Exploring the Illusory Tomb Part 1 [Ancient Times Version] - Chapter 44: Fleeing in Full Bloom

Chapter 44: Fleeing in Full Bloom

We couldn’t stay long in the abyss. After filling our stomachs, the two of us hurriedly set off again. We rode on Aoyue’s back.

The deeper we ventured, the more numerous the fireflies became. They gathered like glowing strands. They resembled translucent golden ribbons stretching endlessly downward. They were guiding Luo Shen and me forward. Occasionally, a few playful ones with tiny lanterns flitted across the tip of my nose. They were like clusters of tiny flames quietly burning in the darkness.

Yet, even with these streaming fireflies accompanying us, the heaviness in my heart only grew. With every step Aoyue took forward, the weight on my heart deepened.

The path ahead was shrouded in mist and dreamlike illusions. It was utterly unknowable. Still, I had a growing sense that I must not take even one step further. The closer we got, the more restless I felt — a turbulent undercurrent rising in my heart. It was signaling a deep, buried fear.

What exactly lies ahead, waiting for me? Can we truly uncover Liu Guizang’s trail, obtain the legendary Jade Shuttle Scroll, and fulfill the wishes of the demoness and Luo Shen? Will my mother be saved, and will we all find the happy ending we yearn for?

Each time I thought about it, the future seemed impossibly far away.

What I had been chasing all this way…. Was it the obsession to see my mother live again? Or was it the need to follow that graceful white figure imprinted in my bl00d, never to be erased from my life?

A sudden ache stung my eyes. And this anxious unease rising in me — I didn’t dare voice it to the woman behind me. She had already given me the most precious treasure of my life. I must guard it forever in my heart. I could not let her worry over my inexplicable fear.

The surrounding fireflies seemed to sense my emotions. They were burning with a suffocating intensity. I reached out, cupping one in my hand. And I said hoarsely, 

“Look. Kunlun once told me that summer fireflies mustn’t be caught. For they are the souls of the dead, unable to enter reincarnation, forever wandering this suffering world, with no way out.”

The woman behind me paused for a moment. She then placed a cold hand gently at my waist. A drowsy whisper brushed my ear. 

“That’s not the version of the firefly tale I heard.”

“Oh? Then what did you hear? Tell me.”

She leaned closer. She then lightly waved her hand. And the firefly resting in my palm flew off. It traced a silver spiral in the air before merging into the flowing galaxy beside us.

“When a person dies, as their soul enters the River of Three Paths, a fragment of their spirit remains behind — a trace of their deepest attachment. That lingering thought becomes a firefly. It hovers near the ones they cherished most.”

Her words were soft. It was as light as a summer breeze. But I understood their meaning. And I couldn’t help feeling dazed. After a long pause, I smiled and said, 

“That’s the kind of tale you use to fool children.”

“I’ve never lied.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her response. My shoulders were trembling slightly. This woman always spoke in a calm, emotionless tone. She was saying comforting words without a hint of sentiment. But somehow, it managed to warm my heart. My buried sorrow seemed to melt away for a moment. And my heart felt lighter.

As I laughed quietly, she suddenly turned me around. Her deep eyes were fixed on mine. 

“Qingyi, if one day I die, you will still find my shadow among the fireflies.”

I didn’t expect her to say that and shuddered. I quickly replied, 

“Don’t say such nonsense. How could you die?” 

In my heart, even if I died a thousand times, she wouldn’t. She was so strong — surely she would live well and free of worry.

“Everyone dies eventually. Some live as briefly as a mayfly, others a bit longer.”

A faint worry flickered in her eyes. It reminded me of the despair and helplessness she’d shown when she encountered Qing Songzi not long ago. Yes, she too could be afraid. She could cast off her usual coldness, curl up like a child, and tremble where she stood.

The three of us were not ordinary women. We didn’t go on spring outings, didn’t wait at the window for charming young men, and didn’t paint flowers on our mirrors and whisper through gauze. We belonged to these perilous, shadowy places. We wandered without pause through a land filled with death. We didn’t know what we were chasing. We just kept going. One sudden change, and it could cost us our lives.

Our lives — as fragile as a kite on a snapped string.

I stopped hesitating, took her cold hand, and placed it over my heart. Then I leaned in and kissed her gently. I wanted to wipe away her worry.

She returned the kiss just as lightly. But through her half-closed eyes, I could still see the faint furrow in her brows — a knot that would never quite come undone.

As our lips intertwined, I felt like I was about to suffocate.

The river of fireflies beside us still stretched endlessly into the distance. That faint glow — it looked like it would shatter at the slightest touch.

In that moment, I was finally afraid — afraid of suddenly losing her.

Eventually, Aoyue stopped in a patch of soft grass. The area brightened, the fireflies faded, and our view suddenly opened up. A dense, dark fog loomed in the distance — thick and cloying. It was uncomfortable to behold.

But Aoyue seemed unusually excited. It was snorting joyfully. I quickly followed its gaze and saw before us a giant peach tree in full bloom. Pink and pale blossoms filled the air. It truly mirrored the verse: “The peach tree is young and elegant, its blossoms glowing bright.”

Yet the moment my eyes met the tree, a weight gripped my heart, It was suspending it in midair. This peach tree — it looked disturbingly strange.

Without a word, Luo Shen walked beneath the tree. A few petals drifted down. They were brushing against her white robes before landing in the green grass below. She seemed to have noticed something. Her gaze glimmered as she touched the rough bark and slowly moved her hand along it.

I stepped closer for a better look and saw four carvings on the bark — very old marks. Their origin was lost to time.

“What is it? A code?” 

I asked, confused. I watched her fingers brush over the aged carvings. The marks seemed ordinary at first glance — some spaced narrowly, some wider apart. The highest reached only to my waist.

“Not a code,” 

She replied without looking up.

Then, she suddenly straightened and made a gesture that chilled me to the core.

She placed her hand at the lowest mark. She then moved it sideways to her thigh. At the next mark, she did the same. She aligned it to her body. When she reached the highest one and measured it against her waist, she raised her head and looked at me quietly.

To anyone else, it would seem like nothing — a child measuring height against a tree. But to me, it hit like a hammer to the chest. My throat went dry.

Luo Shen had simply reenacted something seen countless times in life: a child marking their height on a tree, year after year, returning to record how much they’ve grown.

A third mark. A fourth.

Always carving. Letting the tree remember the verdant years of youth.

Was there once such a child here, playing joyfully beneath this peach tree? Year after year, growing with the tree, promising to grow up together?

I imagined it, moment by moment. Time raced forward in a blur. I saw myself as that child, happily leaning against the trunk. Like I was carving each joyous inch of growth into the bark.

“No!” 

I cried out. I jolted back from the dream. I then collapsed to the ground. My clothes were drenched in cold sweat.

Luo Shen’s face turned pale. She rushed to support me, whispering, 

“Qingyi, what’s wrong?”

I pressed my lips together and trembled as I said, 

“I recognize it, I recognize this peach tree.”