Chapter 62: A Century After the Death, Reborn – It's hard to evaluate its quality.
"Ah Li, try this. It's a bit sour, but it'll quench your thirst."
"Ah Li, you are so beautiful. If only you could smile more."
"Ah Li, you spiritual practitioners are considered human, right? Then... does the Temple of Truth allow people to marry and have children?"
...
The road ahead is uncertain. Feng Zhizhaoyin sometimes rambles on about what she has seen and heard along the way, or about meaningless trivialities. Although he remains silent, he always responds.
It was like a dream bathed in soft light. Those seemingly insignificant details quietly wove a tender net in her heart. She began to believe that deep within this seemingly eternal snow-capped mountain, warmth also surged. He treated her specially, too.
Like the only faint spark in the darkness, it carefully warmed her.
Until that day, they passed through an ancient city ravaged by war.
Beside the crumbling crenellations of the city wall, a emaciated child, trying to retrieve half a piece of dry rations, lost his footing and fell from a great height.
Everything happened too fast.
Feng Zhi Zhaoyin didn't even have time to exclaim in surprise.
The child fell less than a step away from Daweijia; he could have saved the child's life with just a slight reach.
But he only paused slightly and watched coldly.
The child's faint groans quickly faded on the cold ground, leaving a small pool of dark red stains beneath him.
Feng Zhizhao rushed over, her fingers touching the already faint breath, and suddenly looked up at Dawei Jiali, "Why didn't you help him?!"
Dawei Jiali turned to her, but said, "His fate is such, why force it?" His handsome face was calm and expressionless, his peach blossom eyes were slightly lowered, carrying a kind of divine coldness.
She was puzzled. "How is that forcing him? When he landed, you could clearly reach out and grab him. It was just a simple matter of reaching out. How is that forcing him?!"
He replied, "The suffering in the world is endless. If everyone only hopes for help from others and does not help themselves, how many people can be saved?"
A chill crept into Feng Zhi Zhaoyin's heart, more biting than the wind and snow of this chaotic world.
She suddenly realized that no matter how far they had traveled together, no matter how absurd her dependence and illusions had arisen in her heart, there was ultimately an insurmountable chasm between them.
Those untimely feelings of warmth and dependence were, from beginning to end, nothing more than a lifeline she clung to in her desperate situation, a one-sided illusion. He was merely bound by the magic array, forced to stay by her side, nothing more.
If one day she were to fall into the same predicament, he would likely watch coldly as she plummeted. Before the truth he believed in, individual lives were as insignificant as dust.
But she couldn't bring herself to criticize or question him. Truth shaped him, and the world shaped her.
He did nothing wrong. It's just that we have different paths.
Feng Zhi Zhaoyin slowly stood up, no longer looking at the small body on the ground, nor at him.
She gazed at the vast expanse of heaven and earth in the distance, her voice soft yet resolute.
"As long as I can see it, as long as I can still move, I will save them."
After that day, Feng Zhi Zhaoyin removed the magic array and stopped looking for him.
She began to traverse this ravaged land alone. In villages ravaged by fleeing soldiers, she carried abandoned, frail old women out of burning huts. In makeshift shelters ravaged by plague, she used her rudimentary medical skills to care for the dying, who were considered unlucky and whom no one dared approach; even in the chaos of refugees scrambling for food, she would unhesitatingly stand in front of thin children, grabbing food for them.
She knew, of course, that she couldn't save everyone by herself. She just kept pushing herself, often falling asleep exhausted by the dilapidated walls of a deserted temple, only to wake up to find the surroundings desolate and her heart empty.
It was indeed the magic array that kept him by her side. She finally confirmed this.
She grew increasingly silent, her eyes replaced by deep weariness. It was exhausting to stand alone against the indifference of the world.
Fortunately, fate offered her a sliver of solace—Feng Zhizhao adopted a little girl.
It was a misty, rainy day. Amidst the ruins of a recently bombed site, she discovered a huddled figure. The girl, about five or six years old, was soaked to the bone, except for her bright red short-sleeved jacket, which shone brightly. She clutched a dirty brown teddy bear tightly in her arms; the bear's ears were worn raw, revealing the cotton stuffing inside. As Feng Zhizhao approached, she neither flinched nor flinched, but simply raised her face, gazing quietly at her with her beautiful, almond-shaped eyes.
She remained silent no matter what Feng Zhizhao asked her, but after seeing her, she kept following her.
After all, she was a lonely and helpless child. Looking into those eyes, the hardest part of my heart finally softened, and I silently allowed her to follow me.
Girls learn things slowly. They burn their hands when starting a fire, can never control the heat when decocting medicine, and are clumsy even when doing the simplest bandaging.
Feng Zhi Zhaoyin guessed that she was probably a young lady from a wealthy family who had been stranded here due to a sudden misfortune. In this chaotic world, there were far too many tragedies like this.
But this child possessed an extraordinary tenacity. She wouldn't cry when burned, and if she made a mistake, she would silently try again with a pursed lip. Gradually, she even figured out how to add just the right amount of licorice to bitter medicine, and would hand Feng Zhizhao a wrung-out hot towel when she was tiredly rubbing her temples.
Watching the little girl grow up slowly, practice smiling, and become cheerful instead of taciturn, Feng Zhizhao's desolate heart was stirred with a few ripples, and a long-lost warmth arose.
There was only one thing: the little girl never called her "sister" or used any other way to address elders; she always called her "Ayin" in her clear, crisp voice.
She tried to correct her several times, but the girl just stared with those overly clear eyes and stubbornly repeated, "Ayin." Eventually, she just let her be.
However, her depression did not go away. Looking at the girl's peaceful sleeping profile, she felt that she could not just collapse like this. At the very least, she had to wait for the child to grow up safely.
She began to try to make changes. The first thing she did was pick up paper and pen again.
At first, her brushstrokes were just chaotic lines and dark blocks of color, like her chaotic inner world. But she persisted, sketching the dilapidated scenery outside the window every day, or the small figure diligently grinding medicine with her head down.
The ink danced across the rough paper, outlining the contours of plants, the shifting light and shadow, and that vibrant red silhouette. Gradually, the lingering melancholy seemed to be briefly sealed within that small space, carried by the flow of the brush tip.
Until that spring, news came that the true form of the Yin God had appeared in Xiangweng Mountain.
By then, Feng Zhizhao's spirits had deteriorated significantly; she often stared out the window in a daze, a lingering shadow over her eyes. But she still passed away.
The sight of Alon Village made her feel as if she had wandered into the wrong place. The desolate village shrouded in "wilt disease" in her memory was now filled with the sounds of chickens and dogs, and the fields were orderly, exuding a rare vitality in a chaotic world.
After settling the girl in an inn outside the village, she followed the path she remembered and headed up the mountain alone.
At the end of the mountain path, a magnificent gray-white stone temple stood silently. Worshippers came in an endless stream. She mingled with the crowd and stepped into the main hall, but the moment she saw the offerings, she felt as if struck by lightning—
In the center of the hall was not an ordinary statue of a god, but a naked, flesh-bodied statue.
Amidst the swirling incense smoke, the body possessed an eerie, translucent, waxy quality, as if it had undergone special treatment to achieve immortality. The posture was not seated, but rather the "Yu Bu" (a specific movement in Chinese martial arts).
The most chilling thing was the face, without eyebrows, eyes, nose, or mouth, as if all the contours had been shaved off by a sharp object, leaving only a shockingly smooth surface.
“Last year, the young master of the Li family fell seriously ill. He knelt here for three days, and when he returned home, he was able to walk again. His mother said that when the child was unconscious, he kept muttering that he saw a faceless white-clad goddess feeding him medicine.”
"This is a true divine transformation. The village chief went to great lengths to bring it from the north. True gods have no form, and I heard that this face was deliberately removed to sever worldly ties and perfect one's Dharma body..."
Feng Zhi Zhaoyin felt a sudden dizziness.
Of course she recognized that body—it was Ah Xue! Her dearest relative, whom she had searched for all her life! And now, it had been stripped naked, its features smoothed out, and placed in this ridiculous pose for these ignorant people to worship and judge! They even used the nonchalant phrase "deliberately shaving off" to whitewash this desecration of a corpse!
She broke through the crowd like a madwoman and rushed toward the enshrined body.
"Stop her! She's blaspheming!"
"Crazy woman! Grab her!"
The pilgrims were stunned for a moment by this sudden turn of events, and then burst into angry roars.
Countless hands reached out, grabbing her hair, arms, and clothes, while fists and kicks rained down on her thin back like hail. She ignored them, desperately stretching her hands forward, her fingertips only inches away from that cold, waxy body, yet unable to get any closer.
The sounds of cursing, beatings, and the dull thud of bones echoed in her ears, gradually fading into the distance. She could no longer feel the pain; only a bone-chilling coldness spread from her heart to every limb.
Utterly despondent.
She didn't know how she was dragged out of the main hall and thrown onto the stone steps outside the temple. Feng Zhizhaoyin lay on the cold stone slab, gazing at the gray sky over Xiangweng Mountain, her eyes filled with a lifeless emptiness. All her persistence, all her struggle, seemed so ridiculous, so vulnerable at this moment.
She stood up unsteadily and walked down the mountain like a lost soul.
As we reached a steep slope halfway up the mountain, we heard the panicked cries of a child ahead. A boy of about seven or eight years old had slipped while trying to pick wild fruit from the cliff edge, and half of his body was hanging over the edge, clinging desperately to a protruding rock, on the verge of losing his footing.
Below lies a deep ravine strewn with jagged rocks.
Almost instinctively, she staggered over and, with the last ounce of her strength, shoved the boy hard in a safe direction the instant he slipped from her grasp!
The child fell to the ground.
She herself, like a kite with a broken string, drifted lightly off the cliff.
The wind howled as she plummeted downwards, and a feeling of weightlessness enveloped her. Just like in countless dreams.
But at this moment, she felt no fear, no resentment, only peace.
Finally... I can get a good night's sleep.
The jumbled rocks of Xiangweng Mountain embraced her, both gently and cruelly.
Consciousness seemed to float, shatter, and grow cold in an endless, inky tide. Many sharp fragments slashed past, impossible to grasp or escape. She was too tired; she only wanted to completely merge into this nothingness.
Just as the last glimmer of light was about to fade, a brute force suddenly seized it, pulling it back from the brink of collapse.
"This aura... is very pure, yet it carries a somewhat annoying familiarity... Oh well, with such pure spiritual light, it's perfect for nourishing my girl's primordial spirit."
In a daze, it seemed as if a high-pitched voice hummed.
Then came even deeper darkness and chaos.
Lan Shuyin grew up amidst rejection.
The village children would hide from her at the sight of her, throwing pebbles at her from afar and cursing her as a "bastard without parents" and a "monster the old woman picked up from the mountains."
She tried to offer the only piece of malt candy she had in her pocket, but the children scattered and sang even more vicious nursery rhymes in return.
Her relatives always looked at her coldly, with scrutiny and a hint of disgust, as if she were something unclean. At the New Year's Eve dinner table, she always sat in the corner closest to the door, receiving the fewest candies and often being forgotten to receive lucky money.
Only the old woman.
The old woman would feed her, clothe her, and force her to practice her skills day after day. She would practice horse stance and wooden dummy drills. If her movements were not up to par, the ruler would fall mercilessly. The old woman would always say, "Girl, you can't rely on anyone in this world. I can't protect you for a lifetime. You have to stand on your own two feet."
She was afraid of her grandmother, yet she also depended on her. Until that summer night, she woke up thirsty and went barefoot to the kitchen to drink water.
As she passed by the old woman's half-closed door, the conversation coming from inside sent chills down her spine.
It was an old woman, and an old lady who visited occasionally, who liked to wear silk jackets, but whose eyes were particularly sinister.
"...This girl has been raised here for ten years, and she looks much more robust than before."
"Hmph, if I hadn't intervened back then, she would have been annihilated long ago! Now I remember, she wasn't some kind of Yin spirit at all, just a strange mountain girl! If she hadn't injured my granddaughter back then, Kailin wouldn't have almost lost her life! Sixth Sister, the one you're raising is my enemy!"
"She was lucky to escape with her life."
There was a moment of silence in the room before the old woman's voice slowly rang out, "Third sister, there's no need to dwell on the past. This child is with me now, she's mine. I advise you not to try anything with her again."
"You! She's the one who hurt Karen!"
"Alright. If Karen's life is ever in danger, we can have her bleed out as a medicinal ingredient. But for now, none of you are allowed to touch her."
At that time, Lan Shuyin was only ten years old.
"Country girl," "enemy," "bloodletting as a medicinal ingredient"—these fragmented phrases made her suddenly realize that she was not from the village.
No wonder those children always looked at her strangely. And she might very well have been deliberately kidnapped by them... the daughter of their enemy!
What chilled her to the bone was that the old woman's seemingly protective words concealed a calculating intent. "Drawing some blood to make medicine" seemed so reasonable, as if she were talking about livestock waiting to be slaughtered.
Lan Shuyin covered her mouth tightly to stop herself from sobbing. She slowly moved back to the cold, dark room, climbed onto the icy bed, and felt completely lost.
But amidst this confusion, she knew one thing clearly—
escape.
We must escape this village, escape these treacherous people.
Only in this way could she possibly survive.
From that day on, Lan Shuyin abandoned all her naive thoughts. She buried her fear and confusion deep in her heart, displaying a composure beyond her years. She knew that studying was the only way to leave this place openly and honestly.
The old woman remained strict, and the ruler would still fall, but she no longer felt wronged or dependent on her. She simply regarded it all as the price she had to pay before gaining freedom.
She studied relentlessly, often keeping the kerosene lamp burning until the wee hours of the morning. She may have had talent, but what sustained her was more of a resolute determination to "survive and get out of this world."
When the results of the high school entrance exam were released, she received an admission notice from a key high school in Beijing with the highest score in the county.
On the day she left, the old woman stood at the village entrance, her cloudy eyes looking at her, repeatedly telling her, "Girl, remember to come back often during your holidays, Grandma is waiting for you."
Lan Shuyin clutched her thin luggage tightly and said naturally, "See? If I'm busy with my studies, I'm afraid I won't have time."
The old woman looked at her for a long time, and finally just waved her hand.
During her three years in Beijing, she dared not slack off in the slightest. She filled her time to the brim, studying and working part-time, leaving herself no room for nostalgia or weakness. The old woman would occasionally call, always asking, "When are you coming back?" Her answer was always, "No time."
When Lan Shuyin received the news of her grandmother's unexpected death, she had just received an admission letter from a top university in Beijing.
She took leave and returned to the village. Everything seemed to be the same as before, except that a glaring white banner was hung in front of the old woman's house.
When her relatives saw her in front of the mourning hall, they immediately surrounded her and started pointing their fingers at her and cursing.
"You heartless wretch! Sixth Sister-in-law has raised you for nothing all these years!"
"He thinks he's all grown up just because he got into university! He didn't even come to see his sixth great-aunt one last time! What a jinx!"
"Don't ever come back again! Just seeing you makes me angry!"
They were hurling insults at her, trying to find a trace of guilt or sadness on her face.
But Lan Shuyin simply stood quietly, her gaze sweeping over the old woman's peaceful face in the coffin, her expression utterly unmoved. She neither cried, nor argued, not even furrowing her brow.
Those vicious and sharp words could not stir even the slightest ripple in her heart.
Before leaving, she spoke softly to the coffin, "Old charlatan, you've raised me for so many years. From now on, as long as those people don't bother me, we're even."
Her heart seemed to be much harder than others by nature.
As soon as the funeral ended, Lan Shuyin set off on her journey back to Beijing without looking back.
She resolved to sever ties with the past and begin a completely new chapter in her life. Little did she know that at the start of her university life, Li Kailin—the granddaughter of that gloomy old lady—would become her roommate.
Li Kailin's arrival filled the entire dormitory with an inexplicable sense of oppression. She seemed to have her eye on Lan Shuyin, and always seemed to subtly ostracize her along with her two other roommates, their gazes filled with scrutiny and a strange sense of superiority. Lan Shuyin ignored these childish games, spending most of her time researching local customs and planning which secret adventure destination would be the most interesting for her during the holidays.
One day during my junior year of college, an unexpected phone call shattered the peace.
The caller was an old acquaintance of the old lady, Grandpa Sun, who was said to have traveled all over the country and had quite a bit of influence in his youth. He came to Beijing and wanted to see her.
I remember seeing that old man twice; he was always kind and generous when giving out red envelopes. She appreciated his kindness and didn't refuse.
It was a summer afternoon. Lan Shuyin had specially chosen a ladylike and quiet light blue floral dress, and worried that the elderly person might have difficulty seeing, so she arrived at the restaurant entrance early to wait for them.
The shadows of the sycamore trees swayed gently as she stood quietly in the shade, tucking a stray lock of her long hair behind her ear, her skirt swaying softly in the breeze.
Amidst the chirping of cicadas, dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting shimmering patterns on her body like scattered gold dust swirling around her skirt.
Suddenly, she noticed a gaze that was so intense it couldn't be ignored.
I instinctively turned my head to look, and there was a black luxury car parked across the street. The rear window was half-rolled down, revealing half of a well-defined profile—a man wearing an exquisite silver mask, whose thin, tightly pursed lips and sharp jawline could not conceal his handsome features.
He was gazing at her.
Across the endless stream of traffic, his gaze, filled with unfathomable focus and seemingly weighed down by a complex weight of disbelief, was fixed upon her.
"Girl!" Grandpa Sun's cheerful voice suddenly rang out.
Lan Shuyin suddenly snapped out of her daze, smiled, turned around to greet the old man, and quickly put the scene from just now out of her mind.
Two days later, in the evening, while she was researching in the library, her phone suddenly vibrated. The screen displayed an unfamiliar Beijing number.
She hesitated before answering the phone. A steady, crisp male voice came from the other end, "Hello, Ms. Lan. I apologize for bothering you. My surname is Chen, and I'm the head of marketing at 'Neon Night.' We're expanding our new media business and plan to sign a group of newcomers with unique charisma and development potential. Mr. Wei has seen your adventure content and believes you perfectly fit our selection criteria."
A Night of Neon Clothes?
Lan Shuyin was very surprised.
She certainly knew this place. On the surface, it was a bar, but in reality, it was Beijing's most mysterious private club, rumored to be a gathering place for celebrities and tycoons, a top-tier venue rarely seen by ordinary people. And this place was actually going to venture into the self-media industry?
Even more surprisingly, they approached her?
"But I've only posted one video, and I only have 10 followers..."
“Our boss, Mr. Wei, has high hopes for you, especially appreciating the courage and unique perspective you demonstrate in your content.” The other party seemed to sense her hesitation, but their tone remained calm. “The boss hopes to meet with you to discuss this in detail. We believe we can provide you with far more room for growth than you can imagine.”
A personal invitation from the owner of Neon Night? That sounds like a complete fantasy.
Suspicion and wariness instantly welled up in my mind. But the opportunity was too tempting to pass up; it was worth the gamble.
Whether it's an opportunity or a trap, she has to find out for herself.
The silence lasted only two seconds before Lan Shuyin made her decision, "Okay, time and place?"
...
The day of their agreed meeting arrived quickly.
It was a Saturday afternoon, a night of neon lights.
The heavy, soundproof door closed silently behind her. The waiter led her through the dimly lit corridor, finally stopping in front of an elegant mahogany door. On the doorplate, the three characters "寂音间" (Jiyin Jian, meaning "Silent Room") were quietly engraved in slender seal script.
In the silence, Lan Shuyin paused slightly, a faint surprise flashing through her mind—it shared the character "yin" with her name. This inexplicable coincidence aroused her curiosity about the space behind the door and the person inside.
The waiter left silently. She composed herself, knocked on the door, and entered.
The air was filled with the refreshing aroma of tea. A man sat upright behind a large tea tray, his head bowed as he reviewed the documents in his hands. He wore a light-colored suit, his demeanor composed, yet exuding a sense of detachment befitting someone accustomed to a position of power.
Hearing the noise, he looked up.
On that face, there was an exquisite silver mask covering the upper half, revealing only a sharply defined jawline and beautifully contoured thin lips.
Lan Shuyin was taken aback.
Was it him?
Across the street, in the back seat of a luxury car, stood the man gazing at her through the noisy traffic.
At this moment, he was right in front of her, his gaze behind the mask falling on her, carrying a deeper weight than when they had looked at each other from afar that day.
He broke the brief silence.
"Please sit down."
His voice was somewhat clear and sharp, but it sounded gentle and warm, with a touch of politeness.
Lan Shuyin snapped out of her daze and quickly sat down in the guest seat opposite her. She just happened to see him put down the documents in his hand.
That was her so-called resume, which she submitted a couple of days ago—a pitifully brief document.
Her gaze lingered involuntarily on either side of the paper for a moment—two deep pinch marks remained where his fingers had gripped it. It was as if his inner state was not as calm and peaceful as he appeared.
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