuring his thigh bone had no way of breaking through the skin unnoticed.

After a brief pause, barely more than a couple of exchanged words, they resumed their relentless journey, marching forward. Gradually, the shadows around them settled, but a chill began to seep into the air.

Chu Huan shivered, catching Nanshan's quick notice. "Are you cold?" he asked.

Chu Huan remained silent, shaking his head. With the most layers of clothing, admitting to feeling cold would be rather embarrassing.

"I think I see a village ahead," Luger suddenly chimed in. "We might encounter people soon. Are you prepared?"

Encountering people was a double-edged sword, especially those with whom they could communicate. Whether it would be beneficial or harmful remained uncertain.

“I feel like we’re a group of people starting fires everywhere,” Chu Huan said. “Do you think there’s a possibility that if we light too many fires, the legendary Dead Zone will be set ablaze, even if our torches go out?”

To Chu Huan, this explanation was the closest he could come to the term “Kindling”. No one could answer his question. Chu Huan, the one who could painstakingly establish communication in the Dead Zone, led the way.

A bit further ahead, Chu Huan finally saw the village Luger had pointed out. He couldn’t help but heave a sigh of relief. “We’ve come a long way.”

Though the village was visible, it was situated on the other side of a hill, covered by serene and dense trees. Yet, this place was different. The trees were almost evenly spaced and showed distinct signs of human cultivation.

Chu Huan couldn't resist asking, "Do they also plant trees here?"

“That’s where they bury the dead, similar to the graveyard on the other side of the river,” Yuan Ping explained. “After people pass away, they return to the ecosystem. Anything suitable for medicine is used for medicinal purposes, anything that can be composted is composted. Some places even bury deceased relatives on the hillside and plant fruit trees.”

Perhaps nothing was eerier than the Fallen Land itself, and in comparison, everything else seemed milder, even amidst the cruel shadows. In any case, Chu Huan passed by this expanded bone ash wall without feeling uncomfortable, as this was the funeral custom of Nanshan’s side of the world—always respectful but not burdensome.

The residents living here would give fruits to their little ones and casually say, “Your great-grandmother planted these for you.” Thinking about it, it seemed rather intriguing.

Chu Huan couldn’t help but quip to Nanshan, “In our hometown, a square meter of cemetery land costs two hundred thousand yuan. You’d probably never earn that in a lifetime selling cured meat. I think when I die, you should plant me as a tree.”

Nanshan’s complexion changed abruptly, “What nonsense are you spouting about!”

Chu Huan motioned his hand and pretended to zip his mouth shut.

However, the profound silence enveloping them felt overwhelming. Without engaging in conversation, their restless minds birthed shadows of suppressed thoughts. The oppressive silence pushed them toward the brink of insanity. Unable to endure it, Chu Huan broke the silence, sighing, "I genuinely find this place quite cozy. In our world, it's impossible. The constant rush of millions in the city makes it necessary to relocate cemeteries far from urban areas, inconvenient for visits. It feels like we'll forget them within a few years, unlike here where it seems like everyone lives together forever."

Nanshan, reflecting on this, asked, "With six hundred million people in your world, won't a person be forgotten quickly after death?"

"Very quickly," Chu Huan nodded. "In just a few years, even close friends and relatives who occasionally connect are no longer around. That person disappears completely from the world."

Nanshan found it hard to comprehend, and for the first time, he had negative thoughts about the "other side of the river," the world he had always admired—it seemed somewhat indifferent.

Chu Huan smiled, "Actually, it doesn't matter much. The dead don't know anything anyway. It's more tormenting for the person who lives to the end, losing friends or relatives one after another, facing funerals repeatedly. Sometimes, they even doubt if they've gone to the other side as well."

Chu Huan spoke without thinking, but Yuan Ping, the listener, was attentive. Yuan Ping, unusually perceptive this time, looked at Chu Huan with a complex expression in his eyes.

He wanted to be like his Patriarch and casually say, "You've had it tough," but he couldn't bring himself to do it, just like he wanted to admit in person that Chu Huan was his lifelong good friend. However, every time he tried to say it, he ended up spluttering.

Yuan Ping pondered for a while, thinking that it might be related to Chu Huan's personality, who always seemed a bit insincere. If it were Nanshan, it would probably be easier for these heartfelt words to flow naturally.

Yuan Ping wrestled with his thoughts for a while, then finally said with a half-mocking tone, "Are you reminiscing about your tumultuous years?"

"No tumultuous years," Chu Huan said with a bitter smile, "just 'steamed bun' years."

Chu Huan didn't like talking about his past, but Nanshan had always been curious. He couldn't help but ask Yuan Ping, "What are those tumultuous years?"

Yuan Ping perked up as if he had finally caught an opportunity and made every effort to complain to Nanshan, "Patriarch, do you know how despicable this guy is? Let me tell you, he has been a conniving and a shameless person since childhood, serving as the class monitor's little spy. Even in high school, he would report students smoking in the boys' restroom to the teachers.”

Nanshan raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Wasn't he doing the right thing?"

Yuan Ping had no comeback. Luger asked, "What is smoking?"

Having seen it before, Nanshan explained, "It’s rolling up a poisonous leaf, igniting it, and inhaling the white smoke inside. Since you know it’s toxic, why even touch it? We’re not letting you touch it for your own good."

Yuan Ping's complaint failed, and instead, he lost his external support, turning pitifully to his own Patriarch.

The honest Patriarch Luger hesitated for a second before saying ruthlessly, "He’s right." Chu Huan couldn't help but burst into laughter.

Nanshan, expressionless, glanced at Chu Huan once again, carrying the aura of a family head. He calmly said, “But aren’t you smoking it yourself?”

Chu Huan remained silent.

He realized that in the past, Nanshan used to "hesitate" a bit, and there was some subtlety in his words. But since the "registration" and "seal" incident, Nanshan had become even less polite. The difference in treatment between "insiders" and "outsiders" was like night and day.

Yuan Ping made a face at him from the side, grinning. Suddenly, Yuan Ping’s smile faded, and he gazed steadily at what was behind Chu Huan. His expression gradually became solemn.

Chu Huan sensed that something was amiss and turned around slowly.

He saw the valley filled with people, men and women, young and old, each with different forms, wearing a sad expression, like a group of reliefs frozen on the wall, dim and rigid.

Chu Huan’s heart began to race uncontrollably, and he couldn’t help but take a step forward. Nanshan quickly grabbed him and said, “Slow down.”

The four of them circled around from the side of a hill, taking a wide arc and cautiously approached the group of people.

Normally, whenever he encountered people, Chu Huan could hear the noise of their voices, whether or not communication was possible. However, even when he was less than half a meter away from the leader of the group, his ears were met with an eerie silence.

“How is it?” Luger asked in a hushed voice.

Chu Huan shook his head, his expression growing more solemn. “Strange, I can’t hear anything at all.”

Nanshan stepped aside, blocking the others behind him, and took the staff as he slowly walked into the midst of this large and eerie gathering.

Chu Huan said, “No, wait.”

He had a foreboding sense of unease.

Chu Huan used to get anxious when he heard voices, but now, not hearing any voices made him even more anxious. Perhaps the people he had encountered before were all individuals, and this large group was exerting a psychological pressure on him. Chu Huan felt like there was some imminent and enormous danger brewing within the crowd.

The four of them stood outside the group of people, not daring to make a sound, as if they were facing a formidable enemy.

After some time passed, Chu Huan suddenly heard a faint, child-like crying. In an instant, his hair stood on end, and he said, “Retreat! Retreat! Quick, retreat!”

He couldn’t explain the cause of the eerie feeling he had. Sometimes, things that can’t be explained are the most terrifying.