bookbashuk Chapter 126 A Storm Begins from the End of a Floating Stream
Chapter 126 A Storm Begins from the End of a Floating Stream
Inside the guest rooms of the Starry Sky Train, the lights have been adjusted to the softest, warmest yellow.
Hoshino lay on the bed.
Exhaustion washed over her like a tide, wave after wave crashing against her nerve endings.
This kind of fatigue does not stem from muscle soreness, nor from the burden on the bones; it comes from the tightly stretched string deep within the soul.
He strategizes with Jing Yuan at the Shence Palace, confronts the source of the calamity deep within his memories, and finally decides to head to the inescapable deep sea.
Every decision, every thought, was draining her mental energy.
She closed her eyes.
The low-frequency vibrations of the train traveling through the imaginary tunnels traveled down the bed board to her back, like a monotonous and hypnotic lullaby.
My consciousness began to sink.
It continues to sink.
I pierced through the superficial noise of thought, through the chaotic images of Bai Heng, Xi Lian, and the future.
She fell into a deeper, more ancient realm, a realm beyond the reach of even light.
That is......
She was on the edge of her own subconscious.
That is also...
The place where the "lonely soul" that had always resided in her mind dwells.
......
"Tick-tock".
There was no sound of water.
But deep in his consciousness, Hoshino clearly heard a sound similar to water dripping on stone.
Immediately following was a series of indistinct yet unusually persistent murmurs.
The sound was extremely faint, like the rustling of wind through dry grass, or like the last mournful cry of some ancient musical instrument before its strings snapped.
"...Killing that dragon...though simple..."
"...This action...defies logic..."
Hoshino tried to open her eyes, trying to find the source of the sound. But her body seemed to have lost its weight, floating in nothingness.
The babbling didn't stop; instead, it became clearer, as if someone was pressing against her earlobe, hammering those words into her skull one by one.
"Life...has never truly understood time."
"Insects live from dawn till dusk, oblivious to spring and autumn. Humans live to be a hundred, yet rarely witness the vast ocean."
"Trying to measure an infinite circle with a finite body..."
"How...foolish."
"And how tragic it all is."
As the last word faded, the world, which had been pitch black, suddenly tore apart.
Buzz——————
A bright light pierced the retina.
She instinctively raised her hand to shield her eyes, and only after her eyes adjusted to the light did she slowly lower her arm and see the scene before her clearly.
here......
Not anywhere she was familiar with.
There are no carriages of the Starry Sky Train, no pavilions and towers of the Luofu Immortal Boat, and no ruins of Onphalus.
There's only one place here...
An endless wasteland.
The ground beneath my feet was a sickly grayish-white, cracked and broken, covered with crisscrossing gullies, as if the earth's skin had long since died, leaving only exposed, withered bones.
And the sky above.
That was a color that Hoshino had never seen before in her life.
Orange-yellow.
A deep, heavy, and oppressive orange-yellow.
It is neither as warm as the sunset nor as fiery as a flame.
This color has an aged texture, like a piece of Xuan paper that has been stored for thousands of years, with yellow spots appearing under the erosion of time.
It covered the entire sky, without clouds or birds, just this suffocating curtain, heavy overhead, making it difficult to even breathe.
The wind is blowing.
The wind carried a lot of dust.
The dust particles were not soil particles; they had a strange silvery-gray color and shimmered faintly in the orange-yellow light of the sky.
They fell in a flurry, covering the earth, covering the hem of Hoshino's dress, and landing on her eyelashes, bringing a cool touch.
That is......
The embers of time.
It is the last remnant left in this dream of countless civilizations that have been swallowed up, forgotten, and obliterated.
As Hoshi took a step, the ashes beneath her feet cracked softly.
She raised her head, her gaze piercing through the swirling dust, and looked towards the edge of the wasteland.
There.
A wheel was suspended...
A black sun.
It was enormous, occupying a third of the field of vision. It was entirely black, but its edges were encircled by a dark red corona.
It did not emit light; instead, it resembled a giant black hole, greedily devouring the surrounding orange-yellow skylight.
And beneath that dark sun.
At the highest point of that desolate wasteland.
There was a person standing there.
He had his back to the star.
His figure was shockingly thin, and his large robes hung loosely on his body, as if a gust of wind could blow him over.
He was not wearing clothing from that era.
That was a whole outfit...
A blue cloth robe that exudes a strong sense of antiquity, yet appears exceptionally shabby.
The hem of the garment was somewhat torn, and the edges were frayed, indicating that it had been worn for many years.
A black square scarf was wrapped around his head, revealing a pale and thin back of his neck, with the shape of his spine clearly visible.
But he stood very straight.
Straight as a sword.
Even when facing the black sun that could devour everything, even when in this desolate wasteland filled with despair and death, his spine showed no sign of bending.
It's like a...
A lone bamboo planted between heaven and earth, unyielding and steadfast.
Nihoshi stopped in his tracks.
She had never met this person before.
Although the Black Swan brought back the poem, and although she knew that there was a friend named "Li He" in her mind.
But this was her first time...
In my dream, I saw his back so clearly.
The person seemed to notice the gaze behind them.
But he did not turn around.
He still looked up, gazing at the dark sun.
"girl."
His voice came through the wind and sand.
Clear and bright, yet with an indescribable sense of desolation. Like the crisp sound of the last leaf falling from the branch in late autumn.
"Do you know...?"
What does it take to write a poem?
Hoshi was stunned.
She hadn't expected that the first thing this person in her dream would say was about poetry.
"Need...inspiration?"
She answered in her mind without thinking, but couldn't utter a sound.
The man didn't seem to need her answer.
He slowly raised his hand, which was pale, slender, and had prominent knuckles, appearing particularly powerful in the orange-yellow sunlight.
"Write a poem..."
"It requires painstaking effort."
"Blood needs to be drained."
"The five vital energies within one's heart must be transformed into thunderous strokes of the pen; the myriad phenomena seen through one's eyes must be refined into clouds and mist on paper."
"Every time I compose a fine line, it is like cutting off my own flesh to feed an eagle; I sacrifice a portion of my lifespan in exchange for a portion of my talent."
His voice gradually rose, carrying an almost manic obsession.
"Take the imperial examination once..."
"It requires ten years of hard study."
"One must diligently study the scriptures."
"One must endure hunger and cold, and bear loneliness and desolation. In countless long nights, one keeps company with a solitary lamp and befriends sages, all for the sake of passing the imperial examination and becoming known throughout the world."
....................................