Of Mountains and Rivers 63

Chu Huan felt a fleeting presence, a singular thought echoing, "Time is of the essence!"

Yet, the unspoken "words of the crow" wrought a peculiar enchantment—suddenly, the weeping around him intensified, and within that symphony, breathing became an arduous task.

Initially, an unfamiliar barrier seemed to barricade his chest, stubbornly hindering the passage of air down his windpipe.

Soon, the air transformed into a viscous mass, resisting entry through his nose despite his desperate attempts.

Yuan Ping, not far off, mirrored the struggle, hands tightly clasping his chest, gasping like a fish out of water.

In this crucial moment, an audacious pause ensued, filled with heavy breaths and an impractical optimism, "If… this world is… idealistic, then…"

Chu Huan deciphered Yuan Ping's misguided notion—by "imagining not needing to breathe," he hoped for a suspended animation where breath became irrelevant. Unlikely, Chu Huan mused, recognizing the impending demise.

In unison, he and Luger seized Yuan Ping's shoulders, hauling him away.

As breaths grew labored, Chu Huan's vision blurred. Oxygen deprivation threatened irreversible damage, their fate hanging by a thread in this forsaken place.

Yet, where could they escape to?

Where…

Abruptly, the rope in Chu Huan's grip jerked, pulled by an unseen force. Nanshan signaled urgently. Following his gaze, Chu Huan observed the orchard's fruit trees, surrounded by corpses, swaying as if caressed by an invisible breeze, their canopies moving in harmony.

But how could there be wind in this eerie place?

Amidst chaos, supernatural elements lingered. Chu Huan sensed an anomaly but lacked time for contemplation, the risk of suffocation looming.

The group, with no alternative, surged toward the orchard.

In a mystical twist, an enchantment seemed woven into the orchard. Upon entering, a gentle breeze caressed their faces.

Chu Huan's lungs felt like a vacuum-sealed bag, as if a slit had been cut, rapidly pulling him back from the brink of death.

His vision dimmed, and he knelt, ears buzzing, heart thundering. Pondering the wind's origin was impossible; unconsciousness engulfed him, a surge of energy preventing collapse.

The orchard's wind, far from ordinary, cut through like a knife, its coldness piercing. Chu Huan gasped violently, followed by intense coughing, a taste of blood lingering in his throat.

Nanshan, rough-handed with calloused palms, staggered over, lifting Chu Huan's face, seeking comfort in a rugged embrace. Uncontrollable heaving filled Chu Huan's chest as he clutched Nanshan's wrist, unable to speak, leaning heavily against him for warmth.

Luger, panting heavily, questioned from behind, “How… How can there be wind? Isn’t this the Fallen Land?”

“I don’t know,” Nanshan replied, embracing Chu Huan, “but this wind isn’t a good sign. Feeling better?”

Chu Huan, leaning on Nanshan, stood weakly, “T-the… the physical fitness of Mountain Keepers is simply in… incredible…”

Nanshan's worry lightened, a smile playing on his lips as he patted Chu Huan’s hair.

Yuan Ping, resembling a curled shrimp, weakly suggested, “Should we take a detour?”

“Yes,” Nanshan responded, serious, eyeing the swaying orchard, “but who knows what we might encounter…”

Before he finished, a sudden gust targeted the Patriarch's staff flame.

Nanshan shielded against the wind, the flame struggling, weakening. The wind circled arrogantly, determined to extinguish the faltering flame.

Chu Huan suspected a trap, the Fallen Land aiming to suffocate them, then lead them towards the windy area, eliminating their protective flame. Strangle or be swallowed, the choices loomed.

Amidst urgency, Nanshan shielded the flames on his chest, a 'sizzle' permeating the air as the smell of burning flesh filled the space, contorting his expression violently.

Simultaneously, the Mountain Keeper's flesh acted as an unexpected fuel, reviving the once precarious flames unsteadily.

The cold wind circled momentarily, then abruptly vanished, as if it had never arisen.

Everything unfolded rapidly. Upon their reaction, a terrible burn mark marred Nanshan's chest, charred in the middle with blisters surrounding it.

Chu Huan exploded, "Damn it!"

He seized the staff, handing it to Luger without hesitation, his concern evident as he asked, "Are you in pain?"

Nanshan shifted, forcing a faint smile, "Don't look, just go."

Chu Huan's face darkened. Without a word, he grabbed Nanshan's wrist, pressing him against a rock. Opening his medical pouch, he frustratingly realized his incompetence. Finally, he snapped, "Which one is for burns?"

Nanshan tried to respond but was cut off, "Don't waste my time, just tell me which one to use."

Like a chastised cat, Nanshan felt uneasy but appeared innocent, pointing to a small bottle.

Yuan Ping, standing on the side, considered showing support as he had treated Chu Huan as a friend. After hesitation, he set aside his pride, stood in line, and half-heartedly added, "That's right, Patriarch Nanshan. We don't know what we might encounter ahead. Attend to the wound first. Sharpening the knife won't delay chopping wood."

Unbeknownst to him, Chu Huan had been ignoring Yuan Ping's attempt to be supportive. Without looking back, Chu Huan dismissed him curtly, "Save your words."

Yuan Ping, “…”

Luger, guarding the staff's flame, cooly remarked, "It's too late for flattery."

Chu Huan meticulously treated Nanshan's chest burn, occasionally causing pain. Nanshan endured the discomfort, glancing in the direction they came from—although the mountain blocked his view, he couldn't see anything.

Thinking of his people at the Mountain Gate, the only peaceful haven amid adversity, he felt reassured, as if a thick shield stood behind him.

Apart from his people, Nanshan found peace in Chu Huan, steadfastly within his view.

As long as he could see Chu Huan, even in chaos, his heart remained undisturbed.

Perhaps due to the brief exposure time or the insufficient temperature of the staff's flame, Nanshan's burns looked terrifying but weren't quite serious. Chu Huan took care of his wounds, easing his mind slightly.

Following a brief group discussion, they confirmed the plan to immediately bypass the suffocating valley and prepared to set out again.

Proceeding with great caution and slowing down their pace, Chu Huan recalled the Elder's words, smiling bitterly, "If the so-called 'Fallen Land' is really a place swallowed by consciousness, then it should have set its sights on us now."

Yuan Ping suddenly asked, "Did you hear anything when you were below the valley just now?"

"At first, it was silence," Chu Huan said, "then it turned into cries, starting from a child and gradually merging into a chorus. It felt like they were holding a mass mourning ceremony."

"Weren't those terrified screams? Did it change?"

Chu Huan raised his eyebrows in confusion, "Yes, it did change, but precisely because of that, I felt something was off. Ah, the expedition team doesn't even have a manual…"

As they ascended along the orchard and reached higher ground, walking along the mountain ridge, Chu Huan's words trailed off, and suddenly, the ground under their feet shook.

An earthquake?

They were on the mountains with no nearby buildings that could collapse on them. In theory, even if there was a slight tremor, it shouldn't be a cause for much concern. However, this earthquake occurred in the Fallen Land, making it necessary for them to be on high alert.

The hastily traveling group stopped on their tracks, not knowing what had gone wrong this time.

They became extremely jittery, ready to run at the slightest disturbance, even if it was the slight movement of grass being blown by a breeze. Chu Huan felt exhausted, thinking that this valley seemed impassable no matter which way they took.

Ever since he learned that the staff would burn out one day, Chu Huan couldn't help but feel anxious despite his somewhat slow and deliberate nature. Who knows what they would become once the staff burned out?

The faint tremors spread, and a dense fog began to envelop the entire valley. The villages and the people in the valley were all buried underneath, gradually becoming invisible. Looking down from above, the valley looked like a layer of ominous, thick clouds rolling about.

The thick clouds gradually formed distinct traces of light and shade, constructing a black-and-white picture. As if imbued with life of their own, the assembled scenes vividly portrayed the entire valley, turning it into a black-and-white television, "playing" images from a certain place.

Yuan Ping's throat moved with difficulty, "This is…"

This was the "sacred mountain" where the Mountain Keepers and Gatekeepers lived.

On one side, the Mountain Gate was tightly closed, and behind it, the clouds were light, likely representing the Sacred Spring emitting a faint white light. The surrounding, however, was pitch-black, impenetrable darkness, representing the inescapable circle of the Fallen Land.

Chu Huan affirmed once again that the engulfing darkness that had consumed the world was undoubtedly unconscious, and "it" was well aware of the intricacies of their origins!

The tremors persisted. From their vantage point, they watched as darkness consumed Mountain Gate, gradually diminishing the illuminated area around the Sacred Spring. The light grew faint, like a fragile egg teetering in its nest, on the brink of collapse.

A strong jolt struck Chu Huan's chest. It seemed as though silent wails echoed from below, as if the mountains and springs mourned in unison. The cries of despair and hopelessness felt tangible, making him understand that everything in the valley was more than a fleeting image.

With the shifting of thick clouds, the vast panorama unfolded like an intricate scroll. The Mountain Gate, the peaks—everything became distinctly visible.

An elderly man, his face resembling that of a goat, almost hunched into a punctuation mark. A bald-headed youngster, just a tad taller than his walking stick. A sturdy woman, bow and arrow in hand. A bearded man, his braid cut. Even the bodies of their kin, not yet properly tended to, lay in the vicinity. All the warriors who refused to leave the Mountain Gate were present.

Nanshan's eyes widened in disbelief, on the brink of rushing down recklessly. Chu Huan intervened with a firm embrace. "Nanshan, Nanshan!"

Nanshan struggled violently, almost breaking free from Chu Huan's grasp. Chu Huan resorted to shouting into his ears. "Do you have any idea how far you've come? They're not even here! What's the use of going down?"

Nanshan suddenly froze.

Luger stood still at the side, clutching the Patriarch's staff tightly. The flames on the staff flickered intensely in the silent man's hand, his eyes reddening as if blood might drip from them.

They stood there, cold and helpless, observing as the thick clouds on the "scroll" behaved like a calm, unhurried giant. In a methodical and arrogant manner, it gradually devoured everyone, bit by bit.

No process of disintegration unfolded; they were all eventually engulfed in a chaotic black mist. The mist billowed endlessly in the vast valley, silently mocking these presumptuous insects.

"It" was proclaiming to them that "it" was invincible.

Nanshan tightly gripped Chu Huan’s wrist, as if it were the sole outlet for his emotions. Chu Huan heard the audible "clicking" of Nanshan’s clenched teeth, and after a while, he heard him draw a deep breath. With trepidation, Chu Huan turned his head to find Nanshan silently shedding tears.

The tears of a man who never cried always carried a profound impact, regardless of when or where.

Chu Huan stood motionless for a while, feeling somewhat breathless. Gradually, he embraced Nanshan in his arms.

The steadfast Patriarch of the Mountain Keeper, usually dependable, had abruptly turned into a bewildered child, desperately clinging to Chu Huan as if he were a lifeline.

He didn’t wail or sob loudly; his face bore bewilderment, and within that confusion, he displayed a masochistic endurance, enduring the pain in a self-inflicted manner.

Chu Huan stated, “Fake, it’s all an illusion… Weren’t we discussing how heart-wrenching the Fallen Land was just the other day? It might be creating illusions to deceive you…”

The more Chu Huan spoke, the more powerless he felt. How could this all be fake?

If it were an illusion, where did the weeping of the mountains come from?

If it were an illusion, where did the panicked expressions on the faces of the clanspeople come from?

Chu Huan acknowledged that he couldn’t deceive himself, let alone others.

If the sacred mountain had also fallen, the entire world would be plunged into boundless darkness. Did they truly need to persist in moving forward?

Could mortals… genuinely overcome the so-called “world”?

Even if, by some miracle, they navigated countless impossibilities and emerged victorious, would there still be any meaning to it?

In a vast world now confined to only four individuals, did it truly matter whether they lingered in the perilous shadows or stood under the cold sunlight?

The rope tied to his body twitched; it was Luger. He abruptly stood up without uttering a word, turned around, and walked away.

Yuan Ping, perplexed, seized him, “Patriarch, where are you going?”

“Come,” Luger’s features were as frozen as ice, “let’s go back.”

“Wait…” Yuan Ping hesitated.

But what were they waiting for? Yuan Ping was momentarily speechless. The venomous snake, Little Green, perched on Luger’s shoulder, appeared to have grasped the situation. It slithered down from the Gatekeeper Patriarch's body, coiled its tail around Yuan Ping’s calf, and with its head, it clutched onto Luger’s pants, as if aiding Yuan Ping in restraining him.

Yuan Ping had no time to fear the snake. He sifted through his thoughts for words of restraint, "But we’ve come so far, we’ve already reached this point…" 

Luger shifted his gaze toward him. During the journey, this man, reminiscent of a water ghost, maintained an air of reserve and reticence. Unnoticed by all, he had inadvertently acquired a touch of charisma. However, in this instance, that charisma had reverted to a sense of lifelessness. His stare, cold and seemingly impervious to light, held a hidden pain when directed at the newly appointed Gatekeeper—a pain swiftly veiled beneath an even deeper layer.

"Only halfway," Luge uttered with a stoic expression. "Persisting is futile. With the mountain gone and the Mountain Gate shattered, the Gatekeepers hold no value. Rather than becoming part of this accursed journey to the 'Sunken Star Island' or 'Sunken Moon Island,' it's wiser to return while the torch still flickers, standing guard by the Mountain Gate. After all these years, it's a commitment till the end."

“But…” Yuan Ping tried to say something.

Luger had no intention of listening. He dismissed him with a wave of his hand, “You’re just a child. You don’t understand, so stop speaking.”

Luger then looked up at the vast mountain scenery and said, “Nanshan.”

Nanshan had his back turned, his spine seemingly supported by an unbreakable bone. Slowly, he pivoted to face him upon hearing his name.

Luger finally sighed, “Should we go back now, or let you rest a little longer?”