However, Nansong's oriental charm still carries the flavor of the mundane world, while even the frost on Blore's eyelashes looks like fragments of time leaking out from the cracks of Shang and Zhou oracle bone inscriptions.
His three companions were all of the best appearance.
When they gathered around the library fireplace and exchanged stories, frost would form on the windows in winter, occasionally reminding him of the ice crystal patterns on the dome of the forbidden library.
Sometimes he would suddenly fall silent, remembering the taste of the white peach camellia leaves and the look of sunlight filtering through the ice, but he would soon be brought back to reality by the laughter of his companions.
One snowy night, when his companions asked him about his hometown, he found that he still couldn't forget it. He didn't want to recall it, but he still took root in the memory.
He knew that whenever snowflakes danced over the base, he would still think of that fateful afternoon, the dust floating in the twilight, and the gentle voice between the pages of the book.
Those memories were like undercurrents beneath the glacier, flowing quietly in the deepest part of his heart forever.
**
"Sister Nan, what is Ma Tuan doing? That strange man..."
Blore spoke quietly to Nansong.
He was a little surprised to see that Ma Tuan suddenly stopped moving.
Seeing this, Nan Song grabbed him and stopped him from speaking. She no longer felt any danger, so she just hoped that Blore would not put them in danger.
The shadows in the corner of the tavern suddenly grew thicker, and something was wriggling there, making a wet gurgling sound.
Zhimawan's pupils split into hexagrams in the candlelight. When he sighed, the arc at the corner of his mouth slightly exceeded the human limit:
"So smart. But when you were little, I thought you were a little..."
His voice suddenly became tinged with low-frequency vibrations like deep-sea whale songs.
"After I was forced to leave Tang Bingsi, you disappeared when I came back. I spent so much time looking for you."
The wooden walls of the tavern began to ooze a resinous slime, which formed itself into ancient runes on the walls.
Ma Tuan was suddenly pulled away from his memories, his temples throbbing, and a scene that shouldn't exist emerged from the depths of his memory: a forest on a stormy night, and himself kneeling in front of a moss-covered stone tablet, piecing together the pale bones wrapped in water plants.
"Although I often see you..."
When Zhimawan spoke, tiny transparent tentacles sprouted from the ends of his hair and gently brushed against his cheeks.
"But I feel like you've grown a lot. You helped me recover the remains and nurtured them in the image..."
A gill slit suddenly appeared at his Adam's apple, then quickly closed.
"Finally, he reshaped his body."
The pub suddenly became eerily quiet.
Only then did Ma Tuan realize that the other noisy drinkers had all turned into blurry silhouettes, their movements frozen in the previous second, and their faces covered with translucent mycelium-like substance.
Only the sesame balls remain alive—if that word can be used to describe an existence that is slowly changing its form.
From time to time, luminous creatures swam beneath his skin, like deep-sea fireflies trapped in the human body.
When he smiled, Ma Tuan saw a mother-of-pearl-like luster gleaming deep in his mouth, which was definitely not the reflection of teeth.
"Would you like a glass of mead?"
Zhimawan suddenly asked in a normal tone, but the liquid floating in the bottle was changing color on its own, from amber to dark green, and finally to a kind of glowing deep purple.
"I think this color is beautiful. It seems the ocean looked just like this when I first saw you."
Outside the window, the night owls in the forest stopped chirping, replaced by the wet, scraping sound of some massive creature moving through the treetops.
＊
"Hello!"
A clear, crisp sound suddenly pierced the turbid air of the tavern, like a sharp blade splitting through solidified butter.
In an instant, the hanging brass bells began to shake, a string on the bard's harp broke, and even the dormant flame in the fireplace began to burn.
All creatures—whether they were dwarves having a drinking contest, a cat-shaped spirit licking its paws in the shadows of a corner, or elven rangers whispering at the bar—all turned their heads to look at the source of the sound.
"Oh my god," Nansong sighed in a very low voice, "Bai Di has become tough."
The tail end of her voice swirled, as if she had discovered something extremely interesting.
The chain between Blore's shoulder blades made a small clinking sound.
He turned his head sharply, his short hair drawing a meteor-like trail in the air, just in time to see Lou Xun slumped over the oak table like a puppet with its bones pulled out.
The glass containing amber liquor jumped up from the shock, leaving a circle of wet rings on the table.
The culprit, Bai Di, was moving his wrist slowly and methodically.
The young man's slender five fingers had just completed a beautiful knife move and were now suspended in mid-air, with his fingertips still retaining the subtle touch of tapping on the back of a human neck.
He glanced at the remaining three people expressionlessly, his thick eyelashes casting two crow-feather-shaped shadows under his eyes, making his obsidian eyes seem even deeper and bottomless.
"My eldest brother had a little accident."
Bai Di's voice was like a metal vessel just taken out of an ice cellar, and every word was filled with a chilling chill.
He grabbed Lou Xun by the back of his collar with one hand and dragged his tall and strong brother towards the door like a bag of grain.
The tip of Lou Xun's boot left two crooked tracks on the floor, just like graffiti left by a drunkard.
The wind chimes hanging on the lintel of the tavern were shaken by the impact.
Before stepping out of the door, Bai Di suddenly stopped and said without looking back: "Someone will be waiting for us outside."
These words were said lightly, but they made the hairs on the back of Blore's neck stand up - he clearly saw a fleeting, almost gentle arc at the corner of the boy's mouth when he said this.
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