Mother's Farewell Training Camp
The biting mountain wind, carrying fine sand and gravel, lashed against the exposed rocks atop the meteorite crater, producing a mournful whistling sound.
Ling Zhan stood on the cliff at the entrance of the secret realm, his long black hair straightened by the wind, his figure as upright as a solitary peak.
Beneath their feet was a bottomless, enormous depression.
There is an underground river, a hot spring river, deep at the bottom of the pit.
Due to the long-term violation of the season's abundant vitality, a thin layer of pale purple poisonous miasma rose at the entrance, lingering there.
This has made this place even more isolated from the world, adding to its mystery and danger.
Tiger followed closely behind Ling Zhan, one step away.
The fifteen-year-old boy was already half a head taller than Ling Zhan, and his broad shoulders stretched his worn indigo jacket taut.
He pursed his lips, his jawline taut as if carved by a knife, his sharp gaze piercing through the mist that enveloped the mountaintop.
He followed closely behind Ling Zhan's back, not daring to be distracted for even a moment.
The bean sprouts, just beginning to grow, followed at the very end.
Her little face was red from the wind, and her bright eyes curiously and warily surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings.
He subconsciously pulled his padded jacket tighter around himself.
Without a word, Ling Zhan's footsteps were the direction.
She led the two down a narrow, almost vertical crevice eroded by time and wind.
The landing points are slippery and sharp, requiring extremely strong balance and absolute control over the body's center of gravity.
Shen Xiao was completely focused, imitating Ling Zhan's movements, using both hands and feet, and being extremely cautious with each downward probe.
Fingertips dug into the cold cracks in the rock, knuckles turning white from the force.
Bean sprouts are younger and more agile.
However, due to slightly inferior physical strength, he slipped several times, but Shen Xiao in front of him grabbed his arm in time to steady him.
The deeper you go, the more humid and viscous the air becomes.
It carried a strange, strong smell, a mixture of earthy sweetness and the stench of decaying vegetation.
The light was cut off by the towering pit walls, casting mottled and varied shadows.
Below, on the pit walls, layers of cultivated "cloud fields" appeared, like giant green staircases. The heavy ears of rice shimmered with a faint light, interspersed with strangely shaped plants that emitted a faint medicinal fragrance. In the distance, from the dense forest, several long and penetrating wolf howls echoed, carrying the desolate chill of the wilderness.
"Frostblade and Storm Shadow are patrolling the mountain," Tiger and Bean Sprout said excitedly at the same time.
"Remember this sound, familiarize yourself with it." Ling Zhan's voice rang out, "On the battlefield, the first step in distinguishing friend from foe is to understand the sounds of the environment."
Shen Xiao felt a chill run down his spine and listened even more intently.
Bean Sprout shrank back and whispered, "Mom, they... won't come looking for us, will they?"
“As long as we don’t provoke them outside their territory, nothing will happen.” Ling Zhan continued walking. “Jinbao will be watching.”
Before she could finish speaking, several sharp, urgent creaking sounds came from the very top of the tree above her head.
A small monkey with golden fur leaped nimbly among the branches, bared its teeth at them, and then quickly disappeared behind the dense foliage.
Finally, we reached a relatively flat area at the bottom of the pit.
The pale purple miasma drifted like a thin veil over the low-lying areas, visible to the naked eye.
The strange, sweet, rotten smell in the air became even stronger, and inhaling it made my throat feel tight.
From this day forward, you will earn your own lives.
Ling Zhan turned around, his gaze like a solid ice spike, piercing Shen Xiao and also sweeping over Douya.
"This place is different from the mountaintop. The underground river is hot and humid. Bean sprouts sense the woodland ahead and tell me something is wrong."
Bean Sprout immediately closed her eyes, her long eyelashes trembled gently, and her breathing became long and shallow.
A moment later, he opened his eyes and pointed to a seemingly ordinary patch of vines entwined to his left: “Mother, those vines… are too straight, the soil at the roots is freshly turned, and there’s something underneath… very sharp.”
He then pointed to a patch of slightly darker grass on the right, “The grass roots there smell wrong, they have a rotten stench, and they’re hollow underneath, so you’ll sink if you step on them.” Finally, he pointed to the aerial roots hanging down from a large tree, “Those roots… have signs of being pulled, and there are things hanging on them, like nets.”
Shen Xiao's gaze was sharp as a hawk's, fixed on every detail Douya pointed out. His brain raced, processing the subtle flaws—the unnatural tautness of the vines, the traces of freshly turned soil, the subtle differences in the grass color, the unreasonable stress points on the aerial roots—
All of it is firmly imprinted in my mind.
"very good."
Ling Zhan looked at Shen Xiao, "You, go through it yourself. Remember what you see, hear, smell, and feel. Traps don't speak, but the environment will tell you the answer. Bean Sprout, step back behind me."
Shen Xiao took a deep breath, the air, carrying a sweet, rotten smell of poisonous miasma, stung his lungs slightly.
He pursed his lips, his gaze becoming incredibly focused. "Yes, Mother."
Without the slightest hesitation, he stepped forward.
Each step was extremely slow and heavy, his toes probing the ground, his eyes scanning every unusual inch of the grass, tree roots, and vines. He avoided the vine traps that Bean Sprout had pointed out, bypassed the strangely colored swampy meadow, and as he approached the large tree, he suddenly pulled his body to the side and back. Almost simultaneously, a net woven from tough vines whistled past his back and crashed heavily to the ground, raising a cloud of dust.
Ling Zhan watched expressionlessly until Shen Xiao safely passed through the area, then coldly said:
"The reaction was acceptable. However, the odor assessment was delayed by half a breath. The concentration of odor at the edge of the swamp is crucial for determining the safe distance."
The training that followed was brutally ruthless.
The key is to cross that deadly pale purple poisonous miasma zone.
Ling Zhan handed Shen Xiao a small packet of crushed dried herbs:
"Hold it under your tongue, and before it dissipates, you must break free from the miasma. The first time, hold your breath, sprint with all your might, and feel your limit."
Without hesitation, Shen Xiao stuffed the bitter herbs into his mouth, took a deep breath, and shot into the misty purple fog like an arrow.
After only a dozen or so steps, the burning sensation in his lungs and the intense spasm in his throat made his vision go black. A violent cough broke out uncontrollably, and he staggered out of the edge of the miasma, collapsed to the ground, gasped for breath, and vomited bitter, acidic water.
Ling Zhan's voice was like ice water poured down, completely flat: "Twelve steps. Hold your breath to the limit. Next time, use the wind direction."
She pointed to several faint vortices visible to the naked eye at the edge of the miasma, formed by airflow disturbances.
"The vortex upwind is a brief period of thin, toxic gas. Observe the wind direction changes, seize the gap, and sprint to get a breather."
Shen Xiao wiped the filth off his face, his eyes growing even fiercer. He took the medicine in his mouth again and rushed in.
This time, instead of charging blindly, he observed from the edge, waiting for an upwind vortex to form before taking a deep breath, rushing into the vortex zone, briefly exchanging air, and then rushing towards another vortex point. However, he misjudged the wind direction and the duration of the vortex, and during one of his breaths, he inhaled a small amount of toxic gas, immediately becoming dizzy and unsteady on his feet.
"Three steps to the left front! Stay close to the ground!"
Ling Zhan's icy voice was like a thunderclap.
At the same time, a pebble hit him precisely on the outside of his calf.
Shen Xiao almost instinctively threw himself to the ground and rolled away, barely avoiding a vortex of poisonous gas that suddenly intensified due to the terrain.
Once, twice, three times...
Shen Xiao's face grew increasingly pale, his clothes soaked with sweat, mixed with dirt and vomit.
Each time they charged out, they were in a sorry state.
Each time he charged in, his eyes became more focused and more frantic.
"Timing of taking the medicine! Breathing rhythm!"
Ling Zhan's voice continuously corrected his movements, down to the depth of each breath and the choice of where to place his feet.
"There's an upward airflow coming from the crevice on the right! Avoid it! Three zhang ahead, the terrain rises, and the miasma sinks. Charge through!"
Bean Sprout watched in terror, her little hands clutching the hem of her clothes tightly.
Several times she wanted to speak up and remind him, but seeing her brother's almost self-torturing focus and her mother's icy gaze, she held back.
Jinbao made anxious squeaks from a tree in the distance.
Black Ball poked its furry head out from behind a bush, its bright black eyes filled with confusion.
Watching Shen Xiao roll out of the miasma once again, she let out a low whimper.
In the distance came the howl of a wolf patrolling its territory; it was the little wolf, Lan Ying.
Time slips away in cruel repetition.
For what seemed like the umpteenth time, Shen Xiao took the medicine and plunged into that pale purple realm of death.
His actions were no longer the reckless ones they had initially displayed.
It was no longer the hesitation of mid-stage exploration, but a kind of almost instinctive smoothness.
He landed precisely on the solid ground, skillfully utilizing every shift in wind direction and the undulations of the terrain, his body moving like a fish through the crevices of the poisonous miasma. His breathing maintained a peculiar, deep, and steadily spaced rhythm, each breath taken in the thinnest upwind position, and each dash avoiding known dangerous eddies.
When he finally stood unharmed and steady on the other side of the miasma zone, sweat streamed down his forehead like a small stream.
My chest heaved violently, and each breath was accompanied by a burning pain in my lungs.
But he stood ramrod straight, his bright eyes fixed on Ling Zhan through the dissipating mist.
It burns with a purer light, refined from extreme exhaustion.
Ling Zhan's gaze was like the most sophisticated scanner.
He was examined from head to toe to confirm that there were no signs of poisoning or injury.
She nodded very slightly, her voice still cold, yet clearly penetrating the wind:
"Passed. Go back to the hot springs at the mountain peak for a soak."
Seven days later, at dusk.
The sound of his courtyard gate being pushed open startled Shen Yan, who was lost in thought.
He looked up abruptly and saw Ling Zhan leading Shen Xiao and Douya into the courtyard.
Shen Xiao's appearance made his heart clench—the boy's clothes were torn in several places, his face was covered with scratches and he couldn't hide his exhaustion, but his eyes were surprisingly bright, and his whole demeanor seemed to have been forged in fire, with a heavy, restrained sharpness.
The bean sprouts looked wilted, but their eyes were still bright.
Shen Yan rushed forward, his eyes darting anxiously over Shen Xiao.
"Tiger!...Shen Xiao! How are you? Are you hurt?"
He wanted to pat his son's shoulder, but then paused in mid-air, as if afraid of touching the wound.
"Dad, I'm fine."
Shen Xiao's voice was a little hoarse, but it carried an unprecedented calmness, "Everything... is fine."
Shen Yan opened his mouth, as if he had a thousand words to ask.
What about that mysterious mountain?
What have I been experiencing these past few days?
But then I smelled the sulfur on my son and saw his tired yet determined expression.
He shut his mouth, rubbed his hands together, and looked down at the old cloth shoes on Shen Xiao's feet, which were covered in mud and had worn-out soles.
"The shoes...the shoes are all worn out..."
Chen Yan's voice lowered, carrying a clumsy heartache.
He didn't say anything more, turned around and walked to the eaves, where he moved a low stool and sat down.
He then started rummaging through a dilapidated wooden box next to him.
After rustling around for a while, they found several thick pieces of leather of varying shades, a thick needle, and a ball of hemp thread.
He picked up Shen Xiao's worn-out cloth shoes, roughly tearing off the loose threads from the uppers, and twisting the worn-through holes in the soles, his brow furrowed. He clumsily picked up a piece of dark brown leather, measured the size of the hole, bit off a large section of hemp thread with his teeth, and then, with his large fingers twisting a thin needle, tried several times before finally threading the end through the eye of the needle.
Although he used to make most of the children's clothes, they were not fancy and were just good enough to wear.
After getting some water, Chen Xiao silently washed the mud off his face and hands.
Ling Zhan walked to the water vat, scooped up a ladle of water, and slowly drank it.
Her gaze, however, fell silently on the man under the eaves.
Shen Yan sat hunched over on a small stool, his tall figure appearing somewhat cramped.
He kept his head down, his brows furrowed in a frown.
He was completely focused on dealing with the worn-out shoes and the tiny needle in his hand.
The fingers seemed particularly clumsy as they held the fine needle.
Each needle insertion felt like a battle with an enemy; the stitches were crooked and thick, like a centipede crawling.
He tried his best to patch the hole with the thick piece of leather, making sure it fit perfectly.
However, the edges of the leather were cut unevenly by him, making it incompatible with the original cloth shoe sole.
Sweat seeped from his forehead, but he didn't bother to wipe it away.
Occasionally, when he pricks his finger with the needle, he hisses sharply, puts his finger in his mouth to suck on it, and then continues to work diligently.
The courtyard was very quiet.
Only the sound of Shen Xiao splashing water could be heard.
The soft footsteps of Bean Sprout, Shen Yan's heavy breathing, and the occasional gasp as if pricked by a needle.
After a long while, Shen Yan finally let out a long sigh, as if he had completed an extremely difficult task.
He lifted the pair of shoes he had repaired and looked at them in the dim light of the day.
The thick, dark brown leather patch, like an unsightly plaster, was crookedly stuck to the edge of the sole, with rough and haphazard stitching.
It's actually quite sturdy.
He was clearly dissatisfied with his own skills, his brow still furrowed.
He stood up, took the shoes, and walked over to Shen Xiao, who had already washed them and was resting on the stone steps to the side. He handed the shoes to her, his voice low and hoarse, carrying an indescribable heaviness: "...My wife."
Her gaze wasn't on Ling Zhan, but rather on the ugly patch she had repaired. "The child... is now in your hands."
He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing a few times, before continuing, his voice lower but each word clear.
“You…you know better than I do how to be parents. How…to keep him alive.”
He raised his head, his gaze finally landing on Ling Zhan.
Those eyes, which always held a hint of worldly slickness or arrogance, now held a heavy, unreserved trust.
A barely perceptible plea lurked within: "Let him... come back safely. Please?"
Ling Zhan's gaze moved from Shen Yan's large hands, which were covered in loose threads, fingertips, and fresh needle marks, to the old cloth shoes that Shen Yan offered—ugly but unusually thick—and finally settled on Shen Yan's eyes, which were filled with complex emotions.
The fingers holding the water ladle tightened almost imperceptibly for a moment.
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