Extra 11: The Water of Forgotten River (Continuation)
Asura stared at the pair of golden eyes filled with innocence and alienation, feeling that the patience and rationality he had accumulated for thousands of years were rapidly running out.
He turned abruptly and practically roared at the air, "Investigate! Everything he touched yesterday, everywhere he went! Bring here everyone in Shanjian City who knows pharmacology and can cast spells, whether they're from the Celestial Clan or something else!"
The ghost clan's personal guards followed orders and left with astonishing efficiency.
Shanjian City was thrown into chaos. The ruthless Ghost Clan soldiers "asked" several elderly Celestial Clan medical officers and scholars in charge of the classics to leave. Tensions reached a crescendo, until Emperor Shitian, with a slight frown, intervened to appease them: "Your Majesty may have something to consult, but you can all leave now."
His tone was calm, yet it had a convincing power that made Asura's actions look... a little less like kidnapping.
After much searching, the clues converged on the forgotten pot of "Forget Worry Brew." A trembling old scholar held the empty jade pot, sniffed the lingering scent, and paled. "This... This is made from the core water veins of the Forgetful River mixed with the thousand-year-old nectar of the Udumbara flower... It's extremely potent, specifically designed to corrode emotional bonds, especially... the most unforgettable ones..."
Ashura's heart sank to the bottom: "How to solve it?"
The old scholar broke out in a cold sweat. "No... no specific antidote. Perhaps the drug's properties will naturally dissipate over time... or... perhaps a stronger emotional impact might awaken a few... but forced stimulation might damage the very foundation of their spiritual consciousness..."
Wait for the drug's effects to wear off naturally? How long would that take? A day? A year? A hundred years? Asura couldn't wait even a moment. Looking at Indra's calm face, he felt a pang of pain in his heart, as if being gnawed by a demon from the abyss.
A stronger emotional imprint? How? Now, even if he touched the other person, he would be politely avoided!
In the following days, Ashura began his clumsy and anxious journey of "awakening".
He found the sweetest honey on earth and brought it to Indra. Indra took a sip and objectively commented, "Very sweet. Thank you, Your Majesty." And that was it.
He plucked the most brilliant red lotus from the abyss, one that could burn in the darkness, and placed it on Indrakirtan's desk. Indrakirtan took a look and nodded, "This lotus is blazing, truly a wonder." Then he continued reviewing his documents.
He even racked his brains, recalling the little gadgets that Di Shitian had mentioned casually as being his favorites, and gathered them all up, piling them before Di Shitian. As Di Shitian looked at the clay figurines, windmills, and strange shells, a flicker of emotion finally appeared in his eyes—pure curiosity about unfamiliar things, rather than emotion.
"Your Majesty seems... very keen on collecting human creations?" he asked.
Ashura almost cried out in frustration. All his efforts were like punching soft clouds, with no impact at all.
He even tried what the old scholar called "intense stimulation." On a certain occasion when they were alone, he kissed her again without hesitation. Unlike the light pecks he had last time, this time he kissed her with almost desperate aggression and depth, trying to awaken the other person's body memory in the most primitive way.
At first, Di Shitian resisted stiffly, a faint golden light shimmering on his body, but soon, his resistance inexplicably weakened. When the kiss ended, his breath was slightly irregular, his lips were bright red, and his golden eyes were shimmering, yet he still held a dazed and confused expression. He even raised his hand to gently wipe the corner of his mouth and whispered, "...This feeling is very strange."
There was no disgust, no anger, just pure, unfamiliar confusion. This made Ashura feel more powerless than any rejection. His Indra had forgotten even the feeling of kissing him.
Ashura had nearly given up. Like a trapped beast drained of all its strength, he could only stay near Indra all day, his eyes glued to the man, filled with a sense of grievance and panic he himself wasn't aware of. He no longer tried to do anything, just watched, as if just looking could slightly ease the pain of his heart being ripped out.
Indra continued to calmly handle government affairs, soothing those who had become somewhat anxious due to Asura's recent unusual behavior. Only occasionally, when no one was paying attention, would he slightly tilt his head to glance at the Ghost King, who sat not far away and exuded a depressed aura.
His gaze would linger for a moment on Ashura's furrowed brows, pursed lips, and the pair of red eyes that were staring at him but filled with sadness and anxiety.
The empty space in my heart seemed to... slightly waver. A subtle, unfamiliar emotion quietly grew, like the slight pity you feel when you see beautiful glass about to shatter...?
That night, Indra dismissed his attendants and sat alone in meditation by the lotus pond. Moonlight streamed down the pond and onto him, casting a cool, clear glow. He tried to recall, but could not recall any feeling of "deep affection and deep friendship."
Suddenly, he felt that there was another person beside him.
It was Ashura. He didn't approach eagerly as usual, but sat silently a few steps away, head bowed, his long red hair drooping, obscuring his expression. His tall figure looked surprisingly...lonely in the moonlight.
He was holding something in his hand, fiddling with it awkwardly. Indra recognized it as one of the small things he had sent a few days ago—a few brightly colored human-woven ropes.
Asura had obviously never done this before. His rough fingers pinched the thin colored ropes, his movements stiff and ridiculous. He fiddled with them for a long time, as if trying to weave a knot, but ended up making a mess. He growled in frustration and almost tore it apart, but in the end he didn't, instead focusing even more on wrestling with the ropes.
Indra watched silently. He saw Asura's hands, capable of tearing apart demons and crushing divine weapons, now helpless against a few colorful ropes; he saw his tightly pursed lips, the tiny beads of sweat on his forehead from his concentration; he saw the lingering, almost tangible anxiety and... loss in his eyes.
Suddenly, Ashura seemed to feel his gaze and raised his head sharply.
Their eyes met.
Ashura's eyes lit up for a moment, as if he had grasped a lifeline, but then quickly dimmed, as if he wasn't afraid to disturb him. He raised the shapeless, twisted, colorful knot in his hand, and spoke in a hoarse, low voice, with an almost humble, tentative tone and a barely perceptible sob:
"...This...I still don't seem to have learned it...Can you...teach me again?"
Just like a long time ago, in a bustling market in the human world, the blond boy smiled and taught a clumsy ghost how to weave a knot that symbolized "unity".
At that moment, Indra felt as if the frozen surface of his heart was gently chiseled by something.
“Crack—”
A very subtle crisp sound came from the depths of the soul.
He looked at Ashura's red eyes, which were now filled with clumsiness, anxiety, grievance and caution. A sour and warm emotion surged up without warning, instantly breaking through the empty fog.
Memories returned like a tide, bringing with them all the love, entanglements, joy and pain associated with them.
Indra took a deep breath, the ice in his golden eyes melting, a familiar glow returning to flow, a feeling of helplessness, heartache, and a touch of lost tenderness. He leaned forward slightly, reaching out to Ashura, his fingertips lightly touching the tangled mass of colored ropes. His voice was soft, yet it carried a familiar tone that made Ashura's heart stop:
"...How stupid of you, Ashura."
Asura suddenly froze, his eyes widened in disbelief, looking at the warm touch of Indra's fingertips, and the reflection of himself that finally returned to his eyes.
The medicinal properties of the Forget-Me-Not wine seemed to have faded away quietly in the face of the sincerity presented by a stubborn ghost king in the most clumsy way, without any skills and full of emotion.
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