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墨書 Inktalez
It is destined that you and I can no longer coexist in this world. Although I have harbored resentment towards fate, there is nothing that can be done; everything is predetermined and unchangeable. So, let us pretend that nothing has ever happened.
I diligently studied the thin booklet. The content was difficult to understand, and I read it repeatedly, transcribing it over and over again, pondering and writing until I could recite every line from memory. Only then did I gradually grasp its meaning.
I had to be extremely cautious; there could be no mistakes during my practice. My body was an important vessel meant to save you, and it absolutely could not shatter before I had the chance to rescue your life.
However, practicing this internal skill was indeed excruciating.
During my training, I needed to sit quietly in the dense forest at dawn and dusk, imagining my Dantian as an endless black universe, striving to absorb the essence of all things through my five hearts into the Dantian. At first, it was manageable, but after a while, whenever I practiced according to the Mind Method, I felt the natural essence pouring into my body faster and faster. This influx of energy caused excruciating pain throughout my body, often beyond my control. Only by taking the medicine left by my master could I alleviate the suffering after dispersing the energy.
Three years passed, and I no longer needed to wait for dawn or dusk; I could now absorb energy freely from my surroundings. I had to concentrate intensely to control myself; otherwise, my body would automatically absorb energy and swell painfully. It struck me as strange—if a technique only allowed for the absorption of energy without any means of release, what was its purpose? Continuing down this path would undoubtedly lead to ruin for anyone practicing it.
Yet this technique was undoubtedly the best remedy for saving your life. Perhaps the person who created this skill had a story similar to mine, someone they were willing to sacrifice for. Regardless of their intentions, I am grateful to them. Of course, I also thank my distant master for giving me this booklet.
Most importantly, I owe my gratitude to Brother Qiu Yuan.
Without Brother Qiu Yuan, you might have perished long ago. When we first arrived at Wanzi Mountain, your condition flared up frequently, leaving me anxious and helpless. Each time, it was Brother Qiu Yuan by your side, using his internal power in an extreme and forceful manner to suppress the monstrous energy surging within you.
If it weren't for Brother Qiu Yuan, I wouldn't have had these three years to practice this technique. My heart was restless; yet this skill could not be mastered overnight. If I attempted to use it without fully grasping it, not only would I fail to eliminate the malevolent energy within you, but I might also endanger your life. That was absolutely unacceptable.
I did everything in my power to strengthen my practice day and night during this time. I also witnessed your progress alongside Brother Qiu Yuan. Both of you are incredibly intelligent; even if healing you proved impossible, you would surely understand how to gradually control the strange energy within you. Thus, your condition improved steadily; the intervals between your episodes grew longer. You began living more like an ordinary person; those unaware would think nothing was wrong with you.
But I knew that each of your episodes was excruciatingly painful and that they always occurred during a full moon. Although I did not speak with you about it, I understood everything clearly. All my time away from practice was spent quietly observing you—what clothes you wore, what food you ate, who you spoke with, what you liked, every poem you wrote, every smile you shared.
"Brother Ming," you look so beautiful when you smile. When you smile, you are nothing like the ice and snow atop the mountain; instead, you resemble the spring that follows the melting of winter.
How many times have I seen you hesitate to speak to me? I want to talk to you about everything I've experienced and felt over the past decade, about the longing and happiness in my heart. But that is not something a wise person should do. What do you want to say to me? Perhaps you still remember our encounter from ten years ago, holding it close to your heart? Or maybe you don't wish to bring it up again because your body is different from others; you see yourself as a dying, frail being, unwilling to burden me for life? That truly sounds like you, my kind-hearted friend.
I am deeply infatuated with you just as you are!
So, let’s say I’ve grown up, been spoiled, and turned into a mischievous bad girl. Then, once the monster within you is gone, you'll meet a beautiful good girl—someone like Han Cousin—sincere, kind, gentle, capable of bringing complete happiness.
Every time I think of this, imagining you in a vibrant red wedding gown, gazing tenderly at your shy new Wife, I feel an overwhelming sadness.
Though you never say anything to me, you indulge my bad temper without principles. You obey my every whim, keeping me company and making me laugh, while I only respond with cold words and disdainful glances. Whenever you go out, you always bring me various trinkets; little do you know how delighted I am when I see them. Yet each time, I throw them away in front of you, scornfully calling them worthless trash.
Brother Ming, you'll never know how many sleepless nights I've spent anxiously shedding tears alone under the dim moonlight, retrieving those items one by one. Do you remember that time when you gifted me a rare string of red beans from Southern Country? I held it in my hands, examining and caressing it before dismissively looking at you and tossing it out the window into the backyard.
But somehow that silk thread broke, scattering the red beans like drops of blood and tears all over the garden. This is what I feared; do you understand? I picked them up and rubbed them between my fingers just to count them clearly—there were exactly three hundred sixty beans, as if representing a whole year of longing.
It took me two months of late-night searching in the backyard—feeling around and digging—to find all three hundred sixty beans without losing a single one.
Everything about you, every little detail related to you, I want to cherish and keep in my heart forever.
Yet gradually, I've noticed my mind becoming unclear.
I have started losing interest in everything; true irritability and anger consume me. At times I feel invincible; at other times I feel utterly worthless. I've begun forgetting many things and often find myself in inexplicable places late at night. I think I might be going insane.
But I cannot go mad yet; I cannot let my past efforts go to waste before I die. I need to hurry, faster and faster. Now, I am about to finish.
Before, I would confide in the Bodhisattva at the back mountain, but now, merely confiding is not enough. I must record everything. If I forget, I will read it again to remind myself; I absolutely cannot forget what I need to do. I hope that I will not need to rely on these records and that I can carry my complete memories with me until death. If I do not need them, let them be buried deep in the earth forever.
Everything about me is known only to the earth, the Bodhisattva, and the yellow soil.
The Bodhisattva is the closest to Buddhahood among all deities. According to their cultivation, they could have attained Buddhahood, but knowing the suffering of the world so well, they chose to remain and help others instead. So, Bodhisattva, since you are compassionate and kind, could you bless me, this woman who prays daily, to fulfill her heart's desire?
I have only this one wish.
May my deeply beloved Brother Sikong Ming be liberated from the sea of suffering and live a life of peace.
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