Chapter 22. My heart fluttered like snow falling in the dead of winter.
The vines had their bark pierced, but the interior wasn't the hard texture a tree should have; instead, black sap was gushing out from within.
The cage, woven from several layers of branches, suddenly crumbled and fell apart as if it had been boiled. The brown bark was broken by the sap inside, and the bark and sap mixed together, creating a muddy mess on the ground.
The spot where Meng Chiwan stood had long since become a disaster zone, filled with an unbearable stench, as if emanating from a lotus pond that had been polluted for thousands of years.
The black liquid was gradually encroaching on her footing, as if it were about to devour her apricot-colored shoes and all her pristine whiteness.
A rush of air surged up, and the physiological urge to vomit even overcame her attempts to escape.
nausea.
The topmost layer of vines was raining a foul-smelling black rain. It was sticky and reeked of fish.
Meng Chiwan clutched her chest to calm her nausea, her eyes glistening with tears. Then she covered her nose, and when she looked up again, she saw a torrential downpour of black rain lashing at her, as if trying to soak her completely.
She retreated step by step, feeling as if she were trapped on a small island. The sap dripped onto the leaves, making a soft, pattering sound, like a gentle tapping on her heartstrings.
There was no escaping it. The rain covered her entire surroundings.
She looked down and then looked up again. The dark raindrops swallowed all her futile movements, allowing her to hear every sound around her clearly.
Then, the clicking sounds changed tone, becoming swift and clear.
It was the sound of an umbrella being struck. Each strike smoothed away all the black spots, then blended into the muddy layer at the edge of the island.
The island, however, remained unharmed.
Looking up, there was a plain white oil-paper umbrella. The wooden handle was clearly newly made, with no superfluous grain on it.
When she looked up again, she saw the young man smiling at her, his smile warmer than a spring stream and more beautiful than flowers in March. This time, her heart beat faster than it had a thousand times before.
The patter of rain on the umbrella and the thumping of her heartbeat were like a duet. It was like a snowfall in the dead of winter, and someone gently covering her ears. But what was being covered wasn't her ears, but her beating heart.
She lowered her eyes, wanting to look away, but saw that his hand, with its distinct knuckles like white jade, was slightly tilted, and the blue veins on it were clearly visible.
The umbrella was clearly tilted towards her.
Therefore, the black rain always flows towards him first, and the mud always washes over him first.
She remained pristine, her apricot-colored shoes untouched by anything else. She remained clean and unblemished under the umbrella, in the shade.
She suddenly realized. Perhaps this was the peace she had longed for a thousand times. In every time she went hungry, every time she thought of her parents, every time she was bullied and unable to fight back.
At that time, how she longed for peace and quiet. If only there were someone to offer her some shelter, so she wouldn't have to endure the wind and sun. That would have been enough.
She can grow up, become independent, and grow strong, but she will always remember the years when someone sheltered her from the storm.
They say that's called childhood.
But it ended too quickly. It left her constantly thinking about it.
So, it turns out, an umbrella can do just that.
The fishy smell seemed to have dissipated somewhat, replaced by the woody scent of the oiled paper umbrella. In fact, it was hard to tell whether it was the scent of the oiled paper umbrella or the woody scent of the young man.
But she wished it were just an oil-paper umbrella. Just an oil-paper umbrella. But her heart was pounding like a drum.
All her genuine emotions flowed into the young man's heart; he felt what she felt, and knew the ebb and flow of her emotions. Naturally, he could also hear the panic that fell like snowflakes.
Meng Chiwan suddenly became curious: Who exactly was this person? How many years could he stay with her? And... did he truly have no other desires?
Her thoughts were in turmoil, but Yun Xianqing simply looked at her and then spoke, his tone as gentle as ever: "Tell me, in which body of water are you trapped?"
For a moment, she even forgot to ask him where he had taken the umbrella from; she only remembered that the umbrella was a little small, which made her and him stand so close.
They were almost within arm's reach.
As she raised her sleeve to draw her sword, the hem of her sleeve brushed against his chest. The sound of the fabric rubbing against his chest, mixed with his soft breathing, almost shattered her bones, leaving her momentarily powerless.
"Perhaps there is a path in that body of water. I need to search for it some more." She chuckled softly, the sword in her hand trembling as it transformed into a longbow.
It was still that longbow.
She raised her hand, aiming at the old man who had reappeared not far away. The longbow burned fiercely, three fingers resting on the bowstring, the arrow piercing the overflowing air, creating a gust of wind.
Her hair was disheveled and brushed against her cheeks, revealing a subtle stubbornness on her delicate and pretty face.
Let's look again. There's still a path.
The old man lay limp, his eyes fixed on the arrow whose fletching had left a trail of fire, making no move as if he had resigned himself to his fate.
This tree, whose age is unknown, had its main body destroyed, and its interior had long since rotted away. Now it can only flow on the ground, mixing with the mud.
He admitted it.
But the arrow grazed just past his eyebrow, and then a soft thud sounded behind him. It was the sound of the arrow tip piercing flesh.
But he was completely unharmed.
He twisted his liquid-like body, turned around, and saw a monstrous beast with bared teeth and bloodshot eyes lying on the ground, its claws still outstretched and not yet retracted.
Between its brows, an arrow glowing with fire trembled, like a butterfly wing.
When he turned back, he saw the girl with delicate features staring straight at him.
She saved his life.
“Young lady, I have long been worthless, and now I am merely clinging to life. To have dragged this body to this point is already against all reason. Even if you keep me, there is nothing I can do for you.” His cloudy eyes rolled around, and then he spoke, his old voice slow but still clear.
"You carry the aura of... an old friend. Is it... Lin Yudong?" Meng Chiwan asked doubtfully, as if confirming something.
Just as she drew the bowstring, she suddenly caught a whiff of something both strange and familiar.
It was unfamiliar because she had almost never smelled it before. It was familiar because she knew what it was as soon as she smelled it. It was as if it were a memory etched into her very bones.
This situation has never occurred before.
She hesitated for a moment.
It was a very familiar floral scent, as if she had smelled it somewhere before. But even though it was clearly a floral scent, she instantly thought it was the aura of Lin Yudong's soul.
So, souls do have a breath?
“Lin Yudong…” The old man’s eyes suddenly cleared for a moment, then quickly became cloudy again, like a fleeting moment of lucidity before death.
“You know her,” Meng Chiwan said with certainty this time.
"Young lady, you know I am a tree, but do you know what kind of tree I am?" The old man smiled, his voice hoarse.
Meng Chiwan shook her head.
The old man laughed again, then coughed twice, as if he were about to cough up his heart and liver.
"It's a fallen petal tree." The old man finally spoke after a long while, his voice carrying a hint of life returning in a final burst of energy.
It seems that he only comes alive when this topic is mentioned.
Meng Chiwan frowned. Suddenly, something occurred to her.
But the old man continued, “I used to be a tree in the Lin family’s courtyard. They said I was a fallen petal tree. Every March, my branches, full of flowers, would droop down, and when the wind blew, the flowers and leaves would fall all over the ground. Dong’er… I heard them call me that, so I’ll call myself that too.”
“I cultivated for a hundred years and finally grew up and became a spirit. The year I left, Dong’er and Chun’er came to see me off. I didn’t know where I was going, so they said that the Fallen Petal Tree could take root anywhere. They told me not to be afraid and that if it didn’t work out, I could always go back to the Lin family.”
The water sword slowly cleared a path, and Meng Chiwan gradually approached.
The old man remained unmoved by all of this. He continued, "I've been to many places, seen many things, and almost died many times. But I still survived. After one of my near-death experiences, I thought about going back to the Lin family, at least to see my old friends before I die."
"But I... later became a demon. I don't know when the demon entered my heart. But I just happened to become a demon. I am no longer a tree spirit. Then, in Mount Garan, I tried to kill someone for the first time, but I failed and was stopped by someone."
"I was furious. But I just couldn't forget that face. It was a face I had looked at for years, a face I had watched grow up little by little. Lin Shuchun. Chun'er. That's what I called him. At that time, he was dressed in white and carrying a sword, about to head to the Immortal Sect. Suddenly, I dared not look at him, no matter how much the demon in my heart clamored."
“He was one of the few people I knew. I cut off both my arms and told him that I would never do evil again, but my body was almost broken apart by the demon’s onslaught.”
"He left me his only magical artifact, the Demon-Suppressing Mirror. He said it was related to his life force and could suppress demons for me, so I eked out a living like that. But I never saw him again. Until one day, the Demon-Suppressing Mirror shattered."
"I went to the Lin family. Not a single person survived."
"Later, without the Demon-Suppressing Mirror, I suppressed my emotions for a long time, but in the end, I couldn't hold back anymore. I became a demon again. I stayed on Mount Garan for several years, killing countless people, but no one could save me anymore. I thought I had forgotten my name, but I can probably only remember it now on my deathbed. I'm sorry to Chun'er, I'm sorry to Dong'er."
“I used to be so beautiful, my fragrance would travel for miles when the flowers bloomed, permeating the entire street. But now, I stink and make people nauseous…” He chuckled softly, a gasp that sounded like he was crying. “Where… has he gone…?”
Meng Chiwan had barely reached him when he slowly melted away, the stench gradually fading.
Only one mirror remained in place.
It is covered with cracks, like ugly scars.
Meng Chiwan picked it up.
But what was reflected in the mirror was a figure in white robes carrying a sword. He tilted his head, smiling slightly, but his eyes were filled with sorrow, like a thick fog that never dissipates.
A note from the author:
Cover her ears and tell her to watch the snow falling gently—her heart flutters like falling snowflakes! [Sprinkling flowers]
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