The oddly shaped “pot” was finished too. Luo Ren lined the inside with leaves and filled it with water. He placed many stones into the fire, heated them until they were scorching, then lifted them with chopsticks and dropped them into the pot.
At first, there was a loud hiss and clouds of steam. After enough hot stones were added, the water began to boil.
Cao Yanhua was beside himself with excitement, exclaiming that he’d learned something new—now he knew how to make a pot in the wild.
Chopped aromatic spices went into the soup. Cooking instant noodles in it was no problem at all. The stems of fresh mushrooms were trimmed, the caps hollowed out and turned upside down. Bird eggs were cracked into them, the golden yolk sloshing gently inside the mushroom cups. Set on the stone surface over low heat, the mushrooms slowly released their natural fragrance. The instant noodle seasoning packets were opened and kept nearby; now and then, a pinch was sprinkled over the food.
Countless aromas intertwined—soft, coaxing, teasing the senses, making one’s heart itch with joy. It made you want to dance with happiness.
Mu Dai knelt to add fuel to the fire. Cao Yanhua stared unblinkingly at the mushroom-and-egg cups. The egg mixture gradually set, trembling, golden yellow mingled with a milky white like custard. He swallowed once, then again. At that moment, fierce slips, Guan Si Archway, death warriors—everything was completely forgotten.
With a sharp zzzip, the tent zipper was pulled all the way down, and two heads poked out.
Left and right—Wan San and Yan Hongsha.
Neither was fully awake yet. Yan Hongsha asked groggily, “What are you cooking? It smells amazing.”
Luo Ren laughed loudly. “Get up and eat.”
The meal was immensely satisfying. Cao Yanhua held a scalding mushroom-and-egg cup on a leaf, blowing frantically to cool it, yet still couldn’t resist taking bites. Tender steamed egg mixed with mushroom juices ran down the corners of his mouth as he hurriedly wiped it away, shouting through a mouthful of food, “Sausage—pan-fried sausage! Save me a slice!”
Then he added, “This is the best meal I’ve had all year! Even better than that roasted lamb leg at Uncle Zheng’s!”
Yan Hongsha and Wan San crowded around the pot. Leaves were rolled into pointed bowls, and they fished out noodles one chopstick at a time. Yan Hongsha carefully scooped up a little broth with a leaf, slurped it down, smacked her lips, and said, “Delicious.”
…
The sun slanted lower. Even the current of the river seemed to slow, its surface covered in shimmering gold.
The fortune-teller thought grilling sausages on a stone slab looked fun and insisted on trying it himself. Luo Ren gave up his spot, while Mu Dai flusteredly coached him from the side: “Flip it! Flip it! Or it’ll get overcooked!”
Luo Ren smiled, walked aside, sat down, then, after a moment, lay back on the riverbank with his hands folded behind his head.
The riverbank, too, had been warmed by the sun.
He slowly closed his eyes.
Now and then, dry branches in the fire cracked with soft pops. Cao Jiefang ran around nearby; occasionally, there was the tapping sound of a beak pecking at something, who knew what.
If only there were a beer.
His thoughts drifted far away—to the beach in Medan, at night, big barrels of German beer, Aoki playing the ukulele. Lighthearted tunes seemed to grow legs, dancing across the surface of the sea. Eurys, who had just learned to swim, suddenly burst out of the water, holding up a wriggling fish in delight.
“Ro! Ro! Fish!”
Eurys would toss it straight over—a silver fish wrapped in silver moonlight, tracing a graceful arc through the night sky. Just as it reached him, the fish’s tail flicked, splashing seawater all over his face.
After eating and drinking their fill, they would turn off all the lights and lie quietly on the beach, waiting.
When the night grew deep enough, as the waves washed ashore, streaks of light—some narrow, some wide—would appear along the beach like a starry sky. Blue, flickering, mysterious and vast. Locals called it “blue tears.”
In truth, it was a kind of microorganism that lived in seawater. Once removed from the sea, its life could only be measured in seconds. Sometimes, when the waves were strong, the blue tears would be thrown into the air and land on him, their faint glow like a whispered plea.
Every time, Luo Ren would stand up, walk to the shore, and return that bit of glowing light to the sea.
In this world, even the smallest life deserved respect.
…
He had thought that after they died, those kinds of days would never return.
But now—this was wonderful. Being alive was wonderful.
Everyone had to be safe. No one was allowed to die.
…
Mu Dai lay down beside him; he could feel it.
He lifted his head to look. Not just Mu Dai—everyone was the same. Full and content, they lay there with no desires left, the earth and stones beneath them feeling close and gentle.
Cao Jiefang strolled over slowly. Cao Yanhua said, “Come on, Jiefang. Nothing’s more comfortable than lying down. Lie down for a bit.”
He grabbed Cao Jiefang, flipped it belly-up, and laid it down beside him. Cao Jiefang wasn’t used to it—its little chicken legs kicked upward, then with a quick flip, it scrambled back to its feet.
Mu Dai said, “I had a dream a few days ago.”
She told them about the night she slept inside a cabinet—the room filled with mist, seven long, misshapen shadows, and the faint rustling whispers.
—Hide. Hide.
She closed her eyes and said, “Do you think those dark shadows might actually be the real Star Lords? Maybe they were originally just nameless malice and power, but after long, prolonged mingling with humans, they became more human—developed human ways of thinking, even learned to communicate secretly with one another.”
Luo Ren laughed and said, “Aoki once told me a lot of Japanese yokai stories. The Japanese believe that household objects, after a hundred years, develop a spirit—what they call ‘coming to life.’ They call these spirits tsukumogami.”
“So in the ninety-ninth year, people often throw old objects into the deep mountains, or perform rituals to purify the home—because if it only takes a hundred years for a tsukumogami to appear…”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but everyone understood.
The Fierce Slips had existed in this world for thousands of years. They had seen countless people and experienced countless events. Gradually growing humanlike, developing human thought, even whispering to one another like humans—it wasn’t strange at all.
In Leopard’s copy of Zi Bu Yu, there was a handwritten “hide.” In Mu Dai’s dream, she repeatedly heard the words “hide.” The seventh Fierce Slip might well have hidden itself somewhere safely.
But where?
Cao Yanhua said, “It’s definitely somewhere we’d least expect. The people around us—even chickens—are all suspects.”
As he said this, he cast a suspicious glance at Cao Jiefang, who was pecking at a stray noodle on the ground with its butt sticking up by the pot.
If the seventh one really were on Cao Jiefang, then this so-called “Star Lord” was truly enduring humiliation to carry out its mission.
In her mind, Mu Dai silently ran through everyone she knew.
Aunt Hong, Uncle Zhang, Uncle Zheng, Pinti, Eldest Senior Brother, the fortune-teller—even Ma Tuwen, Wan Fenghuo…
All seemed possible, yet none quite fit.
So where was it?
In the quiet, Wan San said lazily, “We’ll just wait. The Phoenix Luan Buckle will give us a hint eventually.”
Luo Ren said, “No need to rush. The less time we have left, the more we need to steady ourselves and take it slow, step by step.”
“Before the Phoenix Luan Buckle gives any indication, I suggest we start with Long Town.”
That was right. Sooner or later, there would have to be a trip to Long Town.
It lay within the territory of Hangu Pass—the place where Laozi had once sealed the Fierce Slips.
The most recent place where the seven Fierce Slips had been opened.
The place Water Shadow most frequently pointed to.
And the place most likely to hold the real…
Phoenix Luan Buckle.
Sam Williams On TYMIMA Chapter 152