12 I’ll Fall into Hell (1/2)
Before Namtso lake they stood, admiring the inexhaustible and sharp wind that blew over the plateau and pierced through the ice peaks. It whizzed toward the boundless field and edgeless sky with a faint rumble, as if chanting a buddhist hymn, and joined the eagles that were spiraling above her head. At that moment, she felt as though she could hear some of her deepest thoughts and feelings being shattered by the ice-cold wind.
Returning from the trip, she had chosen to pursue archaeology and history.
She had chosen to be a part of the yellow sands and barren lands, the humongous thousand-year Buddha and unmanned villages, the deep, mysterious canyons and suspending cliffs.
In a blink, she had arrived in a remote and gloomy tunnel. The porcelain lamps glistened in the dark, and the wide, graveled path produced hollow echoes when stepped on by her army boots. Every three steps she took, she found a sizeable, engraved lotus flower on the rock beneath her feet. Gradually an underground palace revealed itself to her, greeting her with sparkling gold and jade beast statues that were locking silent gazes with each other.
A vague, chant-like voice rang once more; it was everywhere yet its source was unseekable. It was mumbling constantly and close to her ears. She tried to restrain her throbbing heart and let her instincts lead her deeper into the imperial tomb.
'Yes, that's the place.'
A tall and massive beast totem that was seated on a spotlessly white stela rose into view. It was unimaginably majestic, and there were tens of luminous pearls flickering on the golden ceiling. It was a sight resembling that of the nine heavens.
She eyed the golden coffin in front of her.
'Who's having a peaceful, deep sleep inside?'
On the golden coffin cover were carved drawings of what seemed to be human faces.
She inched closer, step by step.
”Fuyao.”
The voice behind her sounded so close and dear, but melancholic. It had a familiar intonation but foreign tone to it.
She turned around abruptly.
”Mom...”
A beam of white light shone down from somewhere, and in it was Mom's frail, paper-like figure. She was dressed in an eye-catching white and blue striped hospital gown.
”How have you been, Fuyao?”
Completely rigid, Meng Fuyao stood rooted to the ground as tears welled up in her eyes. A second later, she turned her body, ready to sprint toward the light.
Her mother was there, as were her memories and the only harbor she could take a rest on in between her wandering journey... it was home.
When she turned, the soft yet ineffable chants became increasingly resounding and high-pitched. They eventually developed into a bellowing soundwave that spread throughout the whole palace and rolled toward her, one after another, and wrapping around her, as if pleading for her to stay.
”Fuyao...”
”Turn, and I'll fall into hell.”
”Sun's up.”
A rather familiar, low and elegant voice sounded in her ear. For a brief second Meng Fuyao thought that the voice in her dream had resurfaced and that she had traveled through time once again to arrive in a place that she was destined to visit.
Her eyes jolted open to a slightly fuzzy and ripply view of a heaven-sent face. It took her some time to recall and process that she had escaped a deadly event just moments ago, that she had fallen asleep in the arms of a stranger whom she had met twice, and that she had just encountered an indescribably strange dream.
It really was an unprecedented experience.
Face flushed, Meng Fuyao rose into a sitting position and looked around. She found herself in a meditation room and judging by its decor, they were in a guest room inside the Mystic Essence Manor. In other words, they were still within the Mystic Essence Sword Sect.
Yuan Zhaoxu had on a different set of clothes, but it was similarly simple. Yet, no matter how unrefined his cloth robe was, it wasn't able to conceal the man's magnificent aura. Instead, the man had gratuitously blessed it with a noble charm.
He sat, relaxed on a chair, gently removing the tea dregs from a cup as Lord Yuan Bao squatted haughtily on his shoulder. When the tea was cooled, Yuan Bao turned his head and sneaked a sip.
Yuan Zhaoxu gave a subtle smile, as if unconcerned, and Sir Yuanbao was beyond pleased with his stealthy performance. The next moment, Yuan Zhaoxu quietly picked up the teacup cover and dropped it on Yuan Bao's head.
The heavy porcelain lid completely covered Yuan Bao's little snow-white head. Caught off guard and untrained in the metal-neck technique, he was instantly and significantly shortened. He turned three rounds on Yuan Zhaoxu's shoulder like a drunk before slamming onto the ground.
Free from the lid, Lord Yuan Bao dared not seek revenge. Instead, he stuck his bum out and proceeded to a corner to sulk. As if nothing had happened, Yuan Zhaoxu turned toward their spectator. ”Who did you dream of?”
His question evoked faint memories of her dream, and she fell into a short daze before forcing a smile out. ”Nothing much, just old events.”
Yuan Zhaoxu took a sip from his teacup, and all Meng Fuyao could see were his long, thick eyelashes shielding his unfathomable, black eyes. ”Oh? Old events? Why were you hugging me so tightly and refusing to let go then?”
”Ah?”
”You were grabbing onto my sleeves and calling out for ”Mom”.”
”Ah!”