Chapter 25 The Unbearable Cold

After the two men in black left, their sinister forms vanishing into the shadows, Huang Wei, despite his agonizing injury, took out a square yellow paper, its edges stained with his own blood. With a desperate, trembling hand, he used his own blood to draw a complex symbol on it, a final act of magic. He threw the yellow square paper on the ground and chanted hatefully, his voice a raw whisper, "I drew this symbol with my own blood, and I sacrificed my soul to summon Deming's soul! Let him live again, let him seek revenge!" A small, glowing sphere, the essence of Deming's spirit, appeared in front of him, shimmering faintly. He held the square yellow talisman, and Deming's soul, drawn by the desperate magic, was sucked into the square yellow talisman, vanishing from sight. He suddenly choked on his own blood, a violent cough racking his body. He exhausted his last spiritual power and, with a final, desperate surge, sent the talisman with Deming's soul towards the dead Dong Enlai, hoping for a miracle. The yellow square talisman fell on the dead boy's forehead and disappeared immediately, absorbed into his skin.

Huang Wei said weakly, his voice barely audible, "Deming… seek revenge for us. Avenge our deaths." Huang Wei took two shallow, rattling breaths, lowered his head, and with a final gurgle, blood spurted from his mouth, his life extinguished.

With the group of people returning empty-handed from their search for the missing Guzheng disciples, a sense of unease settled over the camp. Guozhao Zhiqiang, his heart already heavy with a premonition, went straight to his tent, but Deming was nowhere to be seen, the space empty. When Tam Kun and Tam Liang passed by, their faces tired, he walked out of the tent, his brow furrowed with worry.

"What's wrong, Senior Brother?" Tam Liang asked, sensing Zhiqiang's distress.

Guozhao Zhiqiang said, his voice tight with concern, "Where is Deming? He is not inside the tent, and he should be here."

Tam Kun said, "I saw him some time ago, Senior Brother. He told me that he would only walk around in the camp and would not wander around. He promised."

A Guzheng disciple approached the three hunters, her face weary. "The food is ready," she said, announcing the meal.

Guozhao Zhiqiang, his worry mounting, asked urgently, "Wait. Do you see the disciple who was sleeping in here, the one with red hair?"

The Guzheng disciple said, her voice uncertain, "I don't know if it's the same disciple, Senior Hunter, but I saw someone walk that way." She pointed to her far left, towards the deeper woods.

"How long has it been since you saw him?" Guozhao Zhiqiang asked, his voice sharp with urgency.

"About two hours, perhaps?" the Guzheng disciple replied, trying to recall.

"Thank you," Tam Liang said, turning to Guozhao Zhiqiang, his face grim. "It takes less than two hours to walk from there to here, Senior Brother. Does it mean Brother Deming wandered further into the woods, deeper than he should have?"

"Maybe," Tam Kun murmured, his own worry growing.

In the distance, Zheng Tingfeng and Zheng Yaozu approached the three brothers, their figures appearing from among the tents. Zheng Yaozu held two steamed buns, taking a bite of one as he walked towards them. "What's the matter?" he asked, sensing the tension.

"Brother Deming is not here," Tam Kun said, his voice flat with concern.

"What?!" Zheng Tingfeng exclaimed, his eyes wide with shock.

Guozhao Zhiqiang looked at Tian Xiang, his gaze firm. "You stay here just in case Deming returns to the camp."

"Alright, Senior Brother," Tian Xiang agreed, his face serious.

Guozhao Zhiqiang instructed, his voice resolute, "The rest of you help me find him, now!" He looked at Tam Kun and Tam Liang. "You two go that way. I will go this way. We cover more ground."

Tam Kun and Tam Liang immediately went deep into the woods, their steps quickening. Just when they were about to give up, their hope fading, they saw some footprints on the damp earth.

"Do you think these footprints are new or old, Ah Kun?" Tam Liang asked, kneeling to examine them.

"I don't know. I'm not that kind of hunter, Ah Liang," Tam Kun replied, frustrated.

"Could it be Brother Deming?" Tam Liang wondered aloud, a flicker of hope.

Tam Kun looked at the footprints more closely. "It seems that there are three sets of footprints. It may be the people looking for the two missing persons, or the missing persons themselves."

"That makes sense," Tam Liang sighed, standing up.

Tam Kun shouted out, his voice echoing through the trees, "Huang Wei! Deming!"

Tam Liang said, shaking his head, "I don't think they are here, Ah Kun. This is far from where the Guzheng disciple saw Huang Wei and the young classmate for the last time." He wiped the sweat from his forehead, his body weary. "Let's take a break and drink some water there." He pointed to the stream, a glimmer of light through the trees.

When Tam Liang and Tam Kun arrived at the riverbank, their eyes widened in horror; they encountered a gruesome crime scene.

Tam Kun looked at Tam Liang, his face pale with shock. The two rushed to the scene of the crime, their hearts pounding. The deceased with the spear in his stomach, pinned to the tree, was Huang Wei, his eyes wide in death. They walked about ten yards away, their steps heavy, and lying in front of them were the still bodies of Deming and the missing Guzheng disciple, Dong Enlai.

Tam Kun rushed over to Deming's side; his face contorted with grief. "Brother Deming!" he cried, falling to his knees. He stretched his hand to Deming's nose, searching for a breath, and then slowly, sadly, shook his head at Tam Liang, confirming the worst. He stood up, his face grim, and sent a signal to the sky, a bright flare of spiritual energy, a distress call for their Senior Brother.

Guozhao Zhiqiang, who was searching in another part of the woods, met with Huang Hualing and some Guzheng disciples, their search also fruitless.

Huang Hualing smiled at Guozhao Zhiqiang, a polite, weary smile. She has always had a good impression of Guozhao Zhiqiang, admiring his strength and character. Many senior hunters say that she is the most suitable woman for Guozhao Zhiqiang, a perfect match. "Zhiqiang, thank you for your help," she said, her voice soft. She looked at Guozhao Zhiqiang deeply, her gaze lingering. "Where are you going now?"

"I'm looking for Deming," Guozhao Zhiqiang replied, his voice tight with growing anxiety.

"Let's go together, Zhiqiang. I am also very worried about my brother, Huang Wei," Huang Hualing said, looking at the juniors with her. "I only need three to go with me. The rest can go back to the camp to rest."

When the hunter was about to go up the mountain, Guozhao Zhiqiang saw the Guozhao Hunters' distress signal, a bright, urgent flare of spiritual energy, coming from the direction of the river. His heart sank, a cold dread seizing him.

Guozhao Zhiqiang, Huang Hualing, and the three male disciples rushed towards the riverbank, their movements swift and desperate.

When they arrived, Huang Hualing immediately ran towards Huang Wei, her face contorted with grief. She shook Huang Wei's cold hand and started crying, a raw, piercing sound of anguish.

Huang Hualing burst into tears, her body shaking with sobs, and cried out, "Little brother… Who did this to you?! Who murdered you?!"

Guozhao Zhiqiang looked at Tam Kun and Tam Liang, his gaze sharp, seeking answers. He noticed that the faces of the Tam brothers and the Zheng brothers were darkened, grim with sorrow and shock. "What's the matter?" he asked, his voice low, filled with a terrible premonition.

Zheng Tingfeng sighed sadly, his voice trembling, "Senior Brother, please hold yourself tight. It's bad."

"What's the matter?!" Guozhao Zhiqiang demanded, his voice rising, a desperate plea for the truth.

The Tam brothers and the Zheng brothers, their faces etched with pain, stepped aside, revealing the horror.

Guozhao Zhiqiang saw the familiar white boots, and he knew, with a sickening certainty, that Deming was lying there. He walked slowly towards Deming's body, his steps heavy, his heart shattering with each one. He knelt beside Deming on his knees, his body trembling. He saw Deming hold the silver bell tightly in his left hand, a final, desperate grasp. Tears, hot and agonizing, fell from his eyes, blurring his vision. He pulled away some red hair from Deming's face, his touch gentle, tender. He carefully raised Deming's head and sat behind him, cradling Deming's lifeless body against his own. He hugged Deming's cold, still body tightly in his arms and sobbed heavily, a raw, guttural sound of unbearable grief.

Guozhao Zhiqiang cried out in pain, a primal scream of anguish, "Ah…!" He held Deming's body in his arms and sobbed loudly, his body wracked with profound sorrow, unable to let go.

Long after the Guzheng Sector, their own grief heavy, left to attend to their dead, Guozhao Zhiqiang still hugged Deming's body in place, motionless, a statue of despair.

Tam Liang knelt beside Guozhao Zhiqiang, his own eyes filled with tears. "Senior Brother, let us head back to camp," he urged gently, his voice soft.

Guozhao Zhiqiang said quietly, his voice hollow, "Ah Liang, I don't know why the tighter I hold Deming, the colder he gets. He's slipping away."

Tam Kun knelt beside Tam Liang, his face grim. "Senior Brother, he is gone. He's truly gone. Let's take him back, so he can rest."

"Senior Brother, let's take him back," Zheng Tingfeng added, his voice filled with sympathy. "He should be buried properly, with dignity."

Guozhao Zhiqiang, his movements slow and mechanical, finally picked up Deming's lifeless form, cradling him. The hunters, their faces etched with shared grief, walked solemnly back to the camp, a somber procession.

After returning to the tent, Guozhao Zhiqiang gently put Deming's body on the bed. He took off Deming's bloody clothes, his hands trembling, and started washing Deming's body, wiping away the dirt and blood. Every time he dipped the wet towel into the basin, the water became more and more red, a stark reminder of the violence. He put new, clean clothes on Deming, dressing him with tender care, and then lay down next to Deming. He put his left arm under Deming's neck and turned to embrace Deming in his arms, holding him close, as if to impart his own warmth.

He kissed Deming's left forehead, a final, tender gesture. He whispered, his voice choked with emotion, "Good night, my love." Then he closed his eyes and slept beside Deming's cold body, refusing to let go, clinging to the last vestiges of their shared warmth.