Chapter 22 Zizi
Zizi
His nightmares tormented him relentlessly. Weakening his will. Battering his soul. But he didn’t want to wake up. Despite
the agony, he wanted to stay in this ephemeral world of memories.
It was the only way he could see her.
The scent of wildflowers. Her laughter. Her kiss, sweet like honey on his tongue. Her voice. The flickering stars. Blood on
snow. A body, cold.
Stay alive.
He couldn’t leave her. He wasn’t going back; he was staying here in his memories. Forever. Nothing else held meaning for him.
Stay alive—for me.
That voice. Was she calling out to him?
Laughter. The scent of wildflowers.
Blood on snow.
He saw her standing by a blooming wisteria tree, her black hair cascading down her back, her purple hanfu fluttering in the
wind. She turned and stared at him with Rui’s eyes. Smiled, with Rui’s lips.
Rui’s voice whispered in his head. Do you remember me now?
And in that dark, dank cavern in the depths of Hell, the boy-god finally opened his eyes and whispered, “I remember.”
There were four chairs around a square table in the middle of the grandest hall of the ancient palace in Youdu. Only two seemed
occupied. An assortment of tiles carved with colorful characters, circles, bamboo, and various animals were laid on the green-felted
tabletop.
Now and then, the tiles moved. Some were replaced, some revealed. The distinctive clacking sound from the tiles resounded through ornately decorated corridors and empty rooms, regularly interrupted by frustrated grunts and the occasional triumphant declaration.
“Chi.”
“Peng!”
It was a game of four with only two players visible.
A sudden jolt hit like a small earthquake. The marble floor shook; the silk paintings on the walls swayed. A mysterious burst
of energy had been released from somewhere below.
The woman in the blood-red qipao looked up from the tiles in front of her. Her jet-black bob ended sharply at her jaw, and
her rosebud mouth was painted scarlet to match her dress.
“Our prodigal son is finally awake,” she said to the man across the table. “It appears the Nothing will be stopped, and this
round has come to an end.”
The man in the burgundy suit smoothed a hand over his slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair. He was handsome and regal in the
way that one would call a centuries-old sequoia handsome.
“No, my dear,” he said with an enigmatic smile, “the game has only just begun.”