Chapter 5 — A Shocking Turn

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.

He gritted his teeth, hardened his heart, and with a creak pulled the door open.

The bright outdoor light flooded in at once, making him squint. Warm, gentle sunlight fell upon him, carrying a faint sweetness of heat.

Yet his heart plunged straight into an ice cellar.

Beyond the door was a small courtyard with a few pines and cypresses, a few clumps of grass and shrubs, and here and there a few small fragrant flowers blooming at ease. Before the door ran a corridor leading out of the courtyard; four feet from the threshold were several steps joining the courtyard to the corridor.

At the corner of the steps sat a lone child, chin propped on his hand, sitting there blankly, motionless.

Perhaps the sound of the door had startled him; the child hesitated, then slowly turned his head.

Lin Jinghong.

Zhang Qingyue's mouth fell open. A thousand questions filled his heart, but at his lips they turned to silence.

He wanted to shout aloud, but his chest was so choked that no sound would come.

Two lines of tears slid down, just so, without a sound.

The two children looked at each other, just so, without a word.

Somewhere far off, unknown, a clear, secluded birdsong drifted; the sky was blue, with a few white clouds.

Zhang Qingyue sat down on the other side of the steps, head lowered, watching the little stone-paved path in the courtyard.

In the small courtyard, all was still.

How long they sat thus, neither knew; then Lin Jinghong said slowly, "I woke earlier than you. There were still a few people in the room then. I asked them—this is Jietian Peak of the Canglan Mountains."

Zhang Qingyue said in a low voice, "The Canglan Mountains."

Lin Jinghong said, "They said a few disciples of the Canglan Sect were passing by and saw the village, the village—" Here his voice caught and broke.

He raised a hand and rubbed his eyes hard, drew a deep breath, and went on: "Later they found the two of us behind the village and brought us up the mountain."

Zhang Qingyue's lips moved, but he did not raise his head. "What do we do from now on, Jingyu?"

Lin Jinghong shook his head and said bitterly, "I don't know."

Zhang Qingyue was about to speak again when a strange voice came from the corridor behind them: "Ah, you're both awake?"

They turned at once. A young Daoist stood there in a blue Daoist robe, bearing himself with noticeable spirit. He came over quickly and said, "Just as well—several of the masters wish to see you and ask you some questions. Come with me."

Zhang Qingyue and Lin Jinghong exchanged a look and rose. Lin Jinghong said, "Yes. Please lead the way, elder brother."

The young Daoist glanced at Lin Jinghong, nodded, and said, "Follow me."

Following the Daoist, the two passed out of the courtyard, and before them appeared a longer, larger ring-shaped cloister, with a red pillar every two zhang along its edge, and an archway between every two pillars.

They went forward along the cloister, past archway after archway, pillar after pillar, and only then realized that behind every archway lay a small courtyard much like the one they had left; this, it seemed, was where the Canglan Sect's disciples lived and lodged.

Setting all else aside, judging by scale alone there must be a hundred such courtyards at least—a sign of how many disciples Qingyun had.

After a good while they came to the end of the corridor, where stood a towering white wall pierced below by a great gate: two thick wooden door leaves fully ten zhang high, so tall one had to crane back to see their top. How such enormous timber had ever been found, there was no telling.

The young Daoist took no notice of it—likely he went in and out every day and had grown numb to the sight. His face showed none of the wonder the two children felt; expressionless, he walked straight out through the gate. Zhang Qingyue and Lin Jinghong hurried after him.

The moment they stepped through that gate, both children held their breath, unable to believe what lay before them.

This place was all but the fabled realm of immortals.