When Guozhao Zhiqiang opened his eyes, the chill mountain air biting at his skin, he was already at the foot of Mount Eagle, a towering, ominous silhouette against the dawn sky. His juniors, their faces pale with exhaustion and frustration, gathered immediately around him, their relief palpable.
Tam Kun, his voice a frantic whisper, gasped, "Senior brother!"
Guozhao Zhiqiang, his gaze sharp and assessing, looked at his juniors, concern etched on his face. "Where is the demon snake?" he asked, his voice low and urgent.
Tam Liang pointed to a tall, jagged peak that stood directly in front of them, its summit shrouded in mist. He said, his voice strained, "Senior brother, it is hidden somewhere on this mountain. We fought against it twice, but it escaped both times, too cunning and too fast."
"Everyone be careful," Guozhao Zhiqiang commanded, his voice firm, immediately taking charge. "You five go over there," he pointed decisively to the right, assigning a group. "You five go forward. I will go to the left, and we will cover more ground."
The sky was getting dark quickly, the last vestiges of daylight fading, and it was difficult to see clearly in the dense, shadow-filled forest.
Guozhao Zhiqiang, his senses heightened, saw a fresh blood trail, a dark crimson stain against the mossy ground. It must belong to the demon snake; his juniors had indeed managed to wound the elusive creature. He walked swiftly along the blood trail, following its winding path around to the other side of the mountain. He came to an open cave, its entrance almost perfectly circular and surprisingly smooth, as if people often came here, or something large frequently passed through.
Inside, there was a vast, open space. He saw the massive demon snake, its scales glinting ominously, with ten glowing icicles still defiantly pierced into its tail, a testament to his juniors' efforts. Without hesitation, he sent six more sharp icicles directly at the struggling snake. The demon snake, enraged, whipped its head towards Guozhao Zhiqiang, its two red eyes blazing, and made a weird, deafening, guttural hiss that echoed through the cave.
The demon snake struck its head at Guozhao Zhiqiang with terrifying speed, its fangs dripping venom, but Guozhao Zhiqiang, agile as a shadow, escaped the attack. The demon snake, undeterred, wrapped its powerful tail around Guozhao Zhiqiang's waist, a crushing grip. But he, with a burst of spiritual energy, conjured a fire talisman and, with a swift movement, stuck it directly onto her tail. The talisman erupted into scorching flames, burning her tail, and she screamed loudly, a piercing, agonizing shriek of pain. Her grip instantly loosened, and Guozhao Zhiqiang broke free.
Guozhao Zhiqiang flew a good distance away from the thrashing demon snake, creating space. He then put his hands together, his face grim with concentration, and began to chant a spell, his voice a low hum. With a decisive touch to the ground, jagged spikes emerged from the earth, erupting from the cave floor, pressing the demon snake hard into the cave wall, pinning her. The demon snake struggled violently against the spikes, and with a desperate flap of its tail, it struck a hidden rock, causing a section of the cave wall to slide open, revealing a dark, unknown corridor deeper within. The snake, seeing its escape, broke free from the spikes with a furious roar and slithered rapidly into the dark tunnel.
Guozhao Zhiqiang, reacting swiftly, sent out two fireballs straight at the retreating demon snake. One of the fireballs hit the snake demon squarely, the inferno burning her scales, and she screamed out in renewed pain. Her massive tail swayed wildly in the tunnel, causing rock fragments and dust to rain down from the top of the cave.
The demon snake, turning its rage on its pursuer, threw its tail towards Guozhao Zhiqiang, a powerful, sweeping attack, but Guozhao Zhiqiang, anticipating, escaped the attack, and the tail slammed uselessly into the cave wall, causing more debris to fall.
Guozhao Zhiqiang drew his sword from the scabbard on his back, its blade glinting in the dim light, and sent a powerful, glowing ray of spiritual energy at the demon snake. The powerful ray directly hit the demon snake, sending her hurtling through a hidden iron door at the end of the tunnel with a loud, metallic bang. Guozhao Zhiqiang flew towards the demon snake, through the now-open doorway, and, with a furious resolve, shot many icicles at the demon snake, a relentless barrage.
Some icicles penetrated deeply into the struggling body of the demon snake. She screamed in agony and rolled towards the corner of the small, dark cell she had been thrown into. As the demon snake thrashed, she heard the chilling clink of shackles moving quickly toward a corner, and the heavy, ragged breathing from a person. Her massive body slid directly towards the prisoner, an unwitting shield.
The snake demon, in its thrashing, wrapped its tail around the prisoner. The prisoner screamed in sharp, piercing pain. Suddenly, the very cave began to collapse around them, the ceiling groaning.
Guozhao Zhiqiang, seeing the imminent danger, sent a rope talisman at the demon snake, expertly dragging her to the other end of the cell, away from the prisoner, while he swiftly moved to stand next to the trapped man. He threw a fire talisman on the ground, illuminating the scene, and saw that the prisoner was indeed being shackled to the cold cave wall. With a single, powerful swing of his sword, he slashed across the heavy chains, cutting off all four. Holding the man's hand firmly, he pulled him up, and they rushed out of the collapsing cave.
As they ran, Guozhao Zhiqiang, without breaking stride, threw another talisman behind him, sealing the iron door again, preventing the demon snake from escaping. When the mountain fell on her, burying the cave, she shrieked in pain and impotent anger, her roars muffled by the crushing earth.
Guozhao Zhiqiang dragged the prisoner out of the collapsing cave, pulling him along, his only thought to get him to safety. He didn't know if this person was good or bad, or what crimes he might have committed, but he only knew that he hated chains and shackles, a visceral aversion born from his own past.
The prisoner stumbled and fell to the ground, panting, as they reached a safe distance, hundreds of yards away from the collapsed cave mouth.
Guozhao Zhiqiang did not look at the prisoner at all, his gaze fixed on the now stable ground, his duty done. He left the prisoner without even looking at him, believing he was simply another rescued soul.
Guozhao Zhiqiang, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, simply said, "Whatever bad things you have done in the past, repent yourself. Consider today your lucky day."
The man, his voice soft, hesitant, replied, "Thank you."
Guozhao Zhiqiang froze, stunned. The man's voice, though soft, suddenly hit him like a thousand-volt lightning strike, a shock of recognition that sent a jolt through his entire body. Because he recognized the voice, a profound heaviness settled in his chest, and a flurry of butterflies erupted in his stomach. Even if he had heard it only fleetingly nine years ago, he had not forgotten that soft voice, a voice that had once made his knees go weak, a voice he had loved. As soon as he turned around, his heart pounding, he saw flowing red hair dancing in the wind, shimmering against the fading light. He saw Hu Dingxiang, his face familiar, getting up slowly, his movements stiff. Nine years had passed, nine long years, and yet Hu Dingxiang had not changed even once. He was still the same handsome, ethereal figure Guozhao Zhiqiang remembered, a ghost from his past, now real before him. He slowly, almost hesitantly, walked back towards Hu Dingxiang, his world tilting on its axis.
The first face Deming saw as his blindfold was miraculously gone, was a very handsome, tall dark-brown man staring at him with big, intense hazel eyes. His ears were long and pointed, different from Deming's own, hinting at a non-human lineage. The man was dressed in black. He wore some earrings that glinted in his large, pointed ears. He had silky black hair that flowed down to his waist, neatly braided on his left forehead, with bangs framing the right side of his face. His hair was neatly tied behind his head and gathered into a ponytail with black and red ribbons, a striking appearance.
Guozhao Zhiqiang's heart ached, a wave of profound sorrow washing over him, when he saw the raw, chafed marks on Deming's right hand and ankles where the shackles had been. He looked down and it appeared that Deming's feet bled slightly as a result of escaping the collapsing cave and the tight chains. He immediately took out his knife, its blade glinting, meticulously unscrewed the screws of the shackles that still clung to Deming's wrists and ankles, and gently, carefully, removed them. He stood in front of Deming, leaning forward slightly, his concern evident.
"I will carry you," Guozhao Zhiqiang said, his voice deep, firm, offering comfort.
Deming, having learned from the brutal past not to trust anyone, slowly stepped away from Guozhao Zhiqiang, a reflexive movement of self-preservation. "I can walk by myself," he said, his voice quiet, a flicker of independence.
Guozhao Zhiqiang, understanding the subtle resistance, gently turned around, took Deming's hand, and without argument, carried Deming down the mountain road, his steps sure and steady. Two hours later, they came to a flowing stream. He walked into the cool water and asked Deming to sit on a large, smooth rock. He then began to gently wash Deming's injured foot, his hands tender and deliberate. This moment, so intimately familiar, reminded Guozhao Zhiqiang of when he had washed Hu Dingxiang's feet nine years ago, a bittersweet echo. He rolled up Deming's pants, revealing the pale, scarred skin, and washed his feet, cleaning the wounds. He stood up and looked at Deming, his gaze soft.
Guozhao Zhiqiang, a hopeful smile touching his lips, asked, "Dingxiang, do you still like fish?"
Deming hesitated, confusion clouding his face, his gaze fixed on Zhiqiang. "I…" he began, his voice uncertain.
Guozhao Zhiqiang's expression changed instantly, his hopeful smile vanishing. He hurriedly took out his knife, its blade flashing, and pressed it to Deming's throat, his voice low, cold, and dangerously suspicious. "Who are you?"
Deming trembled with fright, his eyes wide with terror, the sudden violence shocking him. "Dem…ing…" he stammered, his voice barely a whisper.
Guozhao Zhiqiang pressed the blade slightly. "Why do you possess this body? Why do you wear his face?"
Deming was taken aback, utterly bewildered, and his trembling voice replied, "I don't know what you are talking about. This is my body. I am Deming."
Guozhao Zhiqiang took out a talisman, his eyes fixed on Deming's face. "If you are innocent, let me place this on you."
Deming was startled by the offer, but nodded, desperation overriding his fear. "Go ahead," he whispered.
Guozhao Zhiqiang put the fire talisman on Deming's hand, but there was no response, no flicker of magical energy, no sign of possession. He looked into the clear water of the stream, at the reflection. It was indeed the same face as Hu Dingxiang, identical. The realization that this was Deming, and not some possessed entity, hit him hard. He walked out of the creek, his steps heavy with a new understanding, and let Deming sit by the creek. He returned to the side of the road, watching Deming from behind, his gaze distant, processing the cruel irony, bathed in the soft, orange afterglow of the setting sun on the horizon.
Deming, unaware of the internal turmoil he had just caused, was very happy that he was finally free. He opened his arms wide, embracing the gentle wind passing by him, feeling its cool caress. He felt like a colossal rock had been removed from his shoulders, the weight of his captivity gone. So, this is the feeling of freedom, he thought, a revelation. There was cool water at his feet and a gentle wind on his face. He tasted freedom for the very first time, a sweet, intoxicating sensation. He reached into his belt, took out the small silver bell on the red string—the very one from the one the kind man—and placed it gently in his palm, gazing at it.
Deming stared at the small silver bell in his palm, and smiled softly, a genuine, hopeful smile. "The boss said you still miss me," he murmured to the bell, unaware of Zhiqiang's proximity. "Is it true? I am free now. How can I find you?" He remembered that the man had told him never to take off the red string. "This is a protection string," he'd said. He carefully tied the silver bell to his belt, tucking the silver bell inside his robe, a hidden treasure. He closed his eyes, and he could still feel the soft, distinct shape of the man's face in his palms, imprinted on his memory. He sighed, a profound sound of contentment, opened his eyes, and saw the orange clouds of sunset painting the sky. "City above the cloud," he whispered, a dream, a promise. He smiled and gently washed his face in the cool stream, cleansed and renewed by his newfound freedom.