Of Mountains and Rivers 76

It was as though the clash between water and fire had purged the world of its impurities and filth.

On this continent, shrouded in darkness for untold years, more and more luminous spots emerged until the earth seemed to sink into a silent sea of flames.

The fire, bereft of spectators, blazed for three days and two nights.

On the third evening, a sigh resonated from the depths of the sea. The pure white seed, jade-like in appearance, finally crumbled into ashes within the flames. As the dust settled, the towering giant plants atop the "Sunken Star Island" quivered painfully before collapsing with a resounding crash.

The root of the shadow that had hung over this world disintegrated in the inferno.

With the ignition of the Sacred Fire, all that was lost would find rebirth.

As the sun set in a blaze of crimson on the distant horizon, a new era dawned.

Three days later, the melody of seabirds filled the air near the islands. Occasional splashes echoed in the shallow waters, accompanied by schools of fish swimming beneath the surface.

In this moment, a small green snake, no thicker than a thumb, slithered into view. It arrogantly swayed its sinuous body, attempting to strut along the water's edge.

Yet, the sea remained calm on the surface, a truth known to those who dared to venture into its depths.

This snake, still as slender as kelp, quickly succumbed to the sea's relentless mockery. Its movements resembled a chaotic dance, shifting from side to side in disorientation. Eventually, it surrendered, coiling into a ring and allowing itself to drift with the current.

It floated thus for an indeterminate period until it collided with something.

The small green snake bumped into a verdant vine. Surprised, it raised its head and surveyed its surroundings with a flick of its tongue. Estimating the vine's height and width, it realized it couldn't bypass it. Thus, abandoning the pretense of a venomous snake, it transformed entirely into a cabbage worm and wriggled its way upward.

The vine, seemingly rootless, stood silently near the sea mountain, steadfast amidst the waves. At its apex bloomed a bright red flower.

Each petal, nearly two meters in length, glistened with sea droplets, resembling scattered diamonds.

The small green snake navigated the edge of the petals until it reached the heart of the flower. There, it found a man curled up, a discreet walnut pendant adorning his neck.

As if discovering its destination, the snake nestled beside the man, warmed by the sea breeze and the man's body heat.

As for Chu Huan, he drifted through a lengthy dream.

Everyone, at some juncture, in some circumstance, harbors a question akin to a universal quandary: Why me?

Why am I the one who succeeds? Why am I the one who fails? Why am I the fortunate one? Why am I the unfortunate one?

In a world teeming with myriad souls, why do certain fates always find their way to my doorstep?

Perhaps it is this very question that fuels the persistence of religious rituals and prayers.

Chu Huan had long held faith in the old goat's words, sensing a connection to the enigmatic Liyi Tribe in his origins.

In idle moments, he'd entertained numerous fanciful scenarios. Perhaps Nanshan's despicable father stumbled upon a group of abducted children at the border, conducting ghastly experiments. Subsequently exposed, he met his demise at the hands of his wife. The rescued children, by some twist of fate, found refuge with Chu Aiguo, laboring nearby… and so forth. The possibilities were myriad.

Yet, it transpired that he held no affiliation with the Mountain Keepers. He was merely a wanderer beguiled by allure.

So, how had the solemn warning of the first-generation Gatekeeper morphed into the myth of the "savior who emerged from the waters"?

Chu Huan pondered a while, realizing that in this treacherous milieu, people yearned for a savior. Such belief allowed even in the direst straits, a glimmer of hope before the final curtain, facing life and death unafraid, unregretful.

Perhaps those wretches who discarded him clung to this belief subconsciously.

Chu Huan couldn't ascertain if he yet breathed. He lay immobile, impervious to external stimuli, yet his consciousness remained sharp, affording ample time for introspection.

He felt drained, fatigued, and above all, solitary.

In the end, he, neither young nor heedless, refused to lean on any savior from inception to conclusion. Thus, he found himself thrust into a role far beyond his ken, assuming the mantle of savior himself.

Chu Huan cared not for his corporeal state. But he aspired to emulate that first-generation Gatekeeper, disseminating his essence with flair and candor.

Already, within his twisted heart, Chu Huan had plotted his course—strolling at noon, surveilling each household's fare, then an evening perambulation, perhaps glimpsing bathing beauties or handsome fellows, followed by a nocturnal excursion into the lascivious nightlife within others' abodes.

Yet, his desires proved elusive, beyond reach.

Chu Huan lay inert, his body as immobile as his consciousness. Like a charred, desiccated piece of charcoal, he lacked the vigor to pursue the tender shoots of spring.

The Gatekeeper Patriarch's assertion that the shadow engulfing the world stemmed from a seed of another realm sent shivers down his spine upon deeper contemplation.

How many concealed doors exist in a world? How many disparate realms are interconnected through these portals? How many of these doors harbor that malevolent seed? And how many worlds have succumbed to its voracious appetite, consumed into oblivion?

The more Chu Huan dwelled on it, the more unnerving it became, prompting him to shelve such thoughts entirely—after all, he couldn't discern if he yet breathed, and the role of savior likely wouldn't recur in his lifetime.

Nor did he wish to dwell on Nanshan. The mere thought stirred a ache in his heart. Despite his best efforts to banish it from his mind, Nanshan persisted, a relentless presence entwining his thoughts.

Chu Huan couldn't sleep as one would sleep, nor could he rouse from his stupor. After an indeterminate span, he glimpsed a familiar light.

In the throes of serious injury and impending demise, he had beheld that light before. Now, its reappearance evoked a sense of long-awaited reunion, enveloping him in comforting warmth.

Passing through that beam of light, he would soon reunite with Chu Aiguo. This time, Chu Huan harbored no fear. He rose somewhat resolutely, striding familiarly towards the source of light.

At the precipice, one foot poised in midair, Chu Huan suddenly sensed a presence and turned back.

There stood a figure in the darkness.

It was… Nanshan.

Nanshan advanced, stopping a couple of paces from Chu Huan, extending a hand with silent entreaty.

Chu Huan, roused from his haze by Nanshan's presence after days of vagueness, felt a surge of wakefulness, accompanied by profuse perspiration.

The full spectrum of human emotions flooded his being, inflicting a torment akin to rolling on a bed of nails—an unbearable agony.

Chu Huan's pallor deepened. Enduring the heartrending anguish, he managed a sardonic smile, declining the proffered hand. His voice devoid of emotion, he queried, "What do you want?"

Fear and supplication etched Nanshan's countenance.

Chu Huan, however, averted his gaze, refusing to meet Nanshan's eyes. He clasped his hands behind his back and spoke with detachment, "Are you pleading with me now? What of the times when I pleaded with you?"

Even as he uttered the words, a childish sense of resentment surged within him, as if years of unvoiced anguish were finally finding release. In moments of profound sorrow, people often instinctively seek to inflict pain upon others.

Plunging a dagger into a lover's heart sometimes resembles a despondent youth carving into his own flesh with a blunt blade, deriving an inexplicable satisfaction.

"Would you mourn my demise?" Chu Huan deliberately posed the question, already knowing the answer. Without waiting for a response, he turned his back on Nanshan, lifting his foot to resume his stride towards the beckoning light.

Yet, before his foot could descend, a desperate cry pierced the air, "Chu Huan!"

The voice seemed to emanate from behind yet echoed from a distant place, its tone raw with anguish, its cry rending and harrowing.

Chu Huan found himself immobilized, his gaze fixed unblinkingly upon the radiant light ahead, tears pricking his eyes. After a prolonged moment, he slowly retraced the steps he had poised to take.

With remnants of tears lingering in his eyes, he faced Nanshan once more, asserting, "I care for you, but I owe you nothing."

Nanshan stood frozen, hand still extended like a statue.

Chu Huan cast his eyes downward briefly, tears tracing down his lashes. Briskly wiping them away, he offered a self-deprecating chuckle before turning back to clasp Nanshan's hand. "Very well, let us consider it a debt owed."

In an instant, a potent force swept through, dispersing all before him. Chu Huan felt a sudden weight in his chest, realizing belatedly that sensation had returned to his body.

Exhausted and burdened, he strained to pry open his eyelids. Before he could fully grasp the realization that he hadn't been consumed by flames, the sound of shattering porcelain reached his ears.

In the next moment, arms enveloped him, lifting him from the bed in a tight embrace. Though he struggled to keep his eyes open, he caught a faint scent of osmanthus.

When Chu Huan finally regained his strength, several days had elapsed.

Awakening, he found himself back on the divine mountain, within the abode of the Mountain Keeper Patriarch—Nanshan. It was evident he had been unconscious for an extended period.

The malevolent presence had been eradicated, and the darkness dissipated entirely. Even the continent's monsters inexplicably vanished overnight.

Everything seemed to have reverted to normalcy, and those consumed by the calamity appeared to have undergone a peculiar dreamlike experience.

Legend had it that Nanshan discovered him and the diminutive serpent near the seawater mountain on the Sunken Star Island. Yuan Ping embellished the tale with fanciful flourishes, describing Nanshan's entrance as a grand spectacle—he lay nestled within the heart of a colossal flower. As Nanshan retrieved him, the flower, tethered to a vine below, dissolved into foam and sank into the sea—an embellishment reminiscent of Andersen's fairy tales.

Life on the divine mountain teemed with vitality in the aftermath of the catastrophe. With the cessation of periodic monster assaults, even the Gatekeepers' vigil atop the watchtower relaxed.

Surviving such a cataclysm warranted celebration. Chun Tian bustled about like a whirlwind, tirelessly preparing myriad libations and delicacies. Occasionally, she aided in receiving the throngs of visitors who flocked to pay homage to the divine mountain.

Chu Huan, the "outsider" who ignited the Sacred Fire, found himself elevated to a newfound status.

Even within the Patriarch's abode, he couldn't evade the growing throng of curious onlookers. Thus, when Chu Huan finally regained his mobility, he once more slipped away from prying eyes.

Every morning, he would procure a book from Nanshan's domicile and seemingly vanish into the dense forest cradled between the mountains, eluding pursuit even by creatures with the keenest senses.

He would remain absent the entire day, returning only under the cloak of nightfall.

Chu Huan's conduct posed no issues. He continued to exhibit gentleness and patience towards Nanshan, amiably partaking in their conversations. Though he occasionally cracked a jest, Nanshan couldn't shake the sensation that something was amiss.

"Could you refrain from venturing out today?" Nanshan broached one morning, his tone tinged with apprehension. "I'll be here, warding off any disturbances. Would that be acceptable to you?"

Chu Huan paused at the request before readily acquiescing, spending the entirety of the day indoors.

He favored a corner nestled snugly between two walls, affording a view of the outdoors through a window. Stationed there throughout the day, he scarcely budged. Nanshan noted that in the absence of conversation, Chu Huan seemed to evaporate into thin air—when Yuan Ping visited one afternoon, his eyes darted around the room, blurting out, "Has he gone out again?"

A living person stood before him, yet Yuan Ping seemed oblivious until Chu Huan closed the book and cleared his throat, drawing his attention. Nanshan recognized this skill—an ability many seasoned hunters possessed: the knack for deliberately concealing their presence, causing others to overlook them.

Why would Chu Huan employ such a tactic? Nanshan's heart trembled with unease.

Yuan Ping hesitated for a moment, as if sensing something amiss, before casually settling down beside Chu Huan. "Are you spending your days cooped up in this room like a brooding hen? The Mountain Gate will be relocating soon. Join us tonight for a farewell drink with everyone. Tomorrow, we bid our farewells."

Chu Huan glanced at him before offering a succinct reply, "Sure."

Yuan Ping then turned his gaze to Nanshan, his expression solemn.

Giving Chu Huan's shoulder a light pat, Yuan Ping inquired, "What are your plans once you return?"

Chu Huan nonchalantly flipped through the pages of the book as he replied, "Hmm, I might look into acquiring some power supply equipment. I intend to purchase a computer."

"Who asked about these trifles?" Yuan Ping interjected impatiently. "Aren't you concerned about contacting Old Wang? Checking on our nephew? Returning to your duties? Will you take the Patriarch with you, or will you commute here alone in the future?"

A faint furrow appeared on Chu Huan's brow. He appeared somewhat irritated by the interrogation, responding casually, "We can discuss that later."

And thus, Yuan Ping was dismissed.

As Nanshan escorted Yuan Ping out, the latter shook his head and murmured, "Something feels off. He seems… present yet not fully awakened. Patriarch, keep a close watch on him in the coming days."

However, Chu Huan proved challenging to monitor.

That evening, amidst bonfires and merry revelry, the Gatekeepers and Mountain Keepers gathered for a final celebration. Even Luger partook in the festivities, guided by Yuan Ping. They drank amid laughter and camaraderie, yet Nanshan noticed Chu Huan surreptitiously activate his invisibility skill once more, slipping away into the throng.

Feeling anxious, Nanshan delegated responsibilities to Luger and embarked on a quest to locate Chu Huan.

Just as he was about to question the fourth person about Chu Huan's whereabouts, a gentle tap on his shoulder startled him. Nanshan spun around abruptly, his demeanor resembling that of a predator ready to pounce. Chu Huan took a step back, looking somewhat bemused as he queried, "Are you searching for me?"

Without hesitation, Nanshan seized Chu Huan's arm and whisked him away from the crowd.

Disregarding the suggestive gestures and whispers from onlookers, Nanshan escorted Chu Huan back home. Once inside and the door securely locked, Nanshan pushed Chu Huan against the wall, gripping his shirt collar firmly. He could feel the outline of Chu Huan's collarbone beneath his grasp.

Chu Huan appeared momentarily taken aback, finding the gesture somewhat flirtatious. With a hint of playfulness, he whistled and teased, "What's this about? Planning to take advantage of me, sir?"