Chapter 5 — A Shocking Turn
劍問蒼天 · Page 1 of 4
The rain finally stopped that morning.
Droplets hung crystalline on the leaves, sliding quietly from their edges and falling; caught by the wind, they traced beautiful arcs through the air and struck Zhang Qingyue's face.
The cold chill pulled Zhang Qingyue from his dream. He opened his eyes and instinctively called out, "Master—" but there was no one in the wilds, only Lin Jinghong lying beside him, deep in a pleasant sleep.
It was as though he had dreamed a dream.
Yet the shattered grass temple in the distance and the playmate sleeping at his side told him it had all been real.
He sat there blankly for a moment, then shook his head, went to Lin Jinghong's side, and shook him hard. Lin Jinghong mumbled a few words and slowly woke, rubbing his eyes; before he could speak, a chill came over him and he could not help but sneeze.
He opened his eyes and saw himself and Zhang Qingyue soaked through, lying beneath a pine tree in the open country. He gaped and said, "Wasn't I asleep at home? How did I get here?"
Zhang Qingyue shrugged. "I don't know either. But I'm freezing—let's get back quickly."
Questions swarmed in Lin Jinghong's head, but he was indeed cold; he nodded, scrambled up, and ran off toward the village with Zhang Qingyue.
Before they reached the village, the two of them sensed something was wrong. At this hour the villagers were usually already up, but today it was utterly silent, not a single soul in sight—and as the morning breeze blew past, it carried a faint smell of blood.
They exchanged a glance and saw the same alarm and doubt in each other's eyes, and at once quickened their pace toward the village. In no time they reached the entrance; looking in along the main road, they saw that on the flat ground at the village center, the forty-odd households of Liumiao Village—more than two hundred people, old and young, men and women—all lay upon the open ground, their bodies stiff, turned to corpses. Rivers of blood ran everywhere, flies swarmed, and the stench of gore struck them full in the face.
Lin Jinghong and Zhang Qingyue, coming suddenly upon this horrifying sight, screamed in terror and fainted dead away.
How much time passed, neither knew; then Zhang Qingyue jerked awake, sitting bolt upright, gasping for breath, his hands trembling slightly. In that dead faint his mind had been filled with hideous ghost faces, blood and white bone—one nightmare after another.
He steadied himself and looked around. This was an ordinary side room, with two small windows; the furnishings were simple and clean, only a few pine tables and chairs with a water jug and cups upon them.
Taking up half the room was a single broad platform, joined as one piece, with four sleeping places upon it. Besides the one he now lay on, the bedding beside it was somewhat rumpled, as though someone had just slept there; the other two were folded neat and precise, not a wrinkle out of place.
On the wall directly above the four places hung a horizontal plaque, bearing a single large character:
Dao!
From the look of it, this seemed an ordinary guest room of an inn—or perhaps a shared chamber where disciples come to study under a master.
Zhang Qingyue sat a while, and suddenly, unbidden, a thought rose in his heart: perhaps everything last night had been a nightmare? Perhaps he had been sleeping here all along? Perhaps if he walked out that door, his mother would be there as always, laughing and scolding him: "You little lazybones!"
He slowly got down from the platform, put on his shoes, and walked step by step toward the door.
The door stood ajar. Through the gap, a faint breeze slipped in, cool and delicate.
He walked step by step, his small hands clenching tighter and tighter. His heart pounded; he held his breath. Soon he reached the doorway and laid his hand upon the door.
In that instant, the wooden door seemed heavy as a mountain, dense as iron.