Chapter 206
What does death feel like?
When Jian Yunlan was still a babbling toddler, he had wondered about this countless times.
He had never known his parents. The other children at the orphanage said their moms and dads had all “died.”
What was death like?
Was it being scorched by agonizing flames, never finding rest? Was it the pain of bones and flesh shattered under wheels? Was it the piercing cold of frozen depths?
But the young Jian Yunlan never imagined that death would feel like this…
Peaceful.
Jian Yunlan walked slowly through a pitch-black tunnel, hand in hand with someone beside him.
He couldn’t see the path behind them, but in the distance, a faint light marked the exit. The tunnel was damp, the scent of rain lingering in the air, yet the sound of the storm was muffled, as if sealed away.
The only sounds echoing through the hollow space were their footsteps—each one crunching softly, like walking on winter snow. But ahead, he knew, waited a spring morning bathed in sunlight.
For some reason, he was certain of this, and so even in the empty darkness, he felt at ease.
Who was the person holding his hand? The question surfaced in his mind again.
This person was tall, their fingers slender and knuckled, their palm warm and dry. A faint sandalwood scent clung to them, and their soft hair brushed against his ear, shimmering with silver like starlight in the dark.
Yet no matter how hard he strained his eyes, he couldn’t see their face. He couldn’t remember their name—only that they were someone terribly, terribly important.
And who was he?
The young man stood frozen, grappling with the question.
From afar, indistinct voices called out—frantic, pleading, shouting for him to come back.
But the voices were too distant, as if muffled by thick glass. He tried to listen, but the words slipped away.
…It didn’t matter, did it?
He just wanted to walk forward with the person beside him, toward that glowing exit, toward that vibrant spring.
So he tightened his grip on their hand, quickening his pace.
But the other person stopped.
No matter how he urged them, they wouldn’t move.
Then, slowly, their interlaced fingers began to loosen.
The warmth in his palm faded, their presence growing faint—as if dissolving.
Panic surged. “Where are you going? Don’t leave me alone.”
The person beside him murmured something, their voice laced with both resignation and amusement.
He strained to hear, but the words were lost. Only the lingering warmth remained in his palm—and then, like a passing breeze, they were gone.
“…Where are you going?” he called out desperately.
This time, the wind carried back a murmuring reply, languid and unhurried:
“I’ll be waiting for you where it all began.”
Where it all began? Where was that?
Without any reason, the young man suddenly found the answer in his heart.
He stood there dumbly, gazing at the distant spring outside the exit. Almost without hesitation, he turned and walked away, heading in the opposite direction.
The further he walked, the darker it became, until he could no longer see his own hand in front of him. The empty tunnel echoed only with the sound of his footsteps, like the ticking of a clock pendulum.
When he reached the end, the young man stepped into empty air and fell—down into the rain-soaked, muddy earth.
Down into an old dream.
*
That was a story from long, long ago. After so many years of retelling, it had strayed far from the truth, yet fragments of it still revealed glimpses of the past.
In the story, the young man was called Jian Shiyi-lang.
Jian Shiyi-lang of Taohua Slope was the youngest son of the Jian family. He had fled with his parents and elder brothers from the south, eventually settling in Taohua Slope.
Those were turbulent years—first war, then conscription by the imperial court, followed by years of famine. Jian’s older brothers were all forcibly drafted into military service, and his parents starved to death during the famine. In the end, somehow, only Jian Shiyi-lang remained, alone.
The villagers could only sigh in pity.
Jian Shiyi-lang had been clever since childhood. After eavesdropping outside the village school for just three days, he could recite and analyze poetry with remarkable insight. Had he been born into an ordinary family in peaceful times, he might have even passed the imperial exams and achieved great things.
But there were no “what ifs.” Such was the harshness of the world. To survive, the once-bright Jian Shiyi-lang shouldered a carrying pole and became a traveling peddler.
His pole was always laden with goods—needles, thread, bronze mirrors, wooden combs, and cosmetics for the women; dried fruits and sweets that made children’s eyes gleam. A bell always hung from his pole, so whenever its clear chime rang, people knew Jian Shiyi-lang had arrived and would happily come out to greet him.
Later, at their request, he also began making and selling simple snacks. They weren’t particularly delicious, but they were cheap, so they sold well enough.
With his handsome face and ever-smiling enthusiasm, business was good on sunny days when the villagers were free from farm work.
But there were also days like this.
After restocking his goods in Pear Blossom Village on the other side of the mountain, Jian Shiyi-lang was crossing the ridge back to Taohua Slope when, halfway down, the sky suddenly rumbled and unleashed a torrential downpour.
…For the past half month, it had been nothing but clear skies. Yet on his very first trip to Pear Blossom Village, the heavens chose to open up.
“How unlucky.”
Jian Shiyi-lang sighed, wiping rainwater from his face. The goods on his shoulder had been battered into disarray by the storm.
The mountain path was now indistinguishable in the pouring rain. Relying on memory, he barely managed to find a cave to take shelter in, waiting for the rain to ease before continuing.
The cave was deep.
He had no intention of venturing further inside, planning only to rest near the entrance. But the rain was too heavy—soon, the entrance was flooded. With another sigh, he took out a fire starter and made his way deeper into the cavern.
The further he went, the colder it grew.
The flickering flame cast weak light, and in the silence, he could hear only his own rapid breaths, the crackling of the fire starter, and…
—The labored gasps of some enormous, stranded beast on the brink of death.
Jian Shiyi-lang: “?”
The flame suddenly flared, illuminating a pair of gleaming, dark golden eyes.
Those eyes were enormous, slit-pupiled like a beast’s. Clouded by the shadow of death, they were already growing dim, yet still glinted with an unsettling chill.
“Haah…”
A sound like the wheezing of a broken bellows echoed in his ears.
“……”
Jian Shiyi-lang’s hands trembled. Shakily, he raised the fire starter, its faint glow revealing the creature before him.
—The beast was colossal, towering and vast, like a fusion of dragon, tiger, and ox. Its body was covered in magnificent cyan-red scales, though many were now charred and peeling. A horrific wound ran across its belly—the bleeding had stopped, but the gash, nearly splitting its entire torso, was still a gruesome sight. Its gaping maw was filled with jagged teeth, blood dripping as if it could no longer close properly.
Cramped within the cave, its massive frame almost seemed… pitiful.
Jian Shiyi-lang’s eyes widened. Two characters flashed through his mind, and he stammered:
“T-Taotie?”
The beast lifted its eyelids to glance at him—whether in mockery or exhaustion, it was hard to say—then closed them again.
Was it… sleeping?
Jian Shiyi-lang stole another look at it.
Taotie closed his eyes, the rise and fall of his chest gradually becoming more even, but each breath still came with great difficulty. The sound of his breathing reminded Jian Shiyi Lang of the tragic people in the village who had attempted suicide by swallowing a dagger, their bodies sliced open.
As for Jian Shiyi Lang’s arrival, Taotie seemed indifferent.
Of course, in the eyes of an ancient beast like Taotie, someone like Jian Shiyi Lang was far too insignificant—like an ant, unable to stir any ripples.
Jian Shiyi Lang watched carefully for a while. After some time, seeing that Taotie didn’t seem to have any intention of attacking or driving him away, he placed his goods down beside the cave and leaned against the rock wall, making sure not to touch Taotie.
“Lord Taotie,” Jian Shiyi Lang spoke quietly, “I mean no harm. I’m just a traveler seeking shelter from the rain, hoping to rest in your cave for a while.”
Taotie didn’t respond.
His heavy eyelids lifted slightly, his enormous, murky dark-gold pupils glancing at him for a brief moment before quickly closing again, as if drained of all energy.
This… is probably tacit approval, right?
So, Jian Shiyi Lang carefully closed his eyes, leaned against the cold, damp rock wall, and fell asleep.
Jian Shiyi Lang had a dream.
In the dream, he felt as though he were floating in ice-cold seawater, from his head to his feet, the place he leaned against was also frozen. In the dream, Jian Shiyi Lang shivered from the cold, instinctively seeking the only source of warmth in the water, and pressed close to it.
The warmth felt like a beating heart, or perhaps a blazing fire in the middle of winter, its scales lifting like uneven bumps, but it felt incredibly solid, with a faint scent of sandalwood.
Jian Shiyi Lang gently stroked the scales, lying beside the “hearth” and fell asleep.
At some point, Taotie opened his eyes.
His dark-gold slitted pupils moved slowly, glancing downward to see the human pressed closely against him.
In the dim light of the cave, Taotie blinked, his golden eyes reflecting the side of the human’s face as he slept, his snow-white cheek smeared with dirt and blood.
Taotie pondered for a moment.
…Should he throw this reckless human out, tear him apart, or eat him?
But in the end, Taotie was simply too exhausted. His hunger and wounds sapped all his strength, and he couldn’t muster the energy to do any of those things.
So, in the end, the magnanimous Taotie simply yawned, closed his eyes again, and let the human stay by his side, using his warmth to sleep.
What Taotie didn’t want to admit was that, no matter how tired he was, as a mountain beast, he still had the strength to crush a tiny human.
But he didn’t do that.
What Taotie didn’t want to admit even more was—
Amid the eternal solitude and silence, when a moving, talking, cold-averse human suddenly appeared beside him, their heartbeat pulsing and warmth slowly transferring to him…
It didn’t feel as bad as he had imagined.
