Chapter 12 — The Mutation
劍問蒼天 · Page 7 of 7
Zhang Qingyue stood there at a loss, frozen a long while, until his stomach growled like thunder. Then he turned—and by some reflex would not head for the kitchen, but walked instead toward his own room.
Back in his room, he shut the door. The gray monkey on his shoulder looked this way and that, gave a "zhizhi," as though it knew it was home, leapt down from his shoulder, scrambled in two or three bounds onto the bed, bounded and leaped about, then seized the pillow and flung it wildly this way and that, overjoyed.
Watching the gray monkey, Zhang Qingyue's lips curved in a faint smile, but hunger at once pressed it down again. He sat down at the table, poured a cup of cold water from the pot—left over from the night before, long since gone cold—and drank it down.
A chill ran straight to his heart.
He sat blankly a while, then reached into his breast and drew something out: it was that ugly short rod. By now the bead Puzhao had given him was fused tight to the nameless rod, and even their color had changed together to a profound blue-black, dark and murky, while at the junction there was a patch of dull red, like clotted bloodstain—not merely ugly, but frankly a little disgusting.
He looked at it a long while, then suddenly gave a bitter laugh, flung out his hand with all his might, and hurled the rod at the wall. It struck with a loud crack and fell to the floor, coming to rest in a corner of the room.
The gray monkey started in fright and looked up at Zhang Qingyue, not knowing what had put him in such a temper. Zhang Qingyue sighed, took off his shoes, got into bed, pulled the quilt over his head, and slept. The monkey scratched its head, uncomprehending.
That night Zhang Qingyue tossed and turned, hunger gnawing at him, and only deep in the night did he drift at last into a fitful sleep.