Zanxing (Retranslated)

Chapter 281 - Entering the Tower (2)

Suddenly, everything in front of her turned dark.

Zanxing felt herself being confined in an extremely narrow space. The space was airtight, damp, and crowded. She couldn’t see anything around her, only hearing rhythmic, powerful sounds.

Thump, thump, thump—

Accompanied by a vague sound of water splashing.

She tried to move her body but found herself unable to move, as if someone had forcibly stuffed her into a small box. She attempted to gather all her demon king’s energy, but even clenching her fists proved useless.

It seemed as though she had become a person completely powerless.

Everything around her was pressing down on Zanxing, and she felt like she had turned into a piece of dough, continuously growing. The pressure became increasingly intense, giving her a sense of suffocation that she couldn’t escape.

She didn’t know what to do.

Her sense of smell seemed to grow more sensitive each day, and with the vague sound of water, she also detected a faint fishy smell, tinged with the scent of blood, which felt familiar. Unable to break free, she continued to grow aimlessly in the darkness, growing…

Until one day, it seemed as though the dark place experienced a massive tremor. She felt a tremendous pressure circulating within her, as if there would be no chance to leave if she didn’t escape now. Under the external tremors, her body started uncontrollably pushing in one direction. It felt as though she was being pulled into a long shape, her flesh and bones deformed by the pressure, with intense pain grinding through every inch of her body. As if struggling through the gap between two mountains—

A baby’s cry suddenly rang out in her ears.

Zanxing jolted sharply, her skin feeling as though it was being pricked by needles. She saw a bustling crowd and iron basins filled with blood and water, a woman on the bed drenched in sweat, and countless faces filled with joy or worry. The cacophony of noises overwhelmed her, causing a momentary dizziness, until someone gently picked her up and wiped her clean with a fresh cloth. As she saw her own hand—soft and newborn—she suddenly realized that the cooing cries she had heard earlier had come from her own mouth.

She was born.

*

The yellow honeysuckle flowers bloomed brilliantly, looking delicate and vibrant in the white tower. The Silver Moon Lion paced anxiously nearby, watching the cultivators who had all closed their eyes at the same moment.

Inside the tower, a strange, youthful voice seemed to echo, quickly fading into the air and becoming indistinct.

“Tsk tsk, so they’ve all come in.”

*

When Zanxing opened her eyes again, she found herself sitting in front of a courtyard.

The sunlight outside was pleasant. It was an old courtyard, seemingly abandoned for a long time. The ground was covered with a thick layer of dust, and cobwebs had formed under the eaves. The stone slabs had developed a layer of damp moss, casting a faint greenish hue.

Sitting in the shadow of the sunlight, she squinted at the occasional sparrows that landed in the courtyard, feeling an unbearable fatigue coursing through every corner of her body. It was as if she were a piece of rotting wood, hollowed out by ants, or a candle about to burn out.

She was very old, so old that she could hardly move, so old that her children no longer wanted to visit her, so old that her whole being was filled with the aura of death, devoid of any spirit or vitality. She was like a fish stranded on the shore, waiting for the soul-reaper to come and guide her to the afterlife.

She didn’t understand why she had suddenly become an elderly woman on the brink of death, but this decay seemed to exist not only in her body but also in her mind, which had become dull and reluctant to think further.

The plants and trees in the courtyard had withered and turned yellow, with dead branches lying in the soil and ants busy crawling over them.

The aged woman sat in the courtyard with cloudy eyes, slightly closed, as if her breath was about to dissipate into the world. Suddenly, a cat meowed from outside the courtyard, and a white cat darted up the wall, its figure flashing through the courtyard.

The old woman seemed startled by the noise, her weak breath momentarily disrupted as something fleeting passed through her mind and quickly vanished.

She slightly lifted her gaze.

At the same time, in another similar courtyard, an old man stood up with trembling legs and walked towards the sunlit area.

The old man wore a white cloth robe, which was as aged as he was, yellowed with time, as if it would turn to dust with the slightest touch. He walked slowly, needing to stop and rest after each step, as though every small distance required all his remaining strength.

Step by step… like a snail climbing a peak, after an unknown amount of time, he finally reached the small patch of sunlight in the courtyard.

The old man slowly extended his hand, his fingertips grasping at a beam of sunlight. The sunlight seemed warm and intense, but felt cool on his fingertips.

After a while, he raised his eyes, revealing a pair of bright, youthful eyes.

There was no trace of confusion.

*

The room was filled with the strong scent of medicine.

People moved back and forth around her, occasionally accompanied by the noisy sounds of people’s conversations and the pained groans of the person lying on the bed.

The person on the bed was a middle-aged woman, exceptionally frail with waxy yellow skin. Her appearance had become somewhat unpleasant due to the torment of her illness. Although it was sweltering outside, she felt cold all over, covered by a thick quilt and with the doors and windows tightly shut.

A maid nearby whispered, “Madam has been in poor health since birth, and it has worsened over time. She suffers daily, and it’s distressing for everyone around her.”

“Such a persistent illness,” another person sighed. “It’s truly pitiful.”

The woman on the bed had her brows tightly furrowed. She was born with a rare ailment, and neither medicine nor stone could help. The illness was not fatal but extremely tormenting, causing constant pain throughout her body, sensitivity to light and cold, and forcing her to stay indoors year after year, rarely going out.

The endless pain seemed to consume all her attention, sometimes even making her forget who she was. She felt as though the suffering would never end, and life was an endless cycle of misery.

Rain began to fall outside, pattering softly, and the wind made the windows rattle.

The maid left, and in the summer afternoon, the woman on the bed suddenly felt a bit thirsty. With great effort, she propped herself up, trying to reach for the cup on the small table.

Her gaze suddenly fixed.

On the small table, a white silk pouch had appeared out of nowhere. The pouch seemed to have materialized out of thin air, exquisitely embroidered with clean, vibrant patterns. It was an ordinary item, but for some reason, it felt incongruous with the pervasive medicinal scent in the room.

The woman looked at the pouch, mesmerized, and reached out, bypassing the cup she initially intended to grab and picking up the strange pouch.

As soon as she held the pouch, her body’s pain seemed to lessen instantly. She squinted slightly, her mind momentarily slowed, as if an ant, constantly busy, suddenly realized it was standing still, leading to a profound doubt about everything before her.