"King in Yellow?" Lu Li didn't react at first. Then he thought about it. Calling the Yellow Emperor the King in Yellow was a little strange, but it didn't seem to be a problem. As he softly repeated the name, a faint sense of dread stirred in his heart, so faint that even his keen control failed to detect it.
"Time's up. You have to go back. Take good care of Master!" A smile appeared on the Puppet's wooden face, and the long-held worry fell away, as if she had finally let everything go. Her breathing grew calm, almost lifeless. "I'm truly sorry for deceiving you and resorting to such despicable means. I don't care what you think of me, but please, you must take good care of Master."
The entire world grew dreamlike, twisting and warping until it shattered into fragments. When Lu Li came to again, he was back in the ruined temple. His nose felt strangely tugged at; he instinctively wiped it and found dried blood. Then he suddenly realized he could move his hand.
The Old Man across from him stirred awake. Lu Li shifted his body and carefully examined himself. The injuries he had sustained in the Dream of Delusion had all healed after he returned. The only thing that could be considered an injury was the nosebleed caused by his brain becoming unleashed when he first entered. He reached into his pocket and found all three Rule Modules still there. In his other pocket lay the Cinnabar Talisman.
"Only..." Lu Li flexed his left hand and found it much less nimble than his right. He carefully examined it and found nothing wrong with the blood vessels, muscles, or nerves. Its dexterity had simply been halved for no apparent reason.
"Is it because of the supernatural side of things?" Lu Li could do nothing about that, so he continued to quietly assess his condition. The places where he had been injured were all uncomfortable now, aching for no clear reason. But a strange intuition told him the discomfort would fade after a while, unlike the loss of dexterity in his left hand, which was permanent.
"Judging by the sky, it'll be dawn in less than an hour." The Old Man went to the temple entrance to look outside. When he came back, he sighed. "It's all my fault for being lazy. There isn't enough firewood to last until dawn, and the night isn't safe either. This... Ah!"
"Don't blame yourself too much, Old Man. Until the very last moment, no one can say what might happen. There's always a way out." Lu Li comforted him, smiling to himself. He already understood what the Puppet was planning. He remembered what she had said: monsters made the best fuel.
The tear at the corner of the Puppet's eye gave off a strange ripple, hiding somewhere unknowable as it slowly stirred people's emotions. A little guilt became overwhelming shame; a little self-reproach became a surging tide of regret; a little resentment became absolute hatred.
"I'm nothing but a failure! I've lived for decades without accomplishing a thing, and now I'm only burdening others in my old age." The Old Man couldn't help thinking back over his past. He had spent his whole life struggling and gained nothing. He was alone and helpless. Now winter had come, snow fell everywhere, he couldn't even afford winter clothes, and he had no home. All he could do was drift into a ruined temple and wait to die in the cold night.
"Why did my life turn out this pathetic? It's all because of you!" The Old Man watched the fire dwindle, with no more firewood to feed it. His emotions roiled, and as he thought of his life, an impulse welled up inside him. He suddenly flew into a rage. Looking at the Puppet in his arms, fury overwhelmed his heart and shut out reason. "I wasted my whole life on you, and now I've got nothing to show for it. I might not even make it through this winter, let alone this night. What do I need you for? I might as well burn you—you'll at least warm me up!"
The moment he finished speaking, the Old Man let go and tossed the Puppet into the fire. Flames swallowed her, sending sparks flying, and the heat seemed to rise a notch. Lu Li watched silently from the side. Though he couldn't sense the means the Puppet was using, the information in the prompt window had given him a rough idea of what was happening. She was using hypnosis to sacrifice herself and illuminate the path for others.
As the Puppet fell into the fire, the flames began to grow. The Old Man's eyes were bloodshot as he sat beside the fire, seething. His hand instinctively reached back, trying to hold something, but then he froze. What could he still hold? Hadn't his most precious possession just been thrown into the fire?
Staring at the blazing flames, the Old Man sat completely stunned. "What... have I done?"
As his emotions subsided, his lost reason returned. The Old Man stared blankly at the fire and lost his balance, collapsing to the ground. He didn't react at all. He had suddenly realized that he might have done the stupidest thing in his life.
Just as the Old Man was about to rush into the fire to try and save her, the Puppet in the flames creaked and raised herself upright. Sparks drifted through the air, and the heat from the flames made the air waver, making the Puppet seem very far away.
The Puppet's opera costume caught fire and wrapped around her, making her look even more dazzling. She smiled gently and bowed gracefully to the Old Man, offering him a formal yet charming salute. The vermilion tear wasn't hidden by the flames; instead, it shone all the brighter against them.
Her face was wreathed in smiles. This was probably the happiest moment of her life: at last, they had broken free of the Other Shore Flower's fate. Perhaps flower and leaf could meet again one day. Even if the price was death, even if she turned to ashes, so what?
I have performed thousands upon thousands of songs and dances at your hands, but this time, I'll perform for you myself. To save you, truly see you again, and offer you a song and dance—how wonderful that would be. It's worth burning myself to ashes for!
The Puppet danced in the fire, so beautiful that no words could describe her. The Old Man's eyes brimmed with tears, his mouth slightly agape as he stared at the figure in the flames. Out of habit, he recited the lyrics, accompanying the Puppet's dance.
When the song ended, the Puppet's joints burned through. With a crack, she collapsed into the firewood and coals, never to regain her original shape. The Old Man could no longer hold back his tears. He sank to the ground and sobbed, just as he had as a child when his parents stopped him from going to see a String Puppet Opera. He understood that he hadn't thrown just a Puppet into the fire, but also the conviction he had held onto his entire life and the love he had cherished all those years. To him, the Puppet had long since ceased to be a lifeless object. She was family—his child, his kin.
Because of the Puppet, the fire blazed high, burning especially warm. It warmed not only the body, but the heart.
After a long while, the Old Man sighed. "Warm indeed. Alone indeed."
I wanted to write a lot, but suddenly I felt that silence spoke louder than words...
Before you continue