C1 Half a Drop of Yin Blood(1)

This space was enchanting, devoid of direction, a horizon, or the concept of up and down. It was akin to being in the vast expanse of the universe, yet without the twinkle of stars to adorn the void.

Dominantly shrouded in black, it was as if day never broke, leaving only an eternal night, bereft of a cerulean sky or the verdant beauty of mountains and rivers.

The ambiance was underscored by a melody of solitude, with the sound of water gently flowing, though no river was in sight. Accompanied by the rhythmic whooshing of the wind, it seemed as though a myriad of beings lay in slumber, exhaling softly. Occasionally, a series of thuds would punctuate the stillness, emanating from two indistinct dark masses. In a fleeting moment, flashes of red or green would spark into existence, only to vanish as quickly as they appeared.

Countless shadowy creatures moved about like fish in the sea, drifting and occasionally colliding—perhaps their sole form of interaction. Yet, no matter their aimless drifting, they meticulously avoided two distinct areas. One was a massive orb of dark green light, the other a sphere of golden luminescence. They lay on a straight axis, far apart, yet unchanging and timeless.

Within the dark green orb, one could barely discern a vast, flat continent, appearing sinister and foreboding beneath the dark green glow. The orb was less a light source and more a spherical, dark green canopy enveloping the land.

A river, sharp as a blade, cleaved the land in two, with only a narrow wooden bridge to connect the divided shores.

The two banks were starkly different. On one side, ten cities sat in a line, with spectral soldiers patrolling and figures moving between them. Yet, under the eerie green light, not a single shadow was cast. The cities were as silent as tombs, and even when people appeared to converse face-to-face, no sound escaped.

On the opposite bank, a procession of people formed a long queue, extending endlessly into the distance, flanked by the crimson Resurrection Lilies. These individuals seemed much frailer than those within the cities, their pupils a stark contrast. The more substantial figures in the cities had deep green pupils, flickering like dense ghostly flames. In contrast, those in line were gaunt, their pupils a lifeless pale, as if a mere breeze could scatter them into oblivion.

The scarlet Resurrection Lilies appeared to mock the frailty of the queue. Occasionally, the sea of flowers would be disturbed by hurried footsteps or a buzzing sound. At such times, dark shadows would leap out, darting from one end to the other. Without armored guards nearby, several figures would vanish along with the shadows. Nevertheless, the queue remained orderly, the people numbly advancing toward the bridge.

Beside the bridge stood a platform, upon which a pavilion rose majestically. This pavilion bore a sign with the name "Meng Po." Inside, shadowy figures clad in long black robes moved about, their faces barely discernible, except for their eyes, which shone like black flames. The slight protrusions on their chests made it clear that they were all women.

In their hands, they carried stone bowls, offering them to those crossing the bridge. Some fortunate souls were chosen to drink from these bowls, which contained but a single drop of a chilling, green liquid.

Those who imbibed the droplet found their pale, lifeless eyes dancing with hints of green, a newfound vibrancy flickering within.

The fortunate ones who crossed the bridge unscathed were promptly escorted away by soldiers waiting on the other side, stepping into a novel existence entirely disconnected from their past lives, one devoid of sunlight.

Those who did not partake of Meng Po's elixir struggled to traverse the bridge. Some vanished in an instant, engulfed by a fleeting gleam from a massive stone at the bridge's edge. Others nearly reached the far side, while a rare few managed to cross in its entirety.

Upon crossing, they were met by soldiers in black robes. The once-dull whiteness of their eyes now brimmed with life and animation. A minority followed the soldiers away, while the majority vanished into a burst of golden light.

Yet, the chance of crossing the bridge was one in ten thousand. Those who did were no ordinary individuals in life; they were heroes in life and formidable spirits in death.

...

In stark contrast to the mainland shrouded in a greenish hue, the golden orb stood out in this dark realm, both unique and singular. While the dark green orb occasionally collided with slumbering creatures, causing ripples before indifferently casting them aside, none dared to touch the golden light.

If the dark green light signified hell, then the golden light was surely the emblem of heaven. Perhaps, in the inertia of those dormant beings, everything was reversed.

The golden orb seemed out of place in this shadowy world. It was minuscule, not even one billionth the size of the dark green light, and it enveloped something simple: a temple radiating golden light, its plaque inscribed with the enigmatic word "Reincarnation."

Inside the temple, there were no statues of deities or any superfluous ornaments.

In the expansive temple hall, there was a furnace placed in the center, but no incense was being burned.

Below it, a golden flame burned, blending seamlessly with the temple bathed in golden light.

The presence of the flame was only betrayed by the occasional distortion of blackness beneath the furnace, revealing its intense heat—so fierce that it seemed to shatter the very space around it.

A young boy sat cross-legged before the furnace.

He appeared to be around fourteen or fifteen, with a fair complexion and rosy lips, his hair neatly cascading down his back and pooling on the floor.

With his eyes closed and lips slightly parted, he chanted in a crisp voice, "Om mani padme hum."

Each syllable was articulated with clarity, reminiscent of a babbling infant or an elderly monk deep in prayer.

Aside from his mouth, the only movement came from his right hand, which gently struck an old wooden fish, producing a rhythmic "thump, thump, thump."

The scent of sandalwood radiated from the boy, filling the temple with an aroma more intriguing than that of a lifelong monk's prayers, a fragrance that could penetrate the soul.

Sitting beside him, one could feel enveloped in tranquility and harmony, as if able to release oneself into the void.

The temple's golden radiance pierced the surrounding darkness, while the crisp, rhythmic tones of the wooden fish seemed to guide lost souls home.

...

The boy remained in his original position, cross-legged at the very heart of the temple, though his hair scattered on the ground appeared to have grown longer.

The golden flame beneath the furnace continued to burn without any wood, like an eternal divine fire.

The clear, rhythmic sound of the wooden fish still echoed throughout the temple.

It was as if the scene was a painting, forever captured in this moment.

Time passed, indeterminate.

In this world devoid of sun and moon, the concept of time was utterly absent.

The boy was unchanged, yet the hair on the ground seemed even longer than before.

Suddenly, a sharp "crack" resounded from the still furnace, a sound that was piercing and prolonged.