Volume One: Scroll of New Rain Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Girl and the Deity

“Has the time come to leave already?”

She stood in the courtyard, tears streaming silently down her face, mouthing the question again and again without a sound.

Her eyes were tightly shut, still lost in her dreams.

Yet within her slender frame was sorrow so vast, it seemed to fill the entire world.

In the unseen night sky, two faint figures, reduced to mere glimmers, descended beside her. One of them embraced her tightly.

“Poor child, this world is far too cruel for you.”

Feeling the embrace, Bai Qiaoqiao leaned into that familiar chest, still weeping. She asked softly,

“Has the time come to leave already?”

The two figures remained silent, wordless.

Night gave way to dawn.

Qiaoqiao awoke from her dream in her bed, gazing out at the tranquil dawn for a long, long time.

She rose, opened the door, and walked into the courtyard. The house was unchanged, as familiar as ever.

“Girl, hurry up and eat your breakfast before heading to the school.”

Her uncle, as usual, was at the door smoking his pipe. Hearing her leave her room, he turned and pointed to the steaming bowl of white porridge on the table.

Qiaoqiao paused at the threshold, gazing deeply at the thin, often silent middle-aged man standing there.

“All right.” She replied softly, as she had done countless mornings over the past sixteen years.

She ate breakfast as always, bade farewell to the familiar middle-aged couple, took her book bag, and set out along the familiar road.

The familiar road wasn’t just the path to school. There was another road, perhaps not taken as often, but etched just as deeply in her heart.

Closer, closer.

This was the stream where she first met him, and where they spent many peaceful afternoons together.

Qiaoqiao stopped, looking at the beautiful stream, still flowing gently in the distance.

The first time she met him, she must have been anxious. He was the magical boy she watched from her window, as if he were a friend from another world.

But one day, this magical boy broke through the boundaries of her world, suddenly appearing by her side, reaching out to her like a dream.

Like a dream, so beautiful that she always feared waking, always feared it was just a dream.

Qiaoqiao continued along the familiar road, climbing the mountain.

That must be the little slope where he carried her.

There, they rested together under the trees.

There, the boy told her of his fear of snakes. And it was around there that they encountered the terrifying white tiger.

Qiaoqiao walked the path, memories of distant days suddenly flooding her mind. She hadn’t realized those images were so deeply rooted.

The thorns on the path grew thicker, making her progress ever harder. She set down her book bag and struggled onward through the mountain.

Sharp grasses sliced her palms, leaving crisscrossing scars on her soft, slender hands. Her knees were scraped by the hard rocks, leaving tiny crimson stains.

Her steps faltered at times, but her direction never changed.

By the time she reached the turbulent stream where they fell six years ago, Qiaoqiao’s white dress was stained with dust and torn in many places. Her once fair cheeks bore smudges and exhaustion.

Yet she had arrived. Six years ago, she was unconscious along this road, unable to recall the way. Later, Mingke had brought her back.

Compared to the gentle stream in town, this one was wild and unpredictable, its waters still rushing even in the dry winter.

Qiaoqiao gazed at the stream before her, her expression fragile yet stubborn.

...

At dawn, Ye Mingke awoke and spent the morning practicing with a light wooden sword, swinging at the massive stone in the courtyard, trying to master the move Uncle Sword had taught him.

Each time he felt he’d found the right motion, the wooden sword snapped against the stone without fail.

Making new swords was easy. Having already split a thousand pieces of wood, Mingke could whip up a new sword in no time.

Through repeated meditation, practice, and swordplay, the morning quickly slipped away.

After preparing lunch, Mingke went to the bamboo hut to call Uncle, finding him at the forge. This time, Uncle was crafting something odd—not a sword, nor an axe, nor anything the townsfolk would use.

“Uncle, what are you making? What’s that?” Mingke stared curiously at the object in the flames.

“A sword chest, for storing swords.”

Uncle paused his hammering, turned toward Mingke, his eyelids lowered.

“I wanted to forge a sword for you, but after many, many years, I still haven’t made your sword.”

“I always wanted a real sword, something really cool!”

Mingke’s eyes lit up at the mention of a sword, but quickly noticed the melancholy in Uncle’s lowered gaze, which he didn’t quite understand, so he hurriedly added with a smile,

“Actually, any sword will do. And a sword chest is already pretty cool! Thank you, Uncle.”

“This sword chest will help you find your own sword. Remember, you must find the sword that truly belongs to you. No matter what others think your sword should be, only you can decide what your sword is.”

“Yes, Uncle, I’ll remember.” Sensing the gravity in Uncle’s words, Mingke nodded solemnly.

“The sword chest will take some more time to finish. I’ll give it to you later. Let’s eat.”

Uncle Sword rolled his wheelchair toward the door, paused, and turned back to Mingke.

“If one day you leave town and encounter cultivation methods, remember, never learn one called the ‘Six Paths Technique.’ Even if everyone else is learning it.”

“Why?” Mingke asked, puzzled.

“Because… behind it, there’s an eye watching.”

Uncle suddenly looked outside at the still gloomy sky, uttering another strange phrase.

“An eye? What does that mean?” Mingke tilted his head, thinking. Uncle’s words had grown increasingly odd lately.

And Uncle seemed much more gentle now.

They ate lunch in the courtyard. Midway through, Tao Yao called Mingke’s name from outside.

Mingke brought his food to the door and saw Tao Yao’s face, tinged with concern.

“Qiaoqiao didn’t come to school this morning. Is she sick?”

“That silly girl, maybe she caught a chill that night?” Mingke frowned.

“I’ll go…”

He meant to say he would visit Qiaoqiao’s house after lunch, but remembered his tight training schedule, his promise to Uncle to work hard, and Uncle’s urgency regarding his cultivation.

He hesitated. Qiaoqiao probably wouldn’t be in any real trouble.

“You go check on Qiaoqiao first. I’ll try to make time this afternoon to visit as well. Keep me updated on her situation.”

“Mm.” Tao Yao nodded and left.

Mingke sat at the doorway, releasing his clenched fists and feeling his heart beating faster, uneasy.

But there was no reason for it—he was just worried about that girl.

He hesitated a while longer, finished his meal, and chose to head to the sacred mountain behind the bamboo hut first.

Not long after he left, Tao Yao, face full of anxiety, broke the quiet of the town streets and rushed to Mingke’s courtyard.

“Qiaoqiao is missing!”

He braced his hands against his knees, panting heavily, repeating the words.

...

Outside the town, in the forbidden sacred mountain.

Five years had brought little change to the dilapidated temple hidden deep in the woods.

The moss was still green on the walls; the toppled incense burner remained unmoved. Even the dust drifting through the broken roof beams traced familiar patterns in the light.

The temple lived through centuries of unchanging solitude.

But in those same five years, people had endured the tangled affairs of the world, changing unconsciously.

After a journey fraught with hardship, exhaustion, dust, and even the terror of death, Qiaoqiao finally stepped once again into the temple.

The place holding her most terrifying memories, her deepest nightmares—and also her warmest, most peaceful moments.

The warmth of the fire in the rain, the beautiful steam rising above the boiling water, the best day of her life, the sweetest serenity.

Qiaoqiao walked past the toppled incense burner, overgrown grass, step by step into the shrine at the back.

She looked up.

Light spilled from the broken roof, illuminating the statue and the humble, hopeful girl.

Sunlight fell upon her face, highlighting its beauty, sorrow, fear, softness, and strength.

The statue, bathed in light, bore a face more playful than divine, yet its gaze upon the girl was full of compassion.

“Mountain God Brother.”

Bai Qiaoqiao brought her hands together, gazing up at the statue with reverence. Her misty eyes shone with hope.

“Mountain God Brother, Qiaoqiao doesn’t know which parts of that night were nightmares and which were real, but she believes in your existence.”

“It was you who saved Qiaoqiao and Mingke that time.”

“Qiaoqiao begs you to save us again! Qiaoqiao is willing to do anything.”

Her eyes, filled with light, sought the statue like a drowning person reaching for a final hand.

But the statue gazed back, silent, compassionate.

In the empty temple, silence reigned. Dust drifted in the sunlight, rising and falling as if struggling in the impermanence of life.

The god remained mute.