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墨書 Inktalez
Living Funeral
Memories of the past surfaced in my mind, everything rising to the surface with these words.
Changsheng, Master, and me.
This is my master's grave, Black Duck Mountain... Fragments of broken memories began to piece together, while Zhang Xun and Nian Chen remained silent beside me. I continued to look ahead, the turmoil within me growing stronger.
My master had written here that the art of immortality was a forbidden technique, yet Jiang Changsheng still practiced it. The following article argued against the possibility of immortality; it stated that it was fundamentally unattainable. Suddenly, I recalled Li Qiang, whose skin had shown signs of aging at that time.
Yes, it was Li Qiang's skin. Back then, he wanted to drink my blood to save his own life. This should prove the failure of the immortality technique. I couldn't help but wonder if Jiang Changsheng was using us as experiments.
The thought sent chills down my spine. What was Jiang Changsheng's true purpose in bringing us here?
Following the tomb path, we continued forward, but water had begun to accumulate in the passageway, soaking over our shoes. This must be a consequence of mining activities. At that moment, Nian Chen remarked that he seemed to smell the stench of decaying flesh.
As soon as Nian Chen finished speaking, I heard the sound of water splashing; it sounded like someone was trudging through it on the other side, the noise clear and distinct in my ears.
Zhang Xun said calmly, "It seems someone is coming over there."
I nodded in acknowledgment. We stood still for a moment, not moving. I too caught a whiff of Nian Chen's foul odor; I suspected it was from a corpse. The flashlight beam illuminated the water below, but it couldn't reflect any human shapes.
In this darkness, it was impossible to see clearly.
The splashing continued as I listened intently, trying to gauge how far away the person was. After about four or five minutes, a figure emitting a stench of decay appeared before us.
"It's a zombie!" Nian Chen's voice rose with alarm. The flashlight revealed the approaching zombie unmistakably; its face was marred with rotting scars, looking as if it had been submerged in water for an eternity. It was horrifyingly grotesque.
Zhang Xun drew his Peach Wood Sword from his back, his expression turning serious, and Nian Chen mirrored his concern.
However, these zombies posed no real threat to me. We quickly took action and dispatched more than ten zombies without much effort. But we were now stained with their black, putrid blood.
"Nian Chen said to me, 'Fei, don't move. You have blood on your face.'
I looked at Nian Chen in confusion as he reached out to wipe the blood from my face. After he finished, he muttered, 'It really stinks.'
The water was filled with corpses as we stepped over them, moving forward. I wanted to see if my master had left any other hints. After walking for a while, the path became dry, yet we were still damp.
Zhang Xun remarked that those zombies must have been dead miners.
I nodded and replied, 'That's very likely.'
Darkness eternally enveloped this place, but the flashlight dispelled the shadows. Images of 'Disciples Paying Respect to Their Masters' appeared on both sides of the wall, one after another. Memories surfaced vividly—seeking a master, kneeling, entering the door, serving tea, bowing down, paying respect.
I murmured a few words that only I could hear. I reached out to touch the mural; back then, when I was naive to the world, I could perform an act with such sincerity. In contrast, now there are endless schemes and traps. What kind of heart is truly sincere? What kind of face is genuine?
The images began to accumulate and emerge.
My master said that entering this door is about cultivating the heart and nurturing a kind heart.
Two young people knelt before their master together. The one who ascended the steps first became the senior disciple, while the one who followed became the junior disciple. Once they became brothers in learning, they should treat each other like family, equally focusing on cultivating their hearts, virtues, and paths.
I seemed to see my master in a white robe approaching me as I continued forward through a tomb passage until I arrived at a tomb chamber. The chamber was clean and tidy, filled with various items—many scrolls and books neatly arranged.
The paintings and books were well-preserved. At the entrance of the tomb passage was a symbol drawn that kept all the zombies outside.
There were also candles here. I used my lighter to ignite one; its dim yellow light illuminated the space. Suddenly, Nian Chen shouted, 'Fei, come look! There's a portrait of you here.' Upon hearing this, I walked over to Nian Chen.
He unfolded a painting that revealed a young boy dressed in a flowing blue robe with his hair tied up and a wooden hairpin woven through it. The boy's expression was calm; his right hand was raised and resting at his waist. There was righteousness in his demeanor.
Yet there was also a hint of youthfulness in his features, but his gaze was incredibly firm. Nian Chen said, 'Fei, you looked really good when you were young with your hair tied up.'"
I gazed at the painting of myself, the black lines flowing together to outline my appearance from years ago. We cannot hold onto our past selves, but the brush captures it perfectly. Yet, I am not that person anymore; the current me is filled with worry.
I was lost in thought.
Zhang Xun stood across from us, unfurling a scroll. On it was Jiang Changsheng, dressed in a white robe, holding a book, his gaze never leaving its pages, tirelessly absorbed in reading. However, his frame seemed too frail for the garment he wore, as if he could not support it. His handsome face was marked by stubbornness.
"This is what Jiang Changsheng looked like when he was young! But Fei, he doesn’t look as good as you."
I set down my portrait and took Jiang Changsheng's scroll to examine it. I stared for a long time, as if I were seeing the past. Nian Chen interrupted my reverie, saying, "Fei, there might still be a portrait of your master here."
Nian Chen's words reminded me that there should indeed be a portrait of my master. I began searching through the scrolls and soon found one. Compared to us, my master was quite different; he wore coarse linen robes and appeared unkempt. Yet, he had always demanded cleanliness and integrity from both Jiang Changsheng and me, treating others with humility and respect.
But alas, he has passed away…
I took a deep breath to calm my restless heart.
Looking at the portrait, I called out softly, "Master," whispering the name over and over… Only now I am no longer young, and neither is my master… But when I murmured it for the third time, the portrait suddenly rippled and then flew from my hands, hovering in mid-air and emitting a faint glow.
As I stared at the painting, I soon saw a figure emerge from it—more accurately, a soul, a remnant spirit trapped within the scroll.
I looked at the painting, my lips moving silently as I struggled to find words. After a moment of silence, I called out again, "Master." The two syllables fell heavily in the air, memories flooding back like a tidal wave.
My master questioned right from wrong, asked about morality…
Time has passed; things have changed. My master said softly, "Fei, you have come."
I nodded in response, meeting his gaze with neither deference nor arrogance. A faint smile graced my master's lips as he asked me gently, "Fei, has your original intention changed?"
Original intention? Has mine changed? I opened my mouth as if to question him back. My master replied, "Are you asking me?"
I let out a sound of acknowledgment, feeling that someone was going in the opposite direction from me. Perhaps I was wrong; if I was wrong, then my original intention was also flawed. Should I still cling to a misguided intention? I felt lost inside. My master said, "Fei, do you remember how I taught you?"
I remained silent, unable to respond.
At that moment, my master sighed. Without a goal, one drifts like floating duckweed, carried wherever the wind blows.
After his words, I turned to my master and asked, "In the end, who is right and who is wrong between me and Changsheng?"
My master replied, "Must we distinguish right from wrong?"
I said, "If we don't differentiate right from wrong, how can we know who is on the correct path? How can I decide whether I should continue moving forward?"
My master gently stroked his beard and asked me a question: "Fei, has Changsheng always been steadfast in his own path?"
I nodded in agreement.
He then asked, "Is he right or wrong?"
I shook my head, indicating that I didn't know. My master continued, "Does he know whether he is right or wrong?"
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