The Old Man, the Elf, and the Parchment

"What kind of feeling is this?" The old man's withered face contorted, his already small eyes disappearing into the crisscrossing wrinkles.

Zheng Qing was horrified to find himself completely bound by an inexplicable force, unable to move.

His fingertips wouldn't budge.

His eyelids wouldn't blink.

Even his breathing had frozen.

Except for the pocket watch ticking in his chest, it seemed only his thoughts were still flowing slowly.

"A heavy, surging, mad, explosive, powerful force!" The old man suddenly opened his pitch-black eyes, devoid of any whites, and whispered, "Like tens of millions of people shouting in unison, like tens of millions of hearts trembling in rhythm. I hardly know what material could bear it."

He picked up a small wooden mallet from beside him and tapped a bronze bell hanging on the table.

"Clang!"

The bell's sound was melodious, echoing and reverberating in the enclosed room.

Small elves, palm-sized and emitting a green glow, flew out from the depths of the room with the chime of the bell.

They formed neat rows and piled tanned, thick parchment scrolls onto the table.

After setting down the parchment, a mischievous little elf, flapping its wings, darted in front of Zheng Qing, curiously examining the stranger.

It wore a skirt made of fine gauze, its bare arms adorned with shiny silver flakes, its large black eyes blinked rapidly, and the fine tendrils on its head twitched along.

"Xixi..." The little elf made a pleasant, cheerful sound and reached out to tug at the fine hairs on Zheng Qing's face.

Its little hand was ice-cold, and the tug was painful.

Zheng Qing felt as if his head could finally move. He tried to blink his eyes.

As if startled, the little elf suddenly sprang away, turning into a streak of light and disappearing into the darkness deep within the shop.

Zheng Qing discovered he still couldn't speak.

He grimaced and wrinkled his nose with effort, expressing his displeasure to the old man behind the table.

The old man closed his eyes, his withered hand slowly stroking the parchments, quietly sensing the materials at hand.

"Dong, dong, dong, dong," like a woodpecker pecking wood, his withered index finger steadily tapped the parchment scrolls, one after another, stable and tireless.

"The dragon's top-grain leather is too hard, the second layer too soft."

"The seven-colored deer hide is too thin, unable to bear such a heavy soul."

"Pigskin is a good choice, but if combined with this soul, its inertia is too strong, affecting spellcasting."

"Mulberry paper is too brittle, no, no."

"Bamboo slips and fish skin have too strong a directional tendency, too much of a waste for this soul."

The old man muttered nonsensically, mumbling to himself, and suddenly pushed all the parchments on the table to the floor. His body seemed to float straight into the air as if weightless.

Zheng Qing, terrified, discovered that his own body was also involuntarily floating into the air.

"The heavy power of the earth, the surging power of the celestial river, the mad power of the hurricane, the explosive power of wild fire, the four symbols are all present, what kind of existence is this!" The old man's nose was close to Zheng Qing's body, sniffing him carefully, his mumbling never ceasing:

"All things have spirits, and within each wizard's spellbook resides a unique spirit beast. Casting spells is to amplify the wizard's power geometrically through the connection between this spirit beast's soul and the world. Even the soul of a great demon is not this violent. Could it be a fierce beast or a spirit? Impossible!"

"Oh, I see, I see. The tanned hides are already shaped, why not try raw hides? Why am I always fixated on these things?" The old man, floating gracefully, retreated backward and disappeared into the darkness in the blink of an eye, leaving only the panicked Zheng Qing in mid-air before the table in the empty room.

The little green elves flew back again.

They gathered the parchments scattered beneath the table and then retreated one by one.

Only a few little ones, calling "Xixi xi," happily flapped their wings and approached Zheng Qing.

One by one, they held up rice-sized, sparkling objects and dropped them into Zheng Qing's shirt pocket. Then they landed on his head and plucked out a strand of his hair.

Zheng Qing blinked furiously, but this time, not a single little elf fled in panic.

They sang "Xixi," each carrying a strand of hair back into the depths of the room.

Zheng Qing found himself missing the terrifying old man.

After a long time, the old man returned.

A tattered, grayish-white piece of hide floated beside him.

If the parchments brought by the elves looked tanned and cleaned, appearing neat and tidy, then this grayish-white hide seemed as if it had just been stripped from some demon beast, still bearing fresh bloodstains and residual flesh.

Zheng Qing was horrified.

The old man snapped his fingers, and Zheng Qing fearfully felt a piercing pain in his right hand. Immediately, his right hand extended in front of him uncontrollably. His fingertips began to ooze drops of bright red blood.

"Press it here!" the old man said coldly, his voice devoid of any inflection.

Zheng Qing suddenly found that his upper body could move.

He gritted his teeth and pressed his bleeding right hand onto the hide.

The grayish-white hide felt slightly warm to the touch. For some reason, an image of a suffering, howling figure appeared in Zheng Qing's mind.

The blood from his fingertips merged with the blood and flesh on the grayish-white hide, instantly blending together.

The grayish-white hide seemed to come alive, making squeaking sounds as it absorbed the fresh blood from Zheng Qing's fingertips, along with the remaining bloodstains and flesh fragments on its fur.

The old man reached out, hesitated for a moment, then retracted his hand and pulled out a black spellbook.

He bent his index finger and tapped the cover of the spellbook.

The spellbook rustled open to the middle, and specks of gray light drifted out from its pages, followed by smooth, flowing gray runes.

The star-like specks and runes coalesced in mid-air into a ferocious gray claw, which slowly extended towards Zheng Qing's chest before slowly closing.

A speck of black light, like an ink drop, floated out from Zheng Qing's chest. Under Zheng Qing's terrified gaze, it followed the movement of the gray claw and sank into the parchment in the old man's hand, which was already starting to turn pale.

As the black ink drop landed on the parchment, Zheng Qing's fingertips throbbed with an uncontrollable, sharp pain. He could even feel the gradually changing parchment in his hand greedily absorbing his blood.

Gradually, his vision swam, and he felt as if the pale parchment before him was burning all over.

The old man frowned. Seeing the flames on the parchment dimming, he finally couldn't help but poke Zheng Qing's chest with his withered finger.

"Dong, dong, dong, dong!" It was as if someone was beating drums in his ears. Zheng Qing was jolted awake.

He felt his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

Streams of fresh blood rushed desperately to Zheng Qing's right arm, then flowed through his five fingertips into the burning parchment.

The flames on it reignited with bright colors.

Only when Zheng Qing's face turned pale again, and his heartbeat became increasingly irregular and weaker, did the parchment gradually stop absorbing blood.

The flickering flames on the parchment also slowly died out.