Volume One: The Scroll of New Rain Chapter Thirty-Four: The Town of Ignorance

The town had lost its night. Under a dim, gloomy daylight that never went out, relentless storms poured down, drowning the entire town in a vast sea of rain.

No one knew when it happened, but the endless storm suddenly ceased, leaving only a fine drizzle drifting through the air.

Night returned without a sound, descending quietly as the thick clouds overhead split open, revealing a massive crimson moon hanging above the clouds.

Scarlet moonlight mingled with the same blood-red drizzle, enveloping the empty, lifeless town.

Ye Mingke sat alone atop a branch of the great banyan tree, silently gazing at the strange moon in the sky.

He slowly reached out his hand, watching the drifting raindrops gently fall into his palm.

The rain was cool to the touch, leaving behind a deep crimson, like blood.

He had spent a long time in silence atop this tree, watching the town where he had grown up—watching it crumble bit by bit, emptiness spreading, each day becoming stranger and more terrifying, until it became something unrecognizable.

In the end, it seemed only the banyan tree beneath him remained unchanged.

He did not know what to do; even fear and anger had faded with time. All he could do was watch in mute indifference as everything unfolded before him.

He had not spoken for days. Da Bai, like some other residents, had fallen into a deep sleep within the tree hollow, impossible to wake. Only Aunt Long had come to see him, but he did not wish to speak to her or Uncle for the time being.

But tonight, an unexpected visitor arrived, walking beneath the scarlet moonlight with an umbrella.

The man wore wide-sleeved robes and a tall crown, his face gentle and scholarly—it was the Master from the Study Hall. The Master paused beneath the tree, looking up at the cold, isolated youth above.

Ye Mingke lowered his gaze to meet him. Their eyes met—Ye Mingke’s eyes held indifference and a hint of surprise, while the Master’s gaze was complex, filled with compassion and righteous severity.

“You… should have been among those who left long ago.”

Ye Mingke spoke slowly, his voice rough from days of silence.

“I was, but I still have disciples here. I wanted to spend a bit more time with them,” the Master replied in a deep voice.

“Disciples? Who?”

Ye Mingke suddenly recalled the red-clad girl who had thrown herself into the arms of the honest young man days ago.

“Yi Wan and Song Qing,” the Master said, pausing, his expression solemn and sorrowful. “I have only those two disciples.”

“Aren’t they like you, butterflies from outside?” Ye Mingke asked.

“Butterflies?” The Master hesitated briefly, but his wisdom quickly grasped Ye Mingke’s meaning. “Dreams of Zhuangzi’s butterfly? You mean people from outside, like me, who came to the town?”

“They are not. Nor are they like me. The two of them are pure beings of this world.”

“They are new lives I created in this world, but unfortunately, this world is collapsing, and I cannot take them with me.”

“What about Tao Yao?” Ye Mingke thought of the vanished Tao Yao, a chill creeping up his spine.

“Tao Yao is like us, merely a passerby in this world. When the dream ends, he leaves.”

“So he and Yi Wan won’t even have a chance to meet outside?” Ye Mingke, believing himself numb, felt anger and pain surge anew—for his dearest friend.

“Yes,” the Master answered heavily.

“What is the point of this damned world? Why does it exist?”

Ye Mingke gripped the branch tightly, unable to contain his anger, his voice low and fierce.

“It is a laboratory, a sanctuary, and a place of sealing, all centered on your existence, gathering the most complex undercurrents of all the realms.”

The Master lifted his head, looking at Ye Mingke’s furious, wild eyes, and spoke slowly.

“There are four types of people in this town. The first are outsiders… yes, butterflies is a fitting term. The first are the dreams of outside butterflies. The second are native beings of the town, like Yi Wan. The third are residual souls, like the storyteller in the tree hollow. And the fourth is you.”

“Strictly speaking, only you, the fourth type, are truly real.”

Ye Mingke’s rage and madness gradually faded with those words. The Master’s few words were like a beam of light, shining into the puzzle that had troubled him since childhood, giving him a sense of sudden clarity.

But many corners remained unlit.

“Centered on me? Who am I, really? What kind of person am I? What is being tested in this lab? What is the sanctuary defending against?”

“There’s too much being tested—this town is unique, the only one of its kind across the six realms. As for the enemies the sanctuary defends against, even if I told you now, you wouldn’t understand—but you’ll know soon enough.”

“Those things, those people, will arrive soon. The town can no longer be protected, which is why the butterflies are leaving, one by one. When the tree falls, the monkeys scatter.”

“And as for who you are? I don’t know how to answer. But isn’t that for your future self to decide?”

“For now, you only need to know that you are important—and powerful.”

“Do you know why I refused to take you as my student?”

He looked at Ye Mingke, shaking his head with a self-deprecating smile.

“Because no one can be your teacher. Though I am called a Celestial Master, how could I dare claim to be the teacher of Heaven?”

“The teacher of Heaven? What does that mean?” Ye Mingke frowned, pondering, but could not understand.

“This is all I can tell you. There isn’t much time left. Farewell.”

The Master nodded to him under the umbrella in a gesture of parting, then turned and walked away under the scarlet moonlight.

“Why did you tell me all this?” Ye Mingke called after his departing figure.

“Because… as I said, you are important. Others see only their interests and entanglements, but none consider what harm you might bring to this world if cornered.”

The Master paused, his face half-hidden beneath the umbrella, turned toward Ye Mingke.

“Though we belong to different camps, your uncle is a man I deeply respect. Don’t blame him—he keeps much from you because no one can live lucidly within a dream.”

“When you see the world’s true face, you’ll realize that the world you possess is already the best he could give you.”

“No one could have done better than him.”

With these words, he resumed his stride and departed.

“Is this really the best world?”

Ye Mingke murmured, gazing at the terrifying, strange world before him.

The world he lived in was so frightening and dangerous.

And the great liar who swore never to deceive him, the one who told him nothing—what price had he paid to give Ye Mingke sixteen years of tranquil, stream-like days?

Something broke in Ye Mingke’s cold, withdrawn heart, changed since the upheaval.

There wasn’t much time left.

Ye Mingke walked the streets of the town one last time. Darkness deeper than night spread like fog, like a tide, gradually swallowing the remaining buildings of the town. From the deepest darkness, a crimson glow emerged.

The old temple, whose deity was unknown, collapsed completely, and the familiar houses fell one by one in silent ruin.

The black tide spread, temples fell, streets collapsed, and the town peeled away like a painting, revealing darkness deeper than night—revealing beneath it layer upon layer of tangled corpses and bones.

It was a vast, unimaginable ancient battlefield.

Those age-old bones twisted and piled upon each other, of all shapes and sizes—some as large as beasts, some as tall as mountains, blocking out the sky.

But all were dead, forming mountains of corpses and seas of bones, creating a hellish scene.

Ye Mingke walked the streets that had not yet peeled away, reaching out, instinctively wanting to grasp everything being swallowed by the black tide. But it was futile—the boundless darkness roared past, never to see light again.

He continued onward, but now his feet no longer touched familiar stone streets, but rigid corpses and brittle white bones.

“So this is the true face of the world?”

“Nameless town. Unlit town.”

Ye Mingke raised his head from the mountains of bones, gazing into the abyssal darkness above.

“All light was a lie!”

“The town’s true face was only death and darkness.”

He walked forward in confusion, unsure where to go.

But as he walked, he suddenly stopped. Amidst the mountains of bones and eternal night, he saw his familiar small courtyard, the familiar bamboo house, the familiar people.

He saw his last light.

Aunt Long pushed Uncle Sword’s wheelchair beneath the old tree in the yard, just as they had for sixteen years. They looked at him walking in darkness and death, their gaze gentle and steady.

Uncle reached out his hand, staring into Ye Mingke’s eyes.

“Mingke, don’t be afraid. Come here. What must be faced will be faced, and your aunt and I will be with you!”

“Many, many people you know will also be with you!”

“All that has passed was not a lie. We have always been here.”

Ye Mingke stepped into the light, about to grasp Uncle’s familiar hand, but suddenly paused.

“Many, many people?”

He asked, puzzled.

At that moment, the black tide, except for the courtyard where Uncle Sword sat, swallowed the entire town. All present heard a cracking sound from the endless darkness above.

Everyone involuntarily looked up, but each who did felt overwhelming terror, sensing that an immense, incomparable eye had opened in the infinite heights of darkness above.

Uncle Sword reached out a bit further, grasping Ye Mingke’s trembling hand. His large hand remained steady and warm.

“Don’t be afraid, Mingke!”

“We have always been here!”