Chapter 29: The Abyss of the Void

When the man stopped, the mist stopped as well, as if it were tethered to his every movement. There was not the slightest change, giving him the uncanny sense that the fog shifted only with his position. A thought surfaced in Han Tanyi’s mind. He cautiously stepped in the direction from which they'd come, but before his foot touched the ground, he suddenly felt as if he'd stepped into emptiness, his body lurching forward as though he might fall. Almost simultaneously, a pair of hands caught him without hesitation, steadying him with their strength. He turned his head, and his gaze fell upon Shui Linglong, his eyes reflecting a hint of gratitude.

“This is the Sumeru Illusion, a defensive technique my mother can lay down. If you still wish to get out of here, then whatever you do, don’t look back. Let’s hurry!” Though her words were met with gratitude, Shui Linglong easily sensed the confusion emanating from the man. She had always led their little group, but her attention never wavered from the two behind her. Knowing the dangers here made her all the more cautious, so she noticed every movement Han Tanyi made, even before he could speak. She hastily interjected, her voice urgent, with a trace of admonishment.

If Han Tanyi could ever afford to be careless in front of a woman, it would only be with his junior sister. Whether it was Flower Butterfly or Shui Linglong, there was always a mysterious fondness in his heart, yet that affection made him all the more anxious about making mistakes in their presence, rendering him cautious and somewhat awkward. After that stern reminder, his unease grew even more apparent; his lips moved slightly, murmuring an “oh,” and he refrained from speaking further, his head lowered, like a child who’d done something wrong.

Their pace did not slow; in fact, it quickened, faster than before. The thick fog followed them closely, never straying, never overtaking. The bamboo forest seemed peculiarly familiar, almost as if they had passed through it already, yet closer inspection revealed subtle differences—perhaps the angle of the bamboo, the shape of the leaves, or the bend of a branch. There were always small discrepancies.

It was impossible to tell how long they’d walked. In this hazy gloom, the scenery was blurred, the passage of time unknowable. The only measure was the increasing ache and numbness in their legs. At first, it was barely noticeable, but soon it became an indescribable discomfort, making it hard even to straighten their legs. They gasped for breath, and their pace inevitably slowed. Even Shui Linglong, leading at the front, ceased urging them onward.

Fortunately, a faint light appeared ahead, reminiscent of sunlight peeking through the clouds. At that moment, even the fog behind them halted, no longer advancing, and the reason was clear without explanation. After such trials, the sight brought a sense of release. Han Tanyi, upon stopping, focused solely on catching his breath, thinking of nothing else. Yet Old Su, being older and more experienced, always considered things more thoroughly. His demeanor was much the same as the young man’s, but he couldn’t resist confirming, “Miss Shui, do you suppose we’ve escaped?”

“Grandpa, you’ve known my mother for years. You know her temper well enough. If she set up this barrier, do you think it would be so easy?” Perhaps it was the old man’s familiar address that irked her, for Shui Linglong’s expression darkened, her words heavy with rhetorical questions. She didn’t need to answer directly; her meaning was clear. Old Su sighed, a sense of helpless despair seeping through him, and even the previously relaxed Han Tanyi grew tense, puzzled by the exchange.

“But we’re almost there. Ahead lies the Abyss of Fear. Passing through is simple: whatever you see, whatever you hear, treat it as if it never happened. Keep walking forward. Even if everything disappears—us, the world around you—ignore it. Remember, remember, walk forward and never look back!” Shui Linglong’s final words were pronounced with particular emphasis, as if this was the most important instruction. It sounded simple, but to truly do so was another matter entirely. The ability to discern right from wrong, to understand the world, relies on sight and hearing; now, they were asked to disregard these senses, a daunting task.

No matter the circumstances, at this point, there was no turning back. At least, that was Han Tanyi’s conviction. He was never truly alone. Regardless of whether he could accept the Blue Lotus Sect, even if he could, his master, fellow disciples, and Flower Butterfly in the valley could not be easily abandoned. Twenty years was a significant chapter in a life; coming here was merely a chance occurrence. Once he left, it would be as if he’d awoken from a dream, best forgotten. So no matter what, he must keep moving forward. If guilt remained, so be it—perhaps, in time, they would all choose to forget.

With his mind made up, Han Tanyi hesitated no longer. His gaze became resolute as he nodded lightly to the woman before him, indicating his understanding. Shui Linglong smiled at him, her expression awkward yet sincere—a fitting answer for this final stretch of their journey. One day, strangers on the road, they might never meet again; perhaps that was best. Such is life: first, best never to meet, so there’s no love; second, best never to know, so there’s no longing; third, best never to accompany, so there’s no debt. It was nothing more than this.

Han Tanyi stepped forward, entering the luminous haze. In that instant, the soft glow intensified, blinding him. He could not see anything around him, his eyes forced nearly shut by the glare. Yet, this was for the best—if he closed his eyes, he would see nothing, and could simply walk onward, without worrying about what his eyes might reveal. It was like dreaming. He moved a little further, and the intense light faded, leaving him with the urge to open his eyes. Around him, everything was silent, not a single sound.

The silence, the inability to see anything, became a torment. At first, Han Tanyi could force himself to keep his eyes closed, to walk forward without thought. But as he continued, anxiety grew within him. Closing his eyes became increasingly difficult, and his mind began to race: “What is happening? Where am I now? Why is there no sound—not even Old Su’s or Miss Shui’s footsteps? Have they… no, this is an illusion, none of it is real. They must still be here. But why is it so silent? Could something have happened?”

This thought stirred an uncontrollable impulse; he felt that, unless he suppressed it, his eyes would open at any moment. He struggled, clutching his head, trying to force the thoughts away. Yet the more he tried, the more restless he became, muttering, “Han Tanyi, what are you thinking? Forget Old Su, Miss Shui knows this place better than anyone. If you’re unharmed, how could she be? Stop worrying. But what if something did happen to her? She’s here because of you. If something went wrong, wouldn’t that be—ah, what am I thinking? How could anything happen? Didn’t Miss Shui warn me?”

With this realization, the young man’s agitation eased somewhat, his steps became steadier. Almost at that moment, the previously silent environment shifted; it felt as though he was walking through the woods, the breeze light and refreshing against his face. Han Tanyi, raised in the mountains, was intimately familiar with such sensations. Could he have emerged so quickly? No, it had only been a brief moment, at most a hundred steps. How could it be? Yet the feeling was undeniable—was this, too, an illusion? Yes, it must be. He silently affirmed, “Never mind, I’ll just keep walking a little further and see.”