novelraw Chapter 9 : Chapter 9
Chapter 9 : Chapter 9
Chapter 9 : A New Life
Why haven’t I died yet?
As my consciousness blurred, this question flashed through my mind.
I could no longer feel my body.
The agonizing sensation of being devoured by tiny insects and burned by scalding oil had faded, yet a phantom pain lingered deep in my awareness, making me flinch instinctively, sapping any desire to keep living.
If an outsider saw the tub now, they’d be horrified—the water was no longer water but a strange fluid, its colors so complex they seemed to encompass every hue, caught between solid and liquid, now quietly solidifying.
It was faintly translucent, and upon closer inspection, one could see threads of blood-red veins within.
Those were my meridians, faintly forming a human shape, growing stronger and reshaping into an optimal form under the liquid’s effect.
Without bones, flesh, or skin to encase them, it was a ghastly sight.
Where the liquid touched the meridians, it flowed slowly but steadily, occasionally trying to seep in to rebuild a suitable vessel.
But the liquid, ground from heavenly treasures and refined by Yun Qingping to remove its harshness, retained only a faint spirituality, enough to work with the bather.
I, dazed and listless, couldn’t muster a single thought or desire, so the attempts yielded no results.
The liquid stilled, its warmth and potency slowly fading, awaiting the destined moment—life or death, all depending on my choice.
…
My current sensation was like going a week without sleep, desperate to collapse and save my life, only to find insomnia from overexertion, unable to truly rest.
Dizzy, head burning, groggy, strengthless, unable to focus, wanting to muster some anger or thought but lacking even that energy.
I could only quiet down, neither moving forward nor back, stuck on the bridge to the underworld, awaiting fate’s judgment.
“…”
What is this?
If I’d known it’d hurt this much, I wouldn’t have done it.
I sighed silently, unsure if I still had the ability to do so, but surprisingly, I felt no regret.
Living on, cultivating immortality, becoming an undying immortal—great.
Dying, going to find the parents who abandoned me—not bad either.
Both were good outcomes, so was there any need to struggle?
I closed my eyes, letting my will sink into the empty, drifting sensation.
…
A distant, yellowed memory surfaced.
It was an afternoon, when I was truly a child, sitting on a woman’s lap, staring blankly at the clear blue sky, at the chirping birds and blooming flowers, at a world still strange and wondrous to me.
“Mother…”
Little me pointed into the distance.
“A bird fell.”
“Oh my.”
A gentle voice, one I wanted to lose myself in, sounded.
She set me down from her lap, took my hand, and walked to the small bird of unknown kind, gently picking it up with soft, pale hands.
“Xiao Yue, its wing is hurt. Look, it’s bleeding.”
The woman, her face unclear, sighed.
“…Mother, shouldn’t we stop the bleeding?”
Little me, still bearing the name my parents gave me, said.
“When I got hurt, you did that for me.”
“Xiao Yue, people and birds are different.”
She placed a handkerchief in her palm, gently stroking the bird’s head:
“Let’s take it home, put some medicine on its wing, and feed it.
These little things are sensitive.
If we stare too much, it’ll be too nervous to eat..
Hehe, Xiao Yue, don’t learn from the bird.
No picky eating.
I awkwardly hugged her leg:
“Mother, you just said I’m not like the bird… If we feed it, will it live?”
“Probably,” she said, ruffling my hair with her free hand.
“Your father said so. He’s cared for such creatures before, so it should be right.”
“Hm… What if it doesn’t work?”
I couldn’t see her face, but I felt her gaze—sad, distant, as if recalling something.
Finally, she said gently:
“Xiao Yue, then it will die.”
“Die… What’s that?”
“It’s sleeping forever. It won’t wake, won’t eat, won’t make pretty sounds… Xiao Yue, death is eternal parting.”
I wasn’t satisfied with that answer:
“But Father said dead people go underground, and at the Mid-Autumn Festival, they come back! Birds too, right?”
“Your father’s full of nonsense,” she said with a hint of disdain, though smiling.
She paused, then turned serious.
“Don’t listen to his lies. He made it up.”
“Made it up?”
She nodded gently:
“He’s afraid you’d be sad or make a fuss, so he lied… But, Xiao Yue, I’ll tell you: there’s no underworld, no reincarnation. Everyone’s life is singular, and every life ends one day.”
I sensed her seriousness, not understanding why, only clinging to her tightly.
“Birth, aging, sickness, death—it’s human nature. One day, your father and I will leave you…”
“No!” I shouted, my voice dropping.
“If… if that happens… I’ll go find you…”
“Xiao Yue, if that day comes, you’ll never see us again,” she said, setting the bird on the grass and embracing me gently.
“Promise Mother: don’t come looking, don’t die… Live on, always live. As long as you’re alive, as long as you remember us, we live by your side.”
She extended a hand, making a pinky swear gesture, her eyes curving:
“Xiao Yue, can you promise Mother? No matter what, live on. Never forget today’s words.”
…
I opened my eyes.
I still saw nothing, everything unclear, but in this world of consciousness, my right hand reached out, mimicking the pinky swear.
I suddenly recalled another memory, distinct from my promise to Mother, one I’d never forgotten.
It was a night when our Eastern Manor was attacked by bandits.
Servants and maids were slaughtered.
The blood-scented man with a long sword found me hiding in a wardrobe, thrusting his blade…
My mother, who I thought had escaped with the guards, appeared, shielding me.
She could’ve escaped.
Someone soon discovered the massacre, and the bandit fled to avoid capture.
But she came back for me.
It was futile.
The sword pierced us both.
She died, and I only survived by luck.
Immortal Lady Yun said my meridians were gravely injured—that was from then.
My gaze darkened, my body reliving the pain of that night’s sword, piercing through.
Like dark fire searing my heart, like ten thousand insects gnawing my bones—not as intense as the body reconstruction, but far harder to forget, born not from outside but from deep within.
She reached out again.
And grasped nothing.
…
“Hey… coward…”
Su Wantian, dozing at the door, jolted awake at the faint voice from inside.
Confirming it wasn’t a hallucination, he shoved the door open:
“What’s wrong? Xun Qiu, did it work or fail? Are you okay…?”
His words trailed off, his body freezing.
A figure with long, ash-white hair, a face too refined for the mortal world, sat in the tub.
Smooth, tender arms, reminiscent of a newborn’s, rested on the edge.
She gazed up, as if trying to see the silvery moonlight outside, her expression unreadable to Su Wantian.
Hearing him, she turned, her familiar face now radiant, captivating:
“No, everything is just beginning.”