111 The Vermilion Bird, the Big Black Umbrella and the Bright Nigh (1/2)

Chapter 111: The Vermilion Bird, the Big Black Umbrella and the Bright Night

Translator: TransnEditor: Transn

Ning Que was running in the street in the darkness, raising his right arm to remove the blood on his chin from time to time. The big black umbrella hit against his back now and then, making scraping sounds. As time passed, he seemed to be in a lot of pain as the light in his eyes grew dimmer and his eyebrows outside of the mask furrowed deeper.

His eyesight became blurry, and the hitching posts and doors of the shops at the side of the street gradually distorted, becoming like clawing monsters. His breathing got faster, and the breath that was squeezed out of his lungs was as hot as magma; while the breath that he had desperately sucked in was as cold as a glacier. His footsteps became slower and more unsteady, and were often caught by the jagged bluestones on the ground. His mind became messier, and he gradually forgot the current situation that he was in.

He only remembered that he should run—the farther, the better.

Some kind of deep instinct urged him to run toward the Old Brush Pen Shop at Lin 47th Street. Perhaps if he could only see the little black girl then he would feel reliably safe. The obsession to run home was so strong... that it could support his seriously injured and weak body to run here from Southern City without noticing that he was now running on Vermilion Bird Avenue, where he always felt anxious and vigilant during the weekdays.

The blood at the edge of his mask could be wiped away with his sleeve, while the blood seeping from the countless cuts on his body was slowly flowing to the big black umbrella. It was then slowly absorbed and released by the sticky, greasy black umbrella, before finally dripping to the ground. Then, tiny blood flowers blossomed on the ground and then disappeared between the gaps in the stones.

The morning wind was already blowing, though the morning had not come yet. It blew someone's clothes that hung under the eaves, and made the towering, dragon-cloud flag that was in the distance on Vermilion Bird Avenue whistle. The footsteps and the faint smell of blood mixed together in the morning wind and gradually awakened some lives hidden in the millennium stones.

The spacious and straight Vermilion Bird Avenue in Chang'an City of the Tang Empire suddenly turned into a long endless road of hellfire. Ning Que felt as if his feet were stepping on extremely red-hot pebbles and his soles would be burned through when each step was taken. Those flourishing flames instantly spread to his flesh and blood, and then burned away his bones, which was very painful.

He was still running. Every step that he took seemed so painful as if his feet were becoming muddy flesh that was simultaneously cut by numerous knives.

His body suddenly became stiff, and he painfully grasped his chest!

He felt as if an invisible lance had fallen down from the high night sky and broken his flesh and organs, which directly pierced through his body to nail him severely to the ground!

The suffering from the burning fire being sent from the ground of Vermilion Bird Avenue instantly disappeared. Because all the pain in the world, when compared to the pain coming from his chest—the kind of pain that nearly tore and destroyed everything—was not even worth mentioning.

Ning Que frowned bitterly. Looking at his empty chest, the street that had been transformed into a curved corridor, Chang'an City that had nothing to do with reality, he found that all the things in his eyes had numerous phantoms—true, false, fake, and deconstructed phantoms—among which his body was standing.

Suddenly, his ears heard someone gently gasping.

He turned his head around with the utmost strength and tightly clenched the hilt at his waist with his bloody hand, but he did not see anyone. What he could see was still the weird and distorted world surrounding him.

His face was as pale as a snowy mountain. He looked around blankly, to subconsciously find the place where that breath had come.

The hitching posts that seemed to fall into the ground were wheezing, narrating the pain and irritability caused by knots in the neck every day; the yellow signboards of the street taverns were wheezing in the morning wind, narrating the unconsciousness and uneasiness caused by the drunkard's molestation every night. The locust popping out of the mansion was wheezing, narrating that it was going to wither by witnessing too many shameful family secrets; the green leaves landing on the stone lions were wheezing, narrating the reason why they did not fall in season.

The lions carved by stones, the buildings made of wood, the roads under feet, the morning wind, the distant palace, the near gray wall, and the entire Chang'an City were all wheezing, and the entire world was wheezing.

The pretty charming woman was moaningly wheezing; and the long-stretching imperial court was solemnly wheezing; and the nervous and uncomfortable escapees were desperately wheezing; and the history full of indifference and vicissitudes was relentlessly wheezing.

Ning Que, lonely and helpless, stood in the middle of the street and listened to the breath coming from all sides of the streets, lanes, courtyards, and distant temples.

He loosened the hilt to cover his ears with his hands, but still could not stop all kinds of breath from penetrating through his palms, then clearly and powerfully into his mind.

He slowly knelt down in the middle of the darkened Vermilion Bird Avenue and then fell down.

The big black umbrella was carried on his back.

The blood dripped onto the bluestones from the black umbrella, and finally flew in the gaps between stones.

On Vermilion Bird Avenue, paved by flat bluestones, countless small blood flowers blossomed, which got in line from Southern City to the north and which connected with the blood in front of the black umbrella into one line.

At the end of the blood line was the Vermilion Bird portrait, which was in the distance of the avenue.

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