Chapitre 26: Strange Man

He would lie awake and wondering about this world, his memories, his family, his father, and his mother. He pondered how both could have dismissed him from their lives so easily, even if he was not of this world; he was born to them. How could people in this world be so detached from their own kin? He wondered what kind of ruthless world that ancient feminine voice had sent him to.

He listened to the casual conversations of people about him and interpreted their words in his own frightening way. He pondered what his future would be when Boluo was no longer around. He was convinced Boluo possessed some form of power warrior qi too, but because of desert beast's attack, he had lost most of his warrior's essence. Still, he believed Boluo wouldn't pass away anytime soon; he might even outlive him, especially if he could not find a method where he could use the statue without being noticed.

He wondered, occasionally, if anyone in his last life would have missed him. But as much as he had heard from the voices, no one from his last life existed anymore. Maybe the two voices who sent him here might be thinking about him.

As his thoughts wandered, he would sit alone, aching with loneliness and fear, for in all that great fort, there were none he sensed as a friend. None save the beasts, and Boluo had forbidden him to have any closeness with them, worried that Yuanjing's bloodline powers might manifest.

Loneliness wouldn't have bothered him much, but the truth was that in this period of solitude, his most intrusive thought, his biggest fear, would come: the fear of dying and floating aimlessly in the void forever. That suffocating feeling was worse than hell, and every other thought—be it family, loneliness, or self-pity—was to keep himself distracted and not think about that ghastly feeling of dying and floating in nothingness for eternity. He wanted to distract himself, to feel happy or sad or lonely, or anything else but not think about that suffocating feeling his soul had felt.

One night, he went to bed exhausted, only to wrestle with his anxieties until sleep reluctantly overtook him. However, a beam of light on his face roused him; he woke up with the immediate sense that something was amiss. He hadn't slept long enough, and this light was yellow and wavering, unlike the whiteness of the sunlight that usually spilled into his window. He stirred unwillingly and opened his eyes.

There was an old man who stood at the foot of his bed, holding aloft an old-looking lamp made of some special bronze. This metal was rare. This, in itself, was a rarity at Lujingbao Castle, but more than the buttery light from the lamp held his eyes.

The man himself was strange. His robe was the color of undyed hemp. His hair and beard, which were of a similar shade, had been cleaned but not recently nor consistently. Despite his hair color, Wuyi couldn't determine his age. There were certain facial marks that indicated the passage of time.

But he had never seen a man marked as he was, with scores of tiny blemishes, angry pinks and reds like small burns. His hands were a network of bones and sinews covered in thin, pale skin. Even under the lamp's glow, his eyes were strikingly green. This was the first person Wuyi had seen in this world with a different eye color. They reminded him of a cat's eyes when it is hunting something; the same combination of joy and fierceness.

Wuyi pulled his quilt up higher under his chin.

"You're awake," the man said. "Good. Get up and follow me."

He turned abruptly from Wuyi's bedside and walked toward a shadowed corner of the room between the brazier and the wall. Wuyi didn't move.

The man looked back at Wuyi and raised the lamp. "Move it, boy," he said, sounding annoyed, and tapped his walking stick against the post of Wuyi's bed.

Wuyi got out of bed, wincing as his bare feet hit the cold floor. He reached for his robes and shoes, but the man wasn't waiting for him. He glanced back once to see what was delaying Wuyi, and the piercing look was enough to make Wuyi drop his robes and quake.

And Wuyi followed, wordlessly, in his night robe, for no reason he could explain to himself. Except that the man had suggested it. Wuyi followed him through a door that he had never noticed before, and up a narrow, winding staircase lit only by the lamp the man held. His shadow trailed behind him and over Wuyi, causing him to walk in fluctuating darkness, feeling each step with his feet.

The stairs were made of cold, even, worn stone. They ascended higher and higher, making Wuyi feel as if they had gone beyond the tallest tower in the fort. A cold wind blew up the stairs and through Wuyi's robe, making him shiver with more than just the cold.

Finally, the man pushed open a heavy door that moved effortlessly and silently. They entered a room. It was warmly illuminated by multiple lamps hanging from invisible ceiling chains. The room was spacious, easily triple the size of Wuyi's own. One corner of the room caught Wuyi's attention. It featured a large wooden bed laden with feather mattresses and pillows. The floor was covered with overlapping rugs of vibrant reds, greens, and various shades of blue. A table, the color of wild honey, held a bowl of fruit so ripe that Wuyi could smell them from a distance. Scrolls and books were strewn about as if their rarity mattered little

All three walls were covered with murals depicting ancient mountains and mystic rivers. Drawn to it, Wuyi began to move toward the scene. "This way," said the guide, and relentlessly led Wuyi to the other end of the chamber.

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