Qin Zhao stood by the tavern window for a long time, until the crowd in the street market gradually dispersed, and then he turned around and left. After walking along the mountain road for a while, he arrived at the stone chamber he had entered before. When he pushed open the door, a small piece of dark blue moss was crushed under his boots.
The blue light didn't explode or splash, just deflated like a flattened firefly belly.
He didn't turn back.
The stone door behind him silently closed, and the last glimmer of light leaking out of the gap drew a thin line on his neck and then extinguished it.
There is a mountain road outside.
The wind poured in from the cliff mouth, carrying the smell of rust and a lingering thunderous smell. He raised his hand and wiped his face, rubbing his fingertips against the forehead bone of his left eye - the faint golden crack was still burning, not burning, it was a gentle pulsation of a living creature under his skin, one after another, different from his heartbeat, more like another person beating a drum in his chest.
He didn't stop walking.
Walking back along the way, stepping on the gravel with my fire boots didn't make a sound, but with every step I took, my sole felt like it was pierced by a needle.
It's not pain, it's numbness.
Rushing straight from the soles of the feet towards the Heavenly Spirit Cap, the eardrums buzzed with vibration.
He knew it was a star chart resonance that hadn't dissipated completely yet.
I am also aware of my current state, which is even more unstable than just drinking three bottles of strong liquor.
But he didn't find a place to sit, didn't take a breath, didn't press his pulse.
He turned directly into the dilapidated temple halfway up the mountain where half of the roof had collapsed.
The door frame is skewed, the threshold is missing a corner, and the dust on the ground is thick enough to write. He lifted his foot and stepped in, causing the wine pot at his waist to collide with the door frame with a muffled "clang" sound. The lid of the pot remained motionless - just like how tight Ji Xuekou was yesterday.
He took two steps inside and stopped in front of the shrine.
The shrine is empty, leaving only a charred black base, with a few unburned glass shards embedded at the edges, reflecting the cold light.
Qin Zhao didn't look at the base.
He stared at his left hand.
Five fingers spread out, hanging in mid air, three inches away from the base.
Fingertips trembled slightly.
It's not fear, it's the silver white afterglow in the sea of consciousness climbing up along the meridians, colliding with the dark purple airflow of the Guixu treasury, like two groups of people fighting for the same door, neither allowing the other.
He suddenly withdrew his hand.
Press your backhand against the dark crease on your left wrist.
Dark lines are scorching hot.
It's not the warmth of yesterday, it's the red hot iron strip sticking to the skin.
He pressed his thumb hard, sinking his fingertips into the flesh and pressing down on the restless undercurrent below.
The silver shimmer in the sea immediately stabilized for half a minute.
He closed his eyes.
No cross legged, no pinching technique, just stand there, eyelids drooping, covering the crack on the left eyebrow bone.
Breathe very shallowly, as if afraid of disturbing something.
But in the moment when his divine consciousness sank into the darkest part of the sea of consciousness——
Zila
Not the sound.
It's a feeling.
It's like someone took a red hot needle and plunged it into the back of his head, poking it all the way to his temple and then stirring it violently.
Qin Zhao didn't open his eyes.
The eyelashes didn't shake.
Instead, he directed his divine consciousness towards the direction where the chill came, and sent another half inch.
Deep in the sea, black and shiny.
It's not black, it's the dark purple that can't see the bottom, like the lowest cloud layer before rainstorm.
That chill emerged from the cracks in the clouds.
Fine, cold, with a hook.
As soon as it came in, ripples appeared on the surface of the sea.
It's not water waves, it's fragments of memory lifted up——
The first frame: The car light pierces the rain curtain, the glass explodes into a spider web, and the second the airbag pops out, he hears the sound of his ribs breaking.
Second frame: On a snowy night, on the bluestone steps, his knee hits the ice, and the gate of the Qin family ancestral hall closes behind him with a loud bang. The light leaking from the crack in the door reveals the frozen blood in his palm.
The third frame: Ji Xue's lightning birthmark at the end of her right eye suddenly exploded with golden light, not bright, but burning, causing him to feel a burning sensation in his consciousness.
Three frames of footage, not even stopping for half a breath.
Qin Zhao did not stop.
No mercy.
Not flashing.
He even removed three layers of the divine consciousness barrier.
The sea of knowledge pushed open the door.
That chill drove straight into the core.
And then——
Virtual shadows condense.
Not tall, not short, wearing a moon white robe, with a gold wire eye mask on the left eye, slender fingers, slowly rotating the ring on the thumb.
Xuanming.
Not a real person.
It is a projection condensed from spiritual spikes, carrying a thousand years of darkness and a hint of cat and mouse interest.
He spoke, his voice rolling like ice in a porcelain bowl: 'Returning to the host of the village...'
Qin Zhao did not respond.
He stood in the center of the sea of knowledge, his black robe fluttering without wind, nine jade plaques hanging still around his waist, and the golden light on his left eyebrow bone crack skyrocketing, but he didn't open his eyes.
Xuanming's mouth curved slightly and he said, "Hand over your remaining soul, I'll make you die in pain faster
The words fell.
Qin Zhao suddenly laughed.
It's not pulling the corners of the mouth, it's the Adam's apple pressing down, causing the entire neckline to tighten like a taut bowstring.
He opened his eyes.
Left eye pupil, purple light surging.
It's not anger, it's not plunder, it's pure, naked - hunger.
Xuanming's shadow paused for a moment.
The next second, Qin Zhaosong opened all the barriers of divine consciousness.
Not a collapse.
Proactively demolishing the wall.
The walls of the sea of knowledge collapsed with a loud bang, revealing the invisible giant vault at its deepest point.
It's not possible.
No lock.
There is only one gap, so narrow that the bottom cannot be seen.
But at the moment when Xuanming Xuying's mouth was completely raised——
The gap suddenly cracked open.
Without light.
No sound.
There is no energy explosion.
Only deep in the sea of consciousness, an absolute vacuum like suction suddenly erupted.
The smile on Xuanming Xuying's face was stuck at two-thirds of the position.
He wants to withdraw.
It's too late.
That spiritual force was forcefully pulled away from the body, like pulling out a radish, with mud and roots, all stuffed into that gap.
Qin Zhao curled his fingertips.
The position of the "slag" character on the wine pot at the waist is slightly hot.
Immediately——
A warm spiritual current surged down from the sea of self-awareness, washing along his spine and crashing into his limbs and bones.
Not rising.
It's filling.
Like a riverbed that has been dry for ten years, suddenly filled with spring floods.
The faint golden crack on his left eyebrow bone, with a sudden drop in temperature, did not extinguish, but instead emitted a heavier golden light, like a burnt charcoal core.
Xuanming's phantom began to distort.
It's not scattering, it's being drained.
Skin becomes thinner, bones become brittle, robes fade, and golden eye masks crack.
He opened his mouth without making a sound.
There was only a short, choked scream in the sea of consciousness.
Like a red hot iron bar soaked in cold water, it hissed.
And then——
It's gone.
The sea of consciousness has returned to calm.
Black and shiny.
Qin Zhao stood still, motionless.
He lowered his head and looked at his left hand hanging in mid air.
Fingertips no longer tremble.
Palm down, fingers slightly open, as if just taking something, yet ready to throw it out.
He suddenly raised his hand and poured a cup of cold tea.
The tea was brewed yesterday and has cooled completely, with a thin layer of theophylline floating on it.
He drank it all in one gulp.
The Adam's apple rolled up and down, and the corner of the lips pulled up by half a minute.
Not laughing.
It is to confirm that one's muscle memory is still alive.
Outside the window, the sky is dim.
In the morning market, there were faint sounds of shouting, chopping meat, and donkey hooves hitting the ground, mixed together.
He stood up.
Remove the wine jug from your waist.
Thumb caressed the tiny indentation on the lid of the pot - it was left by Ji Xue's nails when she fastened it last night.
The lid of the pot remains motionless.
He didn't twist.
Just put the wine jug in my arms, turned around and walked towards the door.
The door panel of the dilapidated temple was tilted, and he kicked it open with his foot.
Wood chips flew up.
The sunlight slammed down on his face, illuminating the faint golden crack on his left eyebrow bone, which was glaring bright.
He didn't blink.
Step up and step out of the threshold.
The sole of the boot rolled over the missing corner of the threshold and made a crisp "click" sound.
He walked forward.
a step.
Two steps.
In the third step, he suddenly stopped.
Not stopped by something.
It's a dark wrinkle on the left wrist, I burned it again.
This time it's not burning, it's hemp.
Like a thin thread, it emerged from the dark pattern and climbed up along the meridians until it reached the tip of his right index finger.
Fingertips jump.
He lowered his head.
I saw a tiny, dark blue moss fragment on the side of my right index finger.
It's the piece that was crushed at the entrance of the stone chamber just now.
He didn't wipe it.
Just look at it like that.
The wind blew from the cliff mouth, curling up a strand of hair in front of his forehead.
He suddenly raised his hand and used his thumb pad to quickly and almost imperceptibly rub against the side of his index finger.
Not erased.
It was pressed once.
The faint blue fragment was pressed into the skin and disappeared.
He withdrew his hand.
Keep moving forward.
Market direction.
The morning market is getting louder and louder.
The wine pot swayed around his waist, and the lid of the pot remained motionless.
He raised his hand and touched the brow bone of his left eye.
The crack is warm.
He didn't press.
Just let it burn.
When he reached the first fork in the road, he didn't turn towards the market.
But turned right and entered a narrow alley.
There is a tavern at the end of the alley.
The sign is skewed, the paint peeling off, and only two words remain recognizable: Drunken Cloud.
He stopped at the door.
I didn't push the door.
Just stand there, looking at the old scar on the door panel that has been cut by a knife.
The traces are deep, with blackened edges, as if they were left many years ago.
He stared at it for three seconds.
Then raise your hand.
Not pushing the door.
I touched the dark mark on my left wrist.
Dark lines slightly hot.
He withdrew his hand.
Thumb lightly tapping on the wine jug at your waist.
Dong
A muffled sound.
Like ringing a bell.
It's like knocking on a door.
He just lifted his foot and kicked open the door of the tavern.
The doorknob creaked and groaned.
He stepped in.
The smell of alcohol mixed with the smell of sweat hit my face.
He didn't look at the counter, didn't look at the running hall, and walked straight to the second floor.
The wooden ladder is old and creaks when stepped on.
He went up to the second floor.
At the end of the corridor, there is a door that is ajar.
A little light leaked out from the crack in the door.
He stopped at the door.
Not knocking.
No shouting.
Just stand there like that.
The wine pot swayed around my waist, but the lid remained motionless.
He raised his hand and lightly tapped his thumb on the door panel.
Dong
Another muffled sound.
Inside the door, there's no movement.
He didn't wait.
Lift your foot and kick it away.
The door hit the wall and bounced back.
He stepped in.
There is no one inside the house.
There are two pairs of bowls and chopsticks on the table, and a bowl of soup is still steaming hot.
He walked over.
Pick up those chopsticks on the table.
Bamboo chopsticks are lightweight, with one end sharpened sharply.
He pinched the tip of the chopsticks with his thumb and index finger and folded them down.
Ka
The tip of the chopsticks is broken.
He threw the broken chopsticks onto the table.
Turn around and walk towards the window.
Push open the window.
Outside is a street market.
jaleo.
He lowered his head and looked at his right index finger.
Fingertips are clean and tidy.
That faint blue fragment is missing.
He suddenly raised his hand and used his thumb to rub against the side of his index finger.
I didn't press this time.
It's just rubbing.
Like wiping off a speck of dust.
After finishing rubbing, he withdrew his hand.
Thumb on the wine jug at waist, tapped again.
Dong
Downstairs, the running voice suddenly rose: 'Sir! The wine you want -'
Qin Zhao did not respond.
He stood by the window, watching the crowds in the street market.
The faint golden crack on the left eyebrow bone is still warm and has not dissipated.
He raised his hand and touched it.
No pressure.
Just let it burn like that.
Downstairs, the sound of running footsteps stopped at the staircase entrance.
Sir? The wine you want -
Qin Zhao suddenly spoke up.
The sound was not loud, but it drowned out the noise of the entire street.
Tell Ji Xue
He paused for a moment.
Thumb on the wine jug, tapped again.
I've arrived
Paotang was stunned for a moment, then turned around and ran away.
The footsteps thumped downstairs.
Qin Zhao did not turn back.