Chapter 11 — The Secluded Valley

Before long everything before them brightened, and there indeed lay an open clearing, floored with broken stone, with a small emerald pool at its center whose ripples ran away westward. Reaching this place, the grey monkey plainly hesitated; but the whistle of air was at its back in the blink of an eye, and it had no choice but to drop to the ground and run on. Yet for some reason its pace had turned extraordinarily slow — hardly the flight of a creature saving its life; a leisurely stroll was nearer the mark. Even so, it crept forward step by step.

Zhang Qingyue saw it and wondered, but Tian Lingsu was busy dodging obstacles and keeping the monkey in sight, every faculty strained to the utmost; of such thoughts she had none. Seeing the grey monkey right before her, she was overjoyed, cried out, drove the silk straight in, and shot into the clearing after it.

Just as she was about to seize the monkey, a thunderous boom went off in Zhang Qingyue's head. His body swayed twice of its own accord, and a wave of nausea rose from his five viscera, rushed to his skull, and in an instant set him shaking all over. Badly startled and at a loss, he was wondering what to do when a sudden warmth bloomed in his chest, spread outward, guarded his heart meridian, and then canceled out the sickness.

Zhang Qingyue looked down at his chest without thinking, and sensed that the warmth came from the deep purple bead Puzhao had given him. At the same moment, Tian Lingsu ahead of him shuddered twice as well, her body went limp, and she fell.

The two of them had been in midair. The instant Tian Lingsu lost control the Amber Crimson Silk halted, and they dropped out of the sky.

Zhang Qingyue rolled several times over the ground and was sorely hurt, but he gave it no mind; before he was even on his feet he was shouting, "Senior sister! Senior sister, are you all right?"

Tian Lingsu lay face down ahead of him, motionless, her face white as paper, cold sweat beading her brow. She had fainted.

Zhang Qingyue turned pale with fright, guessing it must have something to do with that uncanny feeling of a moment before. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he scrambled up, ran to her side, shook her and called to her again and again, but still she gave no response.

He looked about him then. Within three zhang of the emerald pool not a blade of grass grew; beyond three zhang the woods stood thick and lush. He clenched his jaw, fought down the nausea that kept welling up in him, took Tian Lingsu on his back, picked up the Amber Crimson Silk where it had been dropped, and started out.

That distance of a zhang or two would ordinarily have been nothing worth mentioning, but with the nausea coming on him again and again it proved unspeakably hard going. At last he staggered past the three zhang and came beneath a great pine, and the sickness vanished at once without a trace.

Zhang Qingyue set Tian Lingsu down and stood gasping for breath, then looked toward the pool. The grey monkey was still there, no longer moving, its face a mask of suffering; it looked their way with a gaze that plainly begged for rescue.

Zhang Qingyue frowned. In the end he could not bear it; he rose and walked back in. A few steps was all it took for the nausea to return, and at the same moment the warmth rose again in his chest and held the discomfort at bay.

Slowly he came to the monkey's side, his head streaming with sweat. The grey monkey, seeing him near, did not stir; it seemed crushed breathless. Zhang Qingyue drew a deep breath, bent, gathered the monkey into his arms, turned, and walked out. The grey monkey was very docile now, lying quietly against his chest.

With much effort he got out again, to where Tian Lingsu still lay unconscious, and the nausea left him as he came. Zhang Qingyue put the grey monkey down and dropped to the ground, gulping air; the monkey too breathed easier and lay flat, its eyes rolling busily about, yet it did not run — it only watched Zhang Qingyue.

Zhang Qingyue undid his collar and took out the bead on its red cord to examine closely. The deep purple surface had faded to a pale violet, and the blue-green qi within seemed to have been provoked by something: it whirled ten times as fast as before, spinning without cease, dashing itself against the bead's shell on every side. As always, each time the qi struck, a swastika sigil of the Buddhist true word emerged to block it. And that warmth which had just now saved Zhang Qingyue had come forth from those very sigils.

Yet Zhang Qingyue could see plainly that, compared with the first time he had set eyes on it three years ago, those Buddhist swastika sigils were much diminished, both in size and in brightness.