Ning Que was running in the street in the darkness, raising his right arm to remove the blood on his chin from time to time. The big black umbrella hit against his back now and then, making scraping sounds. As time passed, he seemed to be in a lot of pain as the light in his eyes grew dimmer and his eyebrows outside of the mask furrowed deeper.
His eyesight became blurry, and the hitching posts and doors of the shops at the side of the street gradually distorted, becoming like clawing monsters. His breathing got faster, and the breath that was squeezed out of his lungs was as hot as magma; while the breath that he had desperately sucked in was as cold as a glacier. His footsteps became slower and more unsteady, and were often caught by the jagged bluestones on the ground. His mind became messier, and he gradually forgot the current situation that he was in.
He only remembered that he should run—the farther, the better.
Some kind of deep instinct urged him to run toward the Old Brush Pen Shop at Lin 47th Street. Perhaps if he could only see the little black girl then he would feel reliably safe. The obsession to run home was so strong... that it could support his seriously injured and weak body to run here from Southern City without noticing that he was now running on Vermilion Bird Avenue, where he always felt anxious and vigilant during the weekdays.
The blood at the edge of his mask could be wiped away with his sleeve, while the blood seeping from the countless cuts on his body was slowly flowing to the big black umbrella. It was then slowly absorbed and released by the sticky, greasy black umbrella, before finally dripping to the ground. Then, tiny blood flowers blossomed on the ground and then disappeared between the gaps in the stones.
The morning wind was already blowing, though the morning had not come yet. It blew someone's clothes that hung under the eaves, and made the towering, dragon-cloud flag that was in the distance on Vermilion Bird Avenue whistle. The footsteps and the faint smell of blood mixed together in the morning wind and gradually awakened some lives hidden in the millennium stones.
The spacious and straight Vermilion Bird Avenue in Chang'an City of the Tang Empire suddenly turned into a long endless road of hellfire. Ning Que felt as if his feet were stepping on extremely red-hot pebbles and his soles would be burned through when each step was taken. Those flourishing flames instantly spread to his flesh and blood, and then burned away his bones, which was very painful.
He was still running. Every step that he took seemed so painful as if his feet were becoming muddy flesh that was simultaneously cut by numerous knives.
His body suddenly became stiff, and he painfully grasped his chest!
He felt as if an invisible lance had fallen down from the high night sky and broken his flesh and organs, which directly pierced through his body to nail him severely to the ground!
The suffering from the burning fire being sent from the ground of Vermilion Bird Avenue instantly disappeared. Because all the pain in the world, when compared to the pain coming from his chest—the kind of pain that nearly tore and destroyed everything—was not even worth mentioning.
Ning Que frowned bitterly. Looking at his empty chest, the street that had been transformed into a curved corridor, Chang'an City that had nothing to do with reality, he found that all the things in his eyes had numerous phantoms—true, false, fake, and deconstructed phantoms—among which his body was standing.
Suddenly, his ears heard someone gently gasping.
He turned his head around with the utmost strength and tightly clenched the hilt at his waist with his bloody hand, but he did not see anyone. What he could see was still the weird and distorted world surrounding him.
His face was as pale as a snowy mountain. He looked around blankly, to subconsciously find the place where that breath had come.
The hitching posts that seemed to fall into the ground were wheezing, narrating the pain and irritability caused by knots in the neck every day; the yellow signboards of the street taverns were wheezing in the morning wind, narrating the unconsciousness and uneasiness caused by the drunkard's molestation every night. The locust popping out of the mansion was wheezing, narrating that it was going to wither by witnessing too many shameful family secrets; the green leaves landing on the stone lions were wheezing, narrating the reason why they did not fall in season.
The lions carved by stones, the buildings made of wood, the roads under feet, the morning wind, the distant palace, the near gray wall, and the entire Chang'an City were all wheezing, and the entire world was wheezing.
The pretty charming woman was moaningly wheezing; and the long-stretching imperial court was solemnly wheezing; and the nervous and uncomfortable escapees were desperately wheezing; and the history full of indifference and vicissitudes was relentlessly wheezing.
Ning Que, lonely and helpless, stood in the middle of the street and listened to the breath coming from all sides of the streets, lanes, courtyards, and distant temples.
He loosened the hilt to cover his ears with his hands, but still could not stop all kinds of breath from penetrating through his palms, then clearly and powerfully into his mind.
He slowly knelt down in the middle of the darkened Vermilion Bird Avenue and then fell down.
The big black umbrella was carried on his back.
The blood dripped onto the bluestones from the black umbrella, and finally flew in the gaps between stones.
On Vermilion Bird Avenue, paved by flat bluestones, countless small blood flowers blossomed, which got in line from Southern City to the north and which connected with the blood in front of the black umbrella into one line.
At the end of the blood line was the Vermilion Bird portrait, which was in the distance of the avenue.
…
…
Deeply engraved in stones, the Vermilion Bird portrait was at the center of Royal Road. It had carried the history of the Tang Empire for over a thousand years. No one knew how many vigorous new kings it had welcomed, or how many old bold kings that could not conquer time it had seen off. Its two eyes, with dignity and power, were always so calm that they had never moved for a moment.
At that moment, the Vermilion Bird portrait was still as stately as usual, but its gorgeous right wing, which was among the three that were rooted on its head, slowly turned upward as if it would break the stone to get into the real world!
Ning Que fell down under the big black umbrella, unconscious. He did not know that the distant Vermilion Bird portrait had experienced such strange changes, and did not even know that a kind of respectful ancient meaning of destruction was hanging over him.
His blood flowing among the gaps between the stones was very shallow and flat, even shallower and flatter than what human beings could imagine. It flew from the center of the avenue to the distance, and then ran into the complex but majestic feather stone gaps of the Vermilion Bird portrait in the distance.
The blood in the beautiful feather stone gaps was quietly and quickly evaporated into a pale red mist, and then was rapidly purified into the invisible empty by a certain kind of intangible high-temperature power.
The flowers of blood drops scattered on the bluestones of the Avenue also started to be evaporated and purified. Each blossom disappeared one after another. The extremely shallow and flat bloody water continued to evaporate with a speed that was visible to the naked eye. It finally came to that big black umbrella, directly into Ning Que's body!
The intangible raging fire, the insensible high temperature, and the invisible flaming breath seemed to be able to burn all the things in the world. The blood on Ning Que's body quickly evaporated and disappeared, while his clothes did not have the slightest change.
His arms that were exposed outside of his clothes and his cheeks outside of the mask began to turn red quickly. And the hair on his forehead was rapidly withering. Also, the nails of both of his hands that were resting on the bluestones became dry and crispy due to the rapid loss of water.
A green leaf was blown up by the morning wind and landed on the back of his hand. Yet it was still greasy when brushed away again. An ant climbed onto the back of his hand due to the disturbance from the leaves, and then climbed down from the other side. It was still alive. But the next moment, Ning Que might surprisingly be burned to death by the mysterious invisible flames releasing from the Vermilion Bird portrait.
At that moment, a shadow landed and crushed the poor ant with a gentle snap.
Blown by the morning wind, the big black umbrella softly covered Ning Que's body, as if it were a black swaggering lotus. With the swagger of the black umbrella, that green leaf was instantly frozen into ice, and then scattered into countless grains of small boulders.
A flavor of absolute chill gradually releasing from the black umbrella was slowly and irresistibly infiltrating into Ning Que's hot body. A moment later, the redness on his cheeks and arms from his heavy injuries faded and returned to white. The hair on his forehead quickly turned black and shiny, and the nails on both of his hands resting on the bluestones regained their luster.
The Vermilion Bird portrait that was far away on the stone street seemed to have induced something. Its dignified eyes should have been calm as usual, but it seemed to have given a glance in the direction where Ning Que was lying.
An instant later, its three gorgeous wings lifted together at the top of its head!
Almost at the same time, the big black umbrella swaggered more rapidly!
…
…
The black wind was blowing in the darkened wilderness. The strong wind rolled the black gravel up in the sky and tossed it everywhere, as if the sun's rays in the firmament all turned black as seen with the naked eye.
The black snow mountain far away in the wilderness was constantly melting and collapsing under the black scorching sun. The melted snow, mixing with the black mud and gravel, reflected the black sunshine and rushed to scour everywhere.
The black snow mountain was going to collapse, and the floods that it formed would destroy the whole world. Yet at that moment, the bright night suddenly arrived in the world, releasing a warm coldness.
Ning Que, standing at a certain point in this space, watched this magnificent scene of destruction in front of him, perplexed but extremely calm. He wondered what this place was, but he knew that it was not a dream. This was a clear and firm state of perception, as he was sure that it was the night though the brightness that dominated most of the sky could be clearly seen.
The bright night, covering more than half of the sky and the blazing black sunshine, gradually slowed down the speed of the melting of the snow mountain. However, the coldness emitting from the bright night sky began to congeal those floods that had been wrecked in the black wilderness, turning them into dancing black ice and unwilling black snow.
The entire world was being remodeled. The black snow mountain was able to stand upright again.
The heaven and earth had settled into peace. The night returned to the color that it ought to have been. The glaciers and snow rivers in the wilderness disappeared at some point as if nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed.
The sun in the firmament was shining. The snow cap on the other side of the snow mountain was melted. The gurgling water permeated into the depths of snow and ice, into the underground dark blue ice holes, and then was finally gone.
It was unknown how many years had passed. Somewhere far away from the Snow Mountain in the wilderness, a piece of gravel started shaking softly and was pushed aside, and then a trickle of stream gushed out, gradually spread away and flowed to the horizon.
Along the riverside grew a weak but strong grass.
Ning Que was running in the street in the darkness, raising his right arm to remove the blood on his chin from time to time. The big black umbrella hit against his back now and then, making scraping sounds. As time passed, he seemed to be in a lot of pain as the light in his eyes grew dimmer and his eyebrows outside of the mask furrowed deeper.
His eyesight became blurry, and the hitching posts and doors of the shops at the side of the street gradually distorted, becoming like clawing monsters. His breathing got faster, and the breath that was squeezed out of his lungs was as hot as magma; while the breath that he had desperately sucked in was as cold as a glacier. His footsteps became slower and more unsteady, and were often caught by the jagged bluestones on the ground. His mind became messier, and he gradually forgot the current situation that he was in.
He only remembered that he should run—the farther, the better.
Some kind of deep instinct urged him to run toward the Old Brush Pen Shop at Lin 47th Street. Perhaps if he could only see the little black girl then he would feel reliably safe. The obsession to run home was so strong... that it could support his seriously injured and weak body to run here from Southern City without noticing that he was now running on Vermilion Bird Avenue, where he always felt anxious and vigilant during the weekdays.
The blood at the edge of his mask could be wiped away with his sleeve, while the blood seeping from the countless cuts on his body was slowly flowing to the big black umbrella. It was then slowly absorbed and released by the sticky, greasy black umbrella, before finally dripping to the ground. Then, tiny blood flowers blossomed on the ground and then disappeared between the gaps in the stones.
The morning wind was already blowing, though the morning had not come yet. It blew someone's clothes that hung under the eaves, and made the towering, dragon-cloud flag that was in the distance on Vermilion Bird Avenue whistle. The footsteps and the faint smell of blood mixed together in the morning wind and gradually awakened some lives hidden in the millennium stones.
The spacious and straight Vermilion Bird Avenue in Chang'an City of the Tang Empire suddenly turned into a long endless road of hellfire. Ning Que felt as if his feet were stepping on extremely red-hot pebbles and his soles would be burned through when each step was taken. Those flourishing flames instantly spread to his flesh and blood, and then burned away his bones, which was very painful.
He was still running. Every step that he took seemed so painful as if his feet were becoming muddy flesh that was simultaneously cut by numerous knives.
His body suddenly became stiff, and he painfully grasped his chest!
He felt as if an invisible lance had fallen down from the high night sky and broken his flesh and organs, which directly pierced through his body to nail him severely to the ground!
The suffering from the burning fire being sent from the ground of Vermilion Bird Avenue instantly disappeared. Because all the pain in the world, when compared to the pain coming from his chest—the kind of pain that nearly tore and destroyed everything—was not even worth mentioning.
Ning Que frowned bitterly. Looking at his empty chest, the street that had been transformed into a curved corridor, Chang'an City that had nothing to do with reality, he found that all the things in his eyes had numerous phantoms—true, false, fake, and deconstructed phantoms—among which his body was standing.
Suddenly, his ears heard someone gently gasping.
He turned his head around with the utmost strength and tightly clenched the hilt at his waist with his bloody hand, but he did not see anyone. What he could see was still the weird and distorted world surrounding him.
His face was as pale as a snowy mountain. He looked around blankly, to subconsciously find the place where that breath had come.
The hitching posts that seemed to fall into the ground were wheezing, narrating the pain and irritability caused by knots in the neck every day; the yellow signboards of the street taverns were wheezing in the morning wind, narrating the unconsciousness and uneasiness caused by the drunkard's molestation every night. The locust popping out of the mansion was wheezing, narrating that it was going to wither by witnessing too many shameful family secrets; the green leaves landing on the stone lions were wheezing, narrating the reason why they did not fall in season.
The lions carved by stones, the buildings made of wood, the roads under feet, the morning wind, the distant palace, the near gray wall, and the entire Chang'an City were all wheezing, and the entire world was wheezing.
The pretty charming woman was moaningly wheezing; and the long-stretching imperial court was solemnly wheezing; and the nervous and uncomfortable escapees were desperately wheezing; and the history full of indifference and vicissitudes was relentlessly wheezing.
Ning Que, lonely and helpless, stood in the middle of the street and listened to the breath coming from all sides of the streets, lanes, courtyards, and distant temples.
He loosened the hilt to cover his ears with his hands, but still could not stop all kinds of breath from penetrating through his palms, then clearly and powerfully into his mind.
He slowly knelt down in the middle of the darkened Vermilion Bird Avenue and then fell down.
The big black umbrella was carried on his back.
The blood dripped onto the bluestones from the black umbrella, and finally flew in the gaps between stones.
On Vermilion Bird Avenue, paved by flat bluestones, countless small blood flowers blossomed, which got in line from Southern City to the north and which connected with the blood in front of the black umbrella into one line.
At the end of the blood line was the Vermilion Bird portrait, which was in the distance of the avenue.
…
…
Deeply engraved in stones, the Vermilion Bird portrait was at the center of Royal Road. It had carried the history of the Tang Empire for over a thousand years. No one knew how many vigorous new kings it had welcomed, or how many old bold kings that could not conquer time it had seen off. Its two eyes, with dignity and power, were always so calm that they had never moved for a moment.
At that moment, the Vermilion Bird portrait was still as stately as usual, but its gorgeous right wing, which was among the three that were rooted on its head, slowly turned upward as if it would break the stone to get into the real world!
Ning Que fell down under the big black umbrella, unconscious. He did not know that the distant Vermilion Bird portrait had experienced such strange changes, and did not even know that a kind of respectful ancient meaning of destruction was hanging over him.
His blood flowing among the gaps between the stones was very shallow and flat, even shallower and flatter than what human beings could imagine. It flew from the center of the avenue to the distance, and then ran into the complex but majestic feather stone gaps of the Vermilion Bird portrait in the distance.
The blood in the beautiful feather stone gaps was quietly and quickly evaporated into a pale red mist, and then was rapidly purified into the invisible empty by a certain kind of intangible high-temperature power.
The flowers of blood drops scattered on the bluestones of the Avenue also started to be evaporated and purified. Each blossom disappeared one after another. The extremely shallow and flat bloody water continued to evaporate with a speed that was visible to the naked eye. It finally came to that big black umbrella, directly into Ning Que's body!
The intangible raging fire, the insensible high temperature, and the invisible flaming breath seemed to be able to burn all the things in the world. The blood on Ning Que's body quickly evaporated and disappeared, while his clothes did not have the slightest change.
His arms that were exposed outside of his clothes and his cheeks outside of the mask began to turn red quickly. And the hair on his forehead was rapidly withering. Also, the nails of both of his hands that were resting on the bluestones became dry and crispy due to the rapid loss of water.
A green leaf was blown up by the morning wind and landed on the back of his hand. Yet it was still greasy when brushed away again. An ant climbed onto the back of his hand due to the disturbance from the leaves, and then climbed down from the other side. It was still alive. But the next moment, Ning Que might surprisingly be burned to death by the mysterious invisible flames releasing from the Vermilion Bird portrait.
At that moment, a shadow landed and crushed the poor ant with a gentle snap.
Blown by the morning wind, the big black umbrella softly covered Ning Que's body, as if it were a black swaggering lotus. With the swagger of the black umbrella, that green leaf was instantly frozen into ice, and then scattered into countless grains of small boulders.
A flavor of absolute chill gradually releasing from the black umbrella was slowly and irresistibly infiltrating into Ning Que's hot body. A moment later, the redness on his cheeks and arms from his heavy injuries faded and returned to white. The hair on his forehead quickly turned black and shiny, and the nails on both of his hands resting on the bluestones regained their luster.
The Vermilion Bird portrait that was far away on the stone street seemed to have induced something. Its dignified eyes should have been calm as usual, but it seemed to have given a glance in the direction where Ning Que was lying.
An instant later, its three gorgeous wings lifted together at the top of its head!
Almost at the same time, the big black umbrella swaggered more rapidly!
…
…
The black wind was blowing in the darkened wilderness. The strong wind rolled the black gravel up in the sky and tossed it everywhere, as if the sun's rays in the firmament all turned black as seen with the naked eye.
The black snow mountain far away in the wilderness was constantly melting and collapsing under the black scorching sun. The melted snow, mixing with the black mud and gravel, reflected the black sunshine and rushed to scour everywhere.
The black snow mountain was going to collapse, and the floods that it formed would destroy the whole world. Yet at that moment, the bright night suddenly arrived in the world, releasing a warm coldness.
Ning Que, standing at a certain point in this space, watched this magnificent scene of destruction in front of him, perplexed but extremely calm. He wondered what this place was, but he knew that it was not a dream. This was a clear and firm state of perception, as he was sure that it was the night though the brightness that dominated most of the sky could be clearly seen.
The bright night, covering more than half of the sky and the blazing black sunshine, gradually slowed down the speed of the melting of the snow mountain. However, the coldness emitting from the bright night sky began to congeal those floods that had been wrecked in the black wilderness, turning them into dancing black ice and unwilling black snow.
The entire world was being remodeled. The black snow mountain was able to stand upright again.
The heaven and earth had settled into peace. The night returned to the color that it ought to have been. The glaciers and snow rivers in the wilderness disappeared at some point as if nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed.
The sun in the firmament was shining. The snow cap on the other side of the snow mountain was melted. The gurgling water permeated into the depths of snow and ice, into the underground dark blue ice holes, and then was finally gone.
It was unknown how many years had passed. Somewhere far away from the Snow Mountain in the wilderness, a piece of gravel started shaking softly and was pushed aside, and then a trickle of stream gushed out, gradually spread away and flowed to the horizon.
Along the riverside grew a weak but strong grass.
