radicalducati Chapter 1086 At the mercy of others
Chapter 1086 At the mercy of others
The teeth of the comb glittered in the light, with the broken tooth being the brightest because the broken part was new, untouched by hand sweat, and still retained the original color of the wood.
"So you brought a wolf back," Bai tide said. "And a dagger that killed the wolf king. Do you know what that means?"
Su Wanwan shook her head.
Bai tide placed the comb on the table, teeth facing upwards, like a row of small tombstones. She took the dagger out of her sleeve again and placed it next to the comb. The dagger was long, the comb was short; the dagger was for killing, the comb was for combing hair; placed side by side, they seemed completely mismatched.
"That means you're carrying two debts on your shoulders," Bai Xi said. "One is with the wolf clan, and the other is with the fox clan. The wolf clan debt is one you chose yourself. You have a white wolf with you, so you are both a friend and an enemy of the wolf clan. The fox clan debt is one I gave you. You drank my osmanthus wine, slept on my blanket, and drank the tea I brewed, so you are my apprentice. These two debts on one person will either cancel each other out or explode together."
Su Wanwan looked at the dagger and the comb without saying a word.
Bai tide put away the dagger and comb, tucking the dagger back into her sleeve and tucking the comb into her collar. She stood up, walked to the stove, and took the pot off the stove. There was still a thin layer of water on the bottom of the pot, which she wiped with a rag before putting the pot back. As she did these things, her back was to Su Wanwan, her shoulders slightly hunched, like a snail hiding in its shell.
"It's good that you're back." Bai tide's voice came from the stove, a little lower than before. "The matter of the Inner Tomb isn't over yet. You've been in once, so the second time you can go even deeper. What you need is in the deeper places. Whether it's the moon energy or the tail, it's all in there. Go get it yourself; I won't go with you."
Su Wanwan stood up, causing the chair to wobble and creak. Bai tide heard the sound, her shoulders twitched, but she didn't turn around.
"Senior Bai Xi," Su Wanwan said.
"Um."
"I'm leaving the white wolf here; please watch over it for me."
Bai tide turned around, her expression strange, as if she had been asked a question she didn't know how to answer. She looked at Su Wanwan, her lips moved a few times, and finally she squeezed out three words: "What are you looking at?"
Su Wanwan thought for a moment and said, "Let's make sure it doesn't die."
Bai tide's expression went from strange to even stranger. She stared at Su Wanwan for several breaths, then spoke in a tone Su Wanwan had never heard before. That tone wasn't angry, nor was it impatient; it was a tone of "I've lived for over a thousand years, and this is the first time someone has asked me to do something like this."
"Okay," Bai tide said. "I'll keep an eye on it for you. But there's one condition: if it bites my things, I'll turn it into a dog."
Su Wanwan smiled. Her eyes curved into crescents, like a twisted crescent moon.
Bai tide saw her smile, her lips twitched, but she didn't laugh out loud. However, when she turned to go to the stove to boil water, her steps were a little lighter than before. The kettle sat on the stove, the fire licking from the firebox, licking the bottom of the kettle, drying the water droplets and making a soft "sizzling" sound. Bai Xi squatted in front of the stove and added a piece of firewood to the firebox. The fire grew bigger, and the water in the kettle began to make a sound. At first, it was a very low "buzzing" sound, like a swarm of bees flying in the distance. Then the sound grew louder and higher, and finally the water boiled, bubbling and churning.
Bai tide lifted the kettle off the stove, grabbed a handful of tea leaves from the jar—not the good kind, but broken ones, with more stems than leaves—threw them into the kettle, put the lid on, and shook it. She carried the kettle to the table, then took a bowl, also chipped at the rim, making it a perfect pair with the previous one.
"Have some tea," Bai tide said.
Su Wanwan picked up the bowl and took a sip. It was hot, bitter, and astringent; the tea stems tasted like chewing a twig. She took two more sips, put the bowl down, and looked at Bai Xi. Bai Xi didn't drink. She stood opposite her at the table, her hands resting on the edge, her body slightly leaning forward, like a superior officer preparing to receive a report.
"Tell me," Bai tide said, "what does that thing look like?"
Su Wanwan knew what Bai tide was asking. She opened her mouth, wanting to speak, but as those images flooded her mind, her hands began to tremble first. It wasn't fear, but a primal, instinctive reaction, like pulling your hand back when burned—it didn't require conscious thought. She pressed her hands to her knees, took a deep breath, and began to speak.
She said the thing had four arms. She said its skin was dark red, like overheated iron. She said its body had a flowing light that changed from dark red to bright red, then to orange-red, like magma, like molten copper. She said the thing had a crack on its face, running vertically from its head to its chin, like a vertical mouth, with teeth that split open to reveal a deep hole that didn't reflect light; it even swallowed it.
She said that when Sun Wukong's golden cudgel struck the thing's arm, it bounced off, as if it had hit a mountain. She said she used her own lunar energy to create a wall, which struck the thing, leaving only a white mark before disappearing in less than a breath.
Bai tide picked up the teapot and poured another bowl for Su Wanwan.
This time she poured very slowly. The tea flowed out of the spout in a thin stream, landing in the bowl with a soft sound, like someone playing a flute in the distance.
She filled the pot, put it down, and the bottom of the pot hit the table with a dull "thud".
"Four arms," Bai tide repeated, her tone as if savoring a not-so-appetizing dish. "How many did you see?"
Su Wanwan was stunned for a moment.
She already mentioned four points.
But Bai tide asked again, clearly indicating that she hadn't misheard.
She thought for a moment, closed her eyes, and went over the image of that thing in her mind again—dark red skin, flowing light, vertical cracks, teeth in the cracks, and holes deep in the teeth.
Then she opened her eyes and looked at Bai tide.
"Four," she said, "but one of them is a little different."
"What's different?"
"It's a bit shorter." Su Wanwan gestured with her hand, from shoulder to wrist, "This arm is about this short compared to the other three."
It's not broken, it was always short, like it didn't fully grow.
Bai tide picked up the bowl and took a sip of tea.
When she drank her tea, her eyes weren't on the teacup, but rather on the wall behind Su Wanwan, which was glowing red from the stove fire.
The soot on the wall was thick enough to be seen in layers, like the rings of a tree.
She stared at the ash for a long time. After finishing her tea, she placed the bowl on the table and wiped the rim of it with her fingertip.
"That's not because it hasn't fully grown in," Bai tide said. "That arm is newly grown."
Su Wanwan clenched her hands tightly on her knees.
Her fingers gripped the fabric so tightly that her knuckles turned white and her nails dug into her palms, leaving four small crescent-shaped marks.
"That thing is growing." Bai tide's voice was very calm, as if she were talking about today's weather. "When you went in, there were four, but next time you might go in, there will probably be five."
Each time a new arm grows, it gains another layer of skin.
The dark red you see is the first layer, the second layer is black, and the third layer is white.
By the third layer, its skin was so thick that nothing could penetrate it.
"And now?" Su Wanwan asked.
"Now?" Bai tide lifted the lid of the teapot and glanced at the tea leaves inside.
The tea leaves had turned white from steeping, and the stems floated on the surface of the water like drowned insects.
She put the lid on the pot and pushed it aside. "Now it's the first layer."
They can still fight.
But you guys never fought.
Su Wanwan remained silent.
She knew that what Bai tide said was true.
Sun Wukong's golden cudgel bounced off, and the wall formed by her moon energy only left a white mark on that thing.
That's not "never having fought," it's "completely ineffective."
She remembered the golden bloodstain on Sun Wukong's lips, the self-deprecating expression on his face when he said "shrug your head back," and the vertical crease between his brows.
These images, layered together, are like a knife, slowly carving into her heart.
"How can I beat them?" she asked.
Bai tide stood up, walked to the stove, and took a jar from the wooden shelf above the stove.
The jar is made of earthenware, reddish-brown in color, with a rough surface, and the mouth of the jar is sealed with a layer of wax.
She scraped off the wax, opened the lid, took something out of the jar, walked back, and placed it on the table in front of Su Wanwan.
It is a bunch of dried flowers.
The petals had withered, their color changing from purple to dark brown, their edges curled up like shriveled-up insects.
But the shape of the flower is still there, each one has five petals, and the tip of each petal has a small hook, like a cat's claw.
Su Wanwan had never seen this kind of flower before.
"Evening primrose flowers," Bai tide said. "There are only three plants on Qiyue Ridge, which bloom once a year, with seven flowers blooming each time."
"I've been saving for three hundred years, and this is all I have in this one jar."
Su Wanwan looked at the dried-out petals, unsure of what to say.
Three hundred years to accumulate one jar—that number is too big, too big for her to imagine.
She has only lived for a little over ten years, so three hundred years is twenty times her lifespan.
The patience required for someone to spend twenty lifetimes collecting enough flowers for a single jar is itself a form of spiritual practice.
Bai tide picked out three dried flowers from the bunch and placed them in front of Su Wanwan. She put the rest back into the jar, sealed it with wax, and put it back on the wooden shelf.
She did these things very slowly and carefully, pressing the wax down with her thumb three times to make sure it was sealed tightly before putting it back.
"Soak it in water and drink it," Bai tide said. "One flower a day for three consecutive days."
On the first day, your monthly energy will double.
The next day, it doubled.
On the third day, it quadrupled.
Su Wanwan looked down at the three dried flowers on the table.
The flowers were tiny, each only the size of a fingernail, and the three flowers together were not even as thick as her thumb.
She reached out and touched one of the flowers. The petals shattered upon touching her fingertips, turning into a small clump of brown powder that clung to her fingertips like a thin layer of ash.
"However," Bai tide said, emphasizing the "however" as if to stress something, "starting from the fourth day, your meridians will hurt."
It's not just ordinary pain; it's the pain of every meridian being torn open and then stitched back together.
The pain lasts one day, then eases for another, then the pain returns for yet another, and so on, repeating this nine times, until the resurrected lunar energy truly becomes your own.
If you can resist, then drink it.
"I can't stand it anymore, give me back the flowers right now."
Su Wanwan picked up the three flowers and put them into her sleeve.
There was still the dagger Chu Yang had given her in her sleeve; flower petals clung to the dagger's leather sheath like brown snowflakes.
She placed the flowers carefully and looked up at Bai tide.
I'll drink it.
Bai tide looked at her for a couple of breaths, then turned around and walked back to the stove. She pulled out a piece of firewood from the firebox and drew a circle on the stove with the end of the firewood.
The circle isn't big; it's just big enough for one person to sit cross-legged.
She stuffed the firewood back into the stove, patted the ash off her hands, and pointed to the circle.
"Sit in," she said.
Su Wanwan stood up, walked to the stove, and looked down at the circle.
The circle was drawn with charcoal, and the edges were uneven, some parts were thick and some parts were thin, like something a child would draw casually.
She took off her shoes, stepped barefoot into the circle, and sat down cross-legged.
The ground was made of rammed earth, warmed by the stove fire. When you sat on it, the heat climbed up from your tailbone to the back of your head.
Bai tide scooped a ladle of water from the water vat and handed it to her.
"Take a sip, but don't swallow."
Su Wanwan took the water ladle, drank a mouthful of water, and held it in her mouth.
The water was cold, with a muddy, fishy smell typical of well water; holding it in my mouth felt like holding a piece of ice.
Her cheeks puffed out, her lips were tightly closed, and her eyes were fixed on Bai tide.
Bai tide took the broken wooden comb from her clothes, held it in her hand, and used the comb teeth to touch Su Wanwan's forehead.
The comb teeth didn't touch her skin; they hovered there, about a hair's breadth away.
Su Wanwan felt a cool sensation between her eyebrows, not the coolness of comb teeth, but a finer, sharper coolness, like a needle hanging above her skin, not yet piercing it, but her skin already knew it.
"Close your eyes," Bai tide said.
Su Wanwan closed her eyes.
In the darkness, she felt the coolness between her eyebrows slowly spreading, from her brow to her forehead, from her forehead to her temples, and from her temples to her entire head.
As the coolness passed by, her scalp began to tingle, as if countless ants were crawling on it.
She tried to reach out and scratch, but Bai tide stopped her as soon as she raised her hand.
"Don't move."
Su Wanwan lowered her hands and placed them on her knees, palms facing up.
Her palms were covered in sweat, and beads of sweat dripped from her palms to her wrists, then from her wrists to the ground, leaving a small wet patch in the charcoal circle she had drawn.
Bai tide's voice came from above, very low and slow, like chanting scriptures or talking to herself.
"The vital energy is not in the dantian, but in the bones."
You can store one part in your dantian and nine parts in the gaps between your bones.
The qi in the dantian is for use, while the qi in the bone crevices is for nourishing life.
When you expel the Qi from your Dantian, the Qi in your bone crevices will flow out to replenish it.
If you replenish quickly, you'll live longer.
If you don't heal slowly, you'll die quickly.
As Su Wanwan listened, the water in her mouth had cooled to the same temperature as her body, making it impossible to distinguish whether it was water or meat.
She wanted to swallow, but Bai tide had told her not to, so she held it in her mouth. Her cheeks ached, and water started seeping from the corners of her mouth, dripping onto her collar.
"The lunar energy you used before came out of your dantian," Bai tide continued. "How much can be stored in the dantian? Not much."
Once it's used up, it's gone; you have to wait for the energy in the bone gaps to slowly flow out and replenish it.
So if you fight one battle and then you're empty-handed, you're at the mercy of others.
This isn't your problem; it's that you simply don't know there's air in the gaps between your bones.
The comb moved away from her brow, to her left temple, paused, then moved to her right temple, tracing back and forth between her two temples three times. Each time it went around, Su Wanwan felt as if something had pried open her head a little. It wasn't pain, but a feeling of being opened, like a window that hadn't been opened in a long time being pushed open, the hinges creaking as the window opened and things from outside rushed in.