Chapter 14: The Other Yun Zhou “Yun Zhou”: Long time no see, Liu…

Haiyue Shrine was situated on a low hill along the Kanagawa coast. Although it was nearing noon, the sky remained a low-hanging, pale gray, casting the black mountain and the vermilion Torii gates into a particularly solemn light.

“The foot traffic here doesn’t seem right, does it?”

Ying Huo looked at the shrine before them and rubbed his chin. It was supposed to be peak tourist season, yet the mountain path leading to the shrine was sparsely populated. It was hard to believe this was the same bustling place featured by travel bloggers.

And then there was…

Ying Huo took a deep breath. Even though his elemental affinity wasn’t wind, he could smell the eerie, salty stench of the sea breeze in the air.

The moment Yun Zhou stepped off the levitating tram, his wolf ears pricked up alertly. Sensing something instantly, he pointed toward the back of the mountain where the shrine sat. “The sound of wind chimes and crying is getting clearer… I can feel it, the source is over there!”

He bolted forward before the other three could stop him, leaving them with no choice but to chase after him.

The four of them passed through the Torii and stepped onto the stone-stepped Sando¹ path that wound around the mountain toward the shrine. Dense ancient trees lined both sides of the path. In the windless air, the branches and leaves swayed slightly as the group rushed past, letting out soft rustles that sounded like whispering.

The further they went, the more pronounced the cold, damp scent of the deep sea became, making every breath feel heavy with moisture.

“Strange… why did it disappear?”

Having passed through the vermilion Torii, the main shrine buildings were now right in front of them, but Yun Zhou suddenly skidded to a halt. He began pacing around restlessly, looking like a bloodhound that had lost its scent.

Liu Ming scanned their surroundings. Up ahead, Ying Huo and Du Shui were keeping a close eye on Yun Zhou, so there was no immediate cause for concern.

He reached out, spreading his silken mental energy like a quiet spiderweb, meticulously probing every inch of the ground, every breath of air, and every corner.

However, for a tourist destination that should have been teeming with people, the feedback he received was eerily empty.

It was too clean.

There was no trace of Anomaly auras from the Kanagawa depths, no unusual mental fluctuations, and even the mental energy of the tourists was pitifully thin. It was as if an invisible membrane had isolated the shrine from the outside world.

But this was definitely not normal. As the core of multiple cycles, Yun Zhou possessed a “cheat code” that could only be born from such experiences; the crying and the anomalous aura he sensed couldn’t have come from nowhere. To be honest, ever since arriving at this shrine, Liu Ming’s own intuition had been screaming at him, yet his mental detection was currently yielding nothing.

“Nothing at all?”

Du Shui noticed Liu Ming’s slowing pace and quickly doubled back to ask in a low voice.

Liu Ming’s brow furrowed. “I really want to believe there’s nothing here.”

He reached out, and the silver-blue threads followed the path of his mental energy back into his Mental Landscape. Liu Ming had tried twice now, but the surroundings remained empty.

Beyond the vermilion Torii, the shrine stood there silently, its main gate resembling an anomalous, gaping maw ready to swallow life whole.

“Then let’s split up and search! That person’s crying is getting weaker. I’m afraid… they won’t last much longer.” Yun Zhou’s expression turned grave as he pointed toward the main hall and the side buildings. “Liu Ming and I will go check the cliffs over there! Du Shui, you and Ying Huo check the main hall and the Kagura Hall² behind it!”

Du Shui and Ying Huo blinked in surprise, then nodded quickly, rushing toward the deserted Kagura Hall as their captain ordered.

Liu Ming raised a hand, attempting to protest. “Actually, I can handle one path on my own…”

He wasn’t particularly keen on staying with Yun Zhou, who was a walking source of trouble. In his eyes, the current Yun Zhou was no different from the owner of a Death Note in those Third District anime—whoever he wrote about, died.

“No way!”

Yun Zhou didn’t give him a choice. He grabbed Liu Ming’s wrist and pulled him toward the narrow path leading to the cliffs behind the shrine, his urgency brook no argument. “You’re coming with me! Don’t think you’re slacking off! I have to keep an eye on you to make sure you don’t start trouble again!”

Liu Ming: …The one starting trouble has always been you, okay?!

Liu Ming stumbled as he was yanked along, a flash of annoyance crossing his blood-red eyes. But seeing how Yun Zhou was completely consumed by that “crying,” he suppressed the urge to shake him off. He began to comfort himself: Fine, fine. By keeping a close eye on this “Lord Savior,” he might discover the anomaly even faster.

The path to the cliffs behind the shrine was narrow and steep, flanked by jagged rocks and low shrubs. As Yun Zhou accelerated, the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs grew louder.

The cold, deep-sea chill in the air intensified, seeping almost into their very bones.

Liu Ming’s ominous premonition, sharpened by his nature as a mental-type Guide, became increasingly vivid.

Yun Zhou moved faster and faster until he was practically dragging Liu Ming along. He muttered unconsciously, reaching a hand forward as if trying to support someone. “Don’t cry… don’t cry anymore… I’m here… I heard you… It’s okay now, I’ll save you!”

Yun Zhou almost shouted those last few words.

“Yun Zhou! Calm down!” Liu Ming instantly sensed something was wrong and tried to snap him out of it with his voice. But Yun Zhou seemed to have completely blocked out the outside world. His eyes turned hollow, and deep within his golden pupils, there seemed to be a reflection of some urgent scene only he could see, driving him forward with grim determination.

“We’re going to live… don’t cry, don’t cry…”

Yun Zhou’s voice became ethereal and pained.

Liu Ming tried to struggle, but Yun Zhou’s grip on his wrist was incredibly strong, making it impossible to break free. He was dragged directly onto the observation platform at the edge of the cliff.

The moment they stepped onto the platform, Yun Zhou seemed to make a desperate decision. He stopped abruptly, the emptiness in his eyes replaced by a reckless impulse.

“There’s no time, we’re out of time-!”

He let out an agonizing roar and threw off Liu Ming’s hand. With the incredible speed of a Sentinel, he charged past the guardrails at the cliff’s edge—straight toward the bottomless, churning ink-black waves of the ocean below!

“Yun Zhou! Are you crazy!”

Liu Ming’s pupils constricted violently, and his heart nearly skipped a beat.

The protagonist couldn’t die. Of everyone, the protagonist was the one person who absolutely could not die. If the protagonist died, if the Savior died, how would the Plot Strings that wound around everyone like mountains ever be unraveled? Who would be left to save this world?

He didn’t even have time to weigh the pros and cons; in that instant, only one effective piece of information remained in Liu Ming’s brain.

He absolutely could not let Yun Zhou die.

Under intense mental focus, Liu Ming exploded with terrifying reaction speed. The moment Yun Zhou slapped his hand away, Liu Ming lunged forward and clamped his hand back around Yun Zhou’s wrist. At the very second Yun Zhou’s body was about to clear the railing and plunge into the abyss, Liu Ming grabbed the guardrail of the observation platform with a death grip to maintain his balance.

As a Guide with poor physical stats, the price Liu Ming paid for this was heavy. The massive momentum sent both of them slamming hard against the cold metal railing with a dull thud.

“Ugh…”

Liu Ming felt as if his internal organs had been shifted by the terrifying force of the pull. Half of his body throbbed with pain from the impact against the railing, but he continued to hold on tight to Yun Zhou, who was now hanging completely outside the barrier. His knuckles turned white from the sheer exertion.

The current Yun Zhou had no conscious will and could not control the wind. If he fell into the sea, he really would die.

Below the towering cliff, jagged sea rocks were battered by surging waves. A powerful sea breeze swept up from the ink-blue surface, fluttering through Yun Zhou’s silver-gray hair and his Tibetan robes³.

His eyes were tightly shut, his face devoid of expression as if he had already lost consciousness. His body hung limp, his tail drooping behind him, his entire weight supported solely by the strength of Liu Ming’s single hand at the edge of the precipice.

【I knew something was wrong! But how is it this young master saving Yun Zhou? What kind of development is this?! Did this ever happen in previous cycles?】

【Who knows! Anyway, my opinion of Liu Ming has changed. But Young Master Liu better be careful! There’s something wrong under that water!】

Something wrong…?

Liu Ming’s eyes suddenly widened. Misfortune truly never came alone.

A few seconds after the bullet comments flashed by, right beneath Yun Zhou’s dangling body, the sea surface that had previously only been churning with waves suddenly erupted with a terrifying aura. A massive tentacle composed of freezing, mournful currents carrying endless sorrow and resentment surged out from beneath the waves, coiling toward the suspended Yun Zhou.

Simultaneously, the salty sea breeze brought with it a faint but unmistakable sound of wind chimes.

This was the sound Yun Zhou had heard…!

Liu Ming made the judgment almost instantly.

The tentacle’s target was clear. The hand Liu Ming used to hold Yun Zhou was suddenly hit by a bone-chilling cold and a massive pulling force. He lost his balance in an instant and had to forcibly wedge his body against the railing just to keep his grip on Yun Zhou’s hand.

“Damn Savior, what on earth did you provoke this time!”

Liu Ming’s face was pale and grim. He mobilized all his strength to counter the pull from beneath the sea, while his other hand gripped the edge of the railing so hard that his fingertips were torn by the rough wood. Blood began to flow, staining the railing red.

He couldn’t hold on for much longer.

Liu Ming had always been self-aware. Looking at the ashen-faced, unconscious Yun Zhou, he knew that to escape this desperate situation, he had only one choice.

“Stop sleeping… wake up for me.”

Liu Ming spoke in a low voice; he was a man of his word.

The youth abruptly closed his eyes. His silver-blue mental energy, sharp as a surgical scalpel, instantly pierced through Yun Zhou’s Mental Barrier—which was inexplicably fragile—and charged into Yun Zhou’s Mental Landscape, forcibly establishing a mental link.

The moment the mental link was established, Liu Ming felt as if he had been instantly transported to the distant highlands of the Seventh District. A cold wind whipped through ice and snow, lashing against him and his Spiritual Body with bone-chilling pain.

His Spiritual Body, the blue five-pacer viper⁴, slithered anxiously across his shoulders, hissing and flicking its tongue.

Liu Ming gave its head a steadying pat, but the moment he looked up, he too was nearly consumed by the same emotions.

The Mental Landscape before him was in even worse shape than Du Shui’s… this was a land that had been completely swallowed and destroyed by an Anomaly.

The sky was filled with cracks that bled ink-like fluid. The pitch-black liquid flowed down from the horizon, connecting the heavens and the earth.

On the plateau, the once-lush vegetation was withered and charred like the embers of a fire, and the blizzard wailed as it kicked up black ash. In the distance, the rolling snow-capped mountains that represented Yun Zhou’s mental state had been stained with foul colors by the liquid flowing from the sky.

The world seemed to consist only of black and white. At the end of the wind and snow, beneath a mani stone pile⁵ wrapped in Seventh District prayer flags⁶, Yun Zhou was curled up on the ground.

“Yun Zhou…?”

Liu Ming reached out tentatively, his entire being on high alert as he looked toward Yun Zhou.

It was indeed Yun Zhou. His silver-gray hair was covered in snow, and a massive gray wolf lay prostrate beside him, huddled together with him.

But those eyes, which should have been clear and bright, were now hollow and lifeless. Large, black tears were streaming steadily from his eyes, silently sliding down to merge into the polluted earth beneath his feet.

He radiated a thick sense of sorrow and despair that shared the same source as the power beneath the sea. But what made Liu Ming even more wary was that another “Yun Zhou” was standing beside the weeping one.

That “Yun Zhou” also had silver-gray hair and wolf ears, but the tips of his hair and ears had turned into a foul, flowing ink-like mist.

There was no sadness on his face, only a nearly manic sense of suppression. He reached out, gently stroking the weeping Yun Zhou’s head, and whispered in a tone that defied description:

“Cry… just cry… accept it. This is your end… this is the end for us in the end. There is no struggling, no escape…”

“Accept all of this, and then give up this useless consciousness.”

Following his whispers, the black substances scattered across the land began to writhe more violently. More inky liquid flowed down from the cracks in the sky, accelerating the collapse of the Mental Landscape.

Liu Ming gritted his teeth and stepped forward, preparing to stop “Yun Zhou.” However, this “Yun Zhou” was far sharper than the real one. He sensed Liu Ming’s intrusion instantly and snapped his head up, those abyss-like black pupils locking onto Liu Ming’s position with unerring precision.

A twisted smile spread across “Yun Zhou’s” face.

“What a surprise… To think the first person to find me wouldn’t be Du Shui, or even Ying Huo, but you.”

“It’s been a long time… heir of the Liu Family.”

Translator’s Notes