12dz Chapter 57 Giant Squirrel
Chapter 57 Giant Squirrel
The two silently descended the mountain.
Along the way, Song Quyou kept his head down, biting into a sesame seed cake, the sesame seeds falling all over his clothes.
The girl in the well walked beside Song Quyou with the green puppet in her hand, but she was always absent-minded.
The mountain path was quiet. A sudden gust of cold wind, carrying fragrance, swept by, and delicate flower petals, brought from who-knows-where, landed right on the tip of Miss Jing's nose.
The girl stopped and looked in the direction the wind came from. She saw that the corner of the mountain, which had never been noticed before, was already covered with pale yellow wintersweet. The yellow flowers were supported by purple branches and, although they were covered by clusters of withered branches, they still stood up and waved.
Miss Jing smiled faintly, and the hem of her blue skirt transformed into the shape of the wind, waving towards the distance.
After finishing the last bite of the sesame seed cake, Song Quyou patted the sesame seeds off his clothes, stood quietly to one side, and watched the girl in the wind.
As the mountain wind grew stronger, countless plum blossom petals fluttered down from the distant mountain corners, swirling around Jing Guniang and Song Quyou before gradually fading away.
Petals fell softly, like snowflakes, covering their clothes.
Miss Jing turned to look at Song Quyou, pursing her lips, but the corners of her mouth couldn't help but turn up.
"Brother Song, you must not use magic indiscriminately."
Holding his sword, Song Quyou sighed softly, "I finally managed to have a good time out, I don't want to bring a grumpy person home with me."
The absent-minded girl finally laughed out loud, ran to Song Quyou, extended her two delicate hands, and said softly:
"Brother Song, you've had a long day with me and Sister Su, so let me carry your sword for you."
Song Quyou looked at the expectant Miss Jing in front of him, smiled faintly, and tossed the sword in his arms to her, "Then you'd better take it well."
Miss Jing took the long, azure-colored sword with both hands and held it in her arms. The scabbard was cold and heavy.
"So this sword is so cold and so heavy."
"A fighter who isn't heavy and cold won't be able to intimidate the scoundrels."
Following behind, Miss Jing felt the blue-green cloud patterns on the sword guard with her hands, and couldn't help but feel dazed.
Upon reaching the lakeside at the foot of the mountain, the two sat quietly on the lakeside corridor, gazing at the rippling green waves before them.
Holding her sword, the young woman, whose fingers were constantly stroking the cloud patterns on the hilt, suddenly looked at Song Quyou's profile and tentatively asked:
"Brother Song, after we parted ways that day, will you still remember me?"
Song Quyou did not turn his head, but continued to look at the shimmering lake surface.
"Of course I'll remember. Miss Jing's cooking is so delicious, how could I bear to forget it?"
Miss Jing lowered her head, looking at the sword on her leg, and wasn't as happy as she had imagined.
After a long pause, she whispered, "Is it just that the food is delicious?"
The voice was very soft, as if it were being spoken to oneself.
Song Quyou certainly heard it, and even the slow-witted Song could glean something from that casual remark.
Love between men and women is inherently difficult to explain.
Having memories of two lifetimes, he had once fantasized about love, but having passed that age, he dared not speak of or believe in love so easily. That kind of emotion, whose weight was uncertain, was far less appealing than the path to immortality he was currently pursuing.
Song Quyou, feigning ignorance, did not respond. He continued to gaze at the lake, gently blew on a paper crane, and sent it fluttering away towards the distant lake.
Miss Jing did not ask any further questions, but simply placed her hand gently on the cool scabbard, as if she were saying something that no one else could hear.
……
Along the lakeside, wooden boats carrying livestock arrived at the center of the lake.
A group of shirtless men stood at the bow of the boat, shouting as they picked up a plump rooster from the cabin, drew a sharp dagger from their waists, slit its esophagus, and threw it far away.
After falling into the water, the rooster struggled continuously but could not crow.
The icy lake water is taking away its hot blood.
The bloodstains seeped into the water and gradually disappeared without a trace.
Until a strange wave rose on the surface of the water, as if something huge and heavy was churning the lake.
In an instant, the noisy animals in the cabin all fell silent.
The rooster that had fallen into the water resigned itself to its fate, remaining motionless and ceasing its struggle.
Suddenly, huge waves surged on the lake, and a figure as big as a small mountain emerged from the water, opening its blood-red maw and swallowing the rooster whole.
Upon seeing this, the shirtless men on the boat quickly pulled out chickens, ducks, geese, pigs, and sheep from the hold and threw them towards where the giant creature was devouring.
The giant creature accepted everything without hesitation and caught them accurately. The poultry and livestock it threw out were caught firmly in its blood-red maw before they even hit the water.
All the fishing boats on the lake were feeding the fish, but there was one fishing boat emitting blue smoke, with four people on board: an old man steering the boat at the stern, two men tending the fire in the cabin, and a man in brocade clothes with gray hair at the bow.
The man in brocade robes stared at the giant turtle, the size of a small mountain, at the ugly creature entwined with dark green water plants and covered with snails, at the giant turtle that had devoured his wife and children, leaving him heartbroken and devastated.
His face was cold, and his eyes were like knives.
Four years of planning, studying the habits of giant softshell turtles, and spending all of my family's wealth for today's spectacle.
The old man at the stern carefully steered the boat closer to the giant turtle, gradually closing the distance.
The man in the cabin, covered in sweat, picked up red-hot iron balls and put them into a wire mesh bag.
The giant turtle seemed to sense something, slowly turning its head. Its cloudy yellow eyes stared at the man in brocade at the bow of the boat, and it made a muffled gurgling sound in its throat, as if wondering why the boat wasn't feeding it.
The man in brocade remained unmoved, coldly glancing back.
The giant turtle spewed out two streams of foul-smelling steam from its nostrils and slowly swam toward the ship, its massive body pushing up two white waves on the water's surface.
The men in the cabin carefully lifted out the red-hot, scorching iron ball covered with a layer of white ash.
The old man steadied the rudder, the bow of the boat dipped slightly, and it headed straight for the giant turtle.
The man in brocade robes remained expressionless, only saying in a low voice, "Wait a little longer, get a little closer."
Inside the cabin, two men gritted their teeth, wrapped their hands in damp burlap, lifted the net bag full of red-hot iron balls, and staggered two steps to the bow. The heat was oppressive, and the hair on their foreheads was curly and smelled burnt, yet neither of them retreated.
The giant turtle was almost within reach. Its massive head, covered in moss and snails, tilted back slightly, its gaping maw revealing a bottomless throat. The foul, fishy breath it exhaled was pungent and nauseating.
The man in brocade suddenly roared, "Release!"
The net that was swaying at the bow of the boat immediately slipped from my grasp and fell into the throat of the giant turtle.
The red-hot iron ball burst into a cloud of white mist and made a sizzling sound as it touched the moist tongue and throat.
The giant turtle, upon consuming the scalding hot iron ball, shuddered violently. Its turbid yellow eyes widened abruptly, and it let out a deafening roar that shook the entire lake.
It shook its head wildly, churning the lake water and creating waves several feet high. Several nearby fishing boats were tossed about by the waves, and the shirtless men on board screamed and scrambled into the cabins.
"Retreat! Retreat quickly!" the man in brocade robes commanded sternly.
The old man was prepared. He threw down his long pole, picked up the oar beside him, and rowed frantically on the water. The small boat moved faster and faster backward, gradually moving away from the giant turtle.
The giant turtle thrashed and rolled in the water, its gaping maw opening and closing as if trying to vomit out the scorching iron ball. But the iron ball was already deeply embedded in the flesh and blood of its throat.
To relieve the pain, the giant softshell turtle could only keep swallowing the cold lake water.
As the giant turtle's massive mouth sank.
In an instant, a terrifying whirlpool appeared in the center of the vast lake.
The swirling water walls dragged everything on the surface, trying to fill the dark hole in the center.
The old man gripped the rudder tightly, his hands, veins bulging, desperately rowing the ship, trying to escape the bottomless, man-eating maw in the center.
Upon seeing this, the man in brocade and the two men tending the fire hurriedly grabbed the oars from the cabin.
He roared, "Faster! Faster!"
Their oars flew swiftly through the water, but the small boat could never escape its fate of drifting closer to the center of the whirlpool.
The surrounding fishing boats were in the same boat, paddling frantically, but were still being dragged toward the center of the whirlpool.
Click.
The oar in the man in brocade broke, and with one less person rowing, the fishing boat slid into the whirlpool even faster.
The man in brocade stood up and looked back.
Looking at the collapsed section of water in the center of the lake, so deep and unfathomable, like a giant funnel, and also like the eyes of his dead wife and children.
He sighed deeply, relieved. To die in the same place as his wife and children was the best possible arrangement.
Just as he was about to jump, a crimson firebird, unnoticed by anyone, fell from the sky and crashed into the center of the vortex.
In an instant, the man-eating vortex vanished without a trace, and instead, crimson flames rose from the bottom of the lake, illuminating the center of the lake.
The man in brocade stood frozen at the bow of the boat, the broken oar slipping from his hand and splashing water onto his face before bringing him back to his senses.
Taking advantage of the lull, the boatman quickly steered the boat away from the troublesome place.
The giant softshell turtle struggled incessantly at the bottom of the lake, churning the center of the lake into a muddy, yellowish water.
When it surfaced again, it no longer had that ferocious appearance. It was belly up, with a dark red light emanating from its throat. The light spread down its neck, burning its body through.
The man in brocade robes stared at the repulsive, sallow eyes of the giant turtle, which was clearly dead beyond any doubt.
He suddenly knelt down at the bow of the boat, covered his face with his hands, and his shoulders trembled violently.
At this moment, there is no joy of revenge in my heart, only the melancholy of letting out that pent-up anger.
The giant turtle floated on the water, burning silently, until the flames burned through its shell, causing the lake water to swallow it up and submerge it to the bottom of the lake.
……
Song Quyou, who was sitting in the corridor, witnessed this scene. Just as he was about to leave, the vast lake receded at a speed visible to the naked eye.
The stone steps along the lake are exposed layer by layer, covered with bluish-black watermarks and snail shells. Below that is silt that has not seen the sun for many years, black and oily, exuding a fishy smell.
The fishing boats, laden with livestock, ran aground, their hulls tilting precariously on the mudflats. The shirtless men on board looked at each other, bewildered as to what had happened.
Song Quyou stood up, his gaze passing over the corridor railing and looking towards the center of the lake.
In the center of the lake, on the charred remains of the giant turtle, there is a glittering object.
With his toes swirling in the wind, Song Quyou leaped onto the giant turtle's remains, stepping on the lakebed rocks like an antelope leaping over cliffs.
I picked up the crystalline object and turned it over in my palm. It was entirely emerald green, thick and lustrous, shimmering with iridescent light. Its shape resembled fish scales, but I didn't know what kind of scales they were.
Being in the lake, where they were, was too conspicuous. Song Quyou put away the scale and jumped back to the shore along the same path.
As he approached the shore, he saw the girl from Jing searching for him on tiptoe in the corridor. Song Quyou leaped with all his might, flying back into the corridor like a swallow.
Upon seeing Song Quyou return, the worry between Miss Jing's brows vanished instantly, replaced by joy.
Song Quyou took out the scales he had found and handed them to Miss Jing, asking, "Miss, do you recognize what these scales are from?"
Seeing the scales,
The young woman frowned, her eyes reddened, and her body trembled slightly as she choked out, "These are... my father's scales."
As she spoke, she took the scale and tossed it lightly into the air above the lake.
In an instant, a torrential downpour began above the lake, and the lake water gradually rose back to its original level, submerging the exposed stone steps, lifting the stranded fishing boats, and hiding all traces back underwater.
As the rain subsided, the scales transformed into a translucent, crystalline form and returned to the well maiden's hand.
He was held close to her heart, and tears welled up in his eyes, falling onto the bluestone slabs of the corridor and leaving several dark stains.
Song Quyou sat beside the girl, his Adam's apple bobbing, but he didn't know what to say. He just kept patting her back.
"I thought I had nothing left, that I could leave nothing behind..."
The girl cried silently, while Song Quyou, who was not good at comforting people, sat quietly.
The two sat there until dusk in the western mountains, until the sunset faded and only a sliver of light remained.
After crying herself to sleep, the girl, Jing, nestled against Song Quyou's shoulder, hugged the glistening scale and gently fell asleep.
Song Quyou gently carried her on his back, took his sword, and hurried home in the last remaining light.
……
The moon gradually climbed to the treetops, illuminating the ground with a silvery glow.
Song Quyou carried the well girl slowly, and along the way, they were greeted by pairs of small lanterns.
At this moment, a larger lantern swayed and walked to Song Quyou's feet, extending its sharp claws and scratching at Song Quyou's trouser leg.
"I'll tear your clothes apart for letting you come home so late."
Song Quyou lifted his foot and walked around the chubby, dark-skinned man.
He said, "Let's go, let's go home."
……
Upon arriving home, Song Quyou placed Miss Jing in his senior sister Su Tang's room and then chatted with her in the courtyard.
"What happened? Why are you so late?"
Song Quyou sighed softly and told his senior sister about what had happened by the lake and that Miss Jing was a member of the dragon family.
Su Tang frowned as she looked at Song Quyou, but said nothing.
Song Quyou continued, "Senior sister, don't you think this matter is very strange?"
The girl's father was a dragon from the East Sea, but his scales appeared on land, inside a giant turtle in a Buddhist temple that had cultivation but no intelligence and had eaten people.
Furthermore, after Miss Jing escaped from the Tuolong Mansion, she hid in a well not far from the Qiantang River estuary, yet she wasn't found by the then-free Tuolong Lord. I don't believe no one helped cover for her during that time.
Song Quyou looked at his senior sister Su Tang, pointed in the direction of Lingfo Temple, and said, "Senior sister, you are from Jiangnan, do you know how many years this Lingfo Temple has been built?"
Su Tang pondered for a moment and replied, "According to popular belief, it was built by Master Lingguang, who returned from seeking Buddhahood in the Western Paradise more than four hundred years ago."
Song Quyou smiled faintly: "What a coincidence, the matter of Miss Jing also happened more than four hundred years ago, and it is likely that they were the ones who covered it up."