Chapter 27 Echoes and Ashes

Deming felt as if someone was gently touching his whole body, a strange, disembodied sensation. He felt his body soak in a warm bathtub and could smell the strong, pungent scent of medicine, unfamiliar and overwhelming. He heard a lot of people talking, their voices muffled and distant, and was very scared, a deep, primal fear. He hates dark places, hates being confined. He reached out, blindly, trying to find Guozhao Zhiqiang, his only anchor. He felt his lips move, a desperate attempt to speak, but he wasn't sure if any sound came out. He believed he called out Guozhao Zhiqiang's name as loudly as possible, a raw, desperate cry, but he heard nothing, only silence.

Deming heard a soft, gentle female voice, and then someone held Deming's hand, a comforting touch. "Classmate, can you hear me?" the voice asked, filled with concern.

Deming heard her voice gradually disappear, fading into nothingness, and then he couldn't remember anything, his mind succumbing to the darkness. The next thing he remembered was waking up in a strange bed, the light unfamiliar. He sat abruptly on the edge of the bed, his body disoriented and looked around. The room was very small, with a single bed and a low table on the right. There was a small table on the ground with four cushions, a humble setting. He slowly got up, but his legs became weak, trembling, and he sat back down again, defeated by his own body. Then the door was opened, and a young lady in a black dress with red trims walked in, her face kind.

The young female teen smiled at him, a gentle, welcoming expression. "You are awake now," she said, her voice soft. She quickly put the brewed medicine on the table, its steam rising, and then rushed out, as if to summon someone.

Moments later, an old man and three other men rushed into the room with the young female. The older man, his face serious, walked over and immediately checked his pulses, his fingers skilled.

The young female asked the old man, her voice filled with concern, "Doctor Lu, how is he? Will he be alright?"

"He will recover, Bingqing," Doctor Lu replied, his voice calm and reassuring.

Deming, his mind still clouded, asked, his voice weak and confused, "Who are you? Where am I? What happened?"

The young female looked confused, her brow furrowed. "You are in your room, classmate. You've been here for a while."

Deming shook his head frantically, a sudden panic seizing him. "No, I don't belong here! This isn't my room!" He stood up, his legs still weak, and ran out the door, desperate to escape. He shouted, his voice raw with fear, "Zhiqiang! Zhiqiang!" The two young men, who had followed Doctor Lu, each grabbed his arm and dragged him back to the room, their grip firm. Deming shouted in fear, his voice rising to a shriek. "Let go of me! Zhiqiang, save me! Please!" He struggled desperately, trying to break free from the two strong men, his body thrashing.

Li Bingqing, the young female, quickly put her arms around Deming's shoulders, trying to calm him. "Please calm down, classmate. You're safe here."

Deming shouted in frustration and fear, his voice hoarse, "Let me go! I need to find Zhiqiang!"

Doctor Lu put a sachet on Deming's mouth and nose, its scent sweet and cloying. Then Deming's eyes became heavy, his struggles ceased, and he finally fell asleep, succumbing to the sedative. Doctor Lu looked at the young female. "Bingqing, stay here with him, watch him. If he wakes up, let me know immediately."

Li Bingqing asked, her voice filled with concern, "Doctor Lu, is this normal? This kind of reaction?"

Doctor Lu sighed, a weary sound. "Sometimes, a near-death experience, a profound trauma, will make a person act like this, Bingqing. Their mind struggles to cope."

Li Bingqing nodded, her face serious. Doctor Lu and the others left the room, leaving Li Bingqing inside the room with Deming, a silent vigil.

At about midnight, Deming opened his eyes again, slowly, his mind clearer. He saw the young teen female sitting at the table, reading a book by the soft lamplight. He felt dizzy, his head swimming.

Li Bingqing turned around, sensing his awakening. "Are you awake? Don't rush out anymore, it's almost one o'clock in the morning. You need to rest."

Deming realized, with a cold certainty, that these people would not let him go easily. "Where am I?" he asked, his voice flat, resigned.

Li Bingqing looked at Deming oddly, a hint of confusion in her eyes. "You are in Guzheng Sector, classmate. This is our home."

Deming asked, his mind racing, trying to piece together his memories. "How did I get from Waterfall City to here? Where are Zhiqiang and his brothers? Are they safe?"

Li Bingqing said, her voice gentle, "I don't know, classmate. You have been unconscious for three weeks. The only name I heard you muttering in your sleep is Zhiqiang. As for how you came, our classmate Dong Enlai brought you back. When you arrived, they were pretty sure you wouldn't survive, your injuries were so severe." She smiled faintly at Deming, a hint of wonder. "Well, I guess they were wrong. You're a survivor."

"You know me?" Deming asked, a flicker of hope.

Li Bingqing looked at Deming, then gestured to a book. "No, I don't know you. I got to know you through this." She threw a book gently to Deming, its pages worn. "Every student in our sector has a biography, a record of their life."

Deming looked at the book, his heart sinking, and threw it back to Li Bingqing. "I don't know how to read it," he admitted, shame coloring his cheeks.

Li Bingqing looked at Deming's expression, her brow furrowed in surprise. "Strange. I have seen people with short-term memory loss, but not to the point where they can't read. You are like a completely different person, a blank slate."

"Please read it for me," Deming requested, his voice soft, desperate for answers.

Li Bingqing smiled and shook her head, a gentle acceptance. "Okay. Dong Enlai, fourteen years old. At the age of four, he was rescued by the late master Huang He when he went hunting." She paused and looked at Deming, a knowing look in her eyes. "Should I continue, classmate?"

"No," Deming said, his voice barely a whisper, the name "Dong Enlai" echoing in his mind. "Can you please bring me a mirror?"

Li Bingqing stepped forward, grabbed a small mirror from the table, and handed it to Deming, her movements swift.

Deming took the mirror, his hand trembling, and saw himself in it. He was the boy he helped pull out from the riverbank, the one who had been unconscious. His hair was no longer red; it was black. He touched his face, his fingers tracing the unfamiliar features. "Impossible? How could this be?" he whispered, his voice filled with disbelief and horror.

"What are you whispering, classmate?" Li Bingqing asked, her voice curious.

"Nothing," Deming replied, putting down the mirror, his mind reeling. "What's your name?"

"Bingqing," Li Bingqing said. She sighed, a gentle, sympathetic sound. "Since you don't remember anything, I think you must start all over again, classmate. A new life."

Deming's voice was broken, filled with a strange mixture of sorrow and hope. "I would love to start all over again, Bingqing. A new beginning."

A month had passed since Guozhao Zhiqiang returned to Cloud City, a month of aching emptiness. Today was a good day, the sky clear and bright, so he woke up early in the morning and looked out over the Peach Blossom Valley, its beauty a stark contrast to his inner turmoil. When the sunrise on the horizon of the top of Peach Blossom Mountain, Cloud City looked like a city on the clouds, ethereal and serene.

Guozhao Zhiqiang opened the bamboo tubes containing Deming's ashes and began to scatter Deming's ashes, a solemn, heart-wrenching act. He was supposed to release Deming's ashes a few weeks ago, but he found himself unable to do so, clinging to every last particle of his love. When he woke up this morning, the sunrise was exceptionally beautiful, painting the sky in vibrant hues, so he thought Deming would prefer this kind of scenery, a beautiful farewell.

"Deming," Guozhao Zhiqiang said softly, his voice choked with emotion, "I did as I promised. I brought you back to Cloud City with me, to our home. But since you are no longer in this world, since your body is gone, I hope your ashes can grow flowers and grass around me, a new life from your essence." He watched Deming's ashes drifting across Peach Blossom Mountain, carried by the gentle breeze, scattering into the landscape. As soon as he turned around, he heard familiar footsteps approaching him, light and graceful.

Ping'an, his Shimu, smiled at him, her eyes filled with warmth and understanding. "Zhiqiang, you are back," she said, her voice gentle. She walked up to him and, seeing the tears streaming down his face, gently wiped them away with her thumb. "What happened, my dear boy?"

Guozhao Zhiqiang hugged Ping'an tightly, burying his face in her shoulder. "Shimu… my heart hurts so much," he sobbed, his body shaking with profound grief.

Ping'an comforted him, stroking his hair. "What's the matter, Zhiqiang? Tell me everything."

Guozhao Zhiqiang hugged Ping'an even tighter. "I found that special person, Shimu, the one I waited for, but he was taken away from me. This time it hurts even more, a deeper wound." He sobbed, his voice breaking. "From now on, he... he will only exist in my dreams and lives in my memory, a ghost of what could have been."

"Is not that Childe Hu?" Ping'an asked, her voice soft, recalling his past heartbreak.

Guozhao Zhiqiang shook his head, his face buried in her shoulder.

Ping'an, her voice filled with ancient wisdom, "Your first master once said, 'Sometimes memories were best; if they stay as memories, at least we knew once what true happiness is'." She looked at the gray ashes scattering on the grass, a silent understanding. "Are these belonging to him, Zhiqiang?" Guozhao Zhiqiang nodded, unable to speak. "Are you going to go inside the valley, or staying in your cabin, my dear?"

"I want to be alone, Shimu," Guozhao Zhiqiang replied, his voice hoarse with grief.

Ping'an smiled at him, a gentle, knowing smile. "Okay, Zhiqiang. Tomorrow I will go hunting with your masters. We will give you space."

Guozhao Zhiqiang watched as Ping'an walked towards Peach Blossom Valley, her figure disappearing into the mist. In many ways, he envied that his masters had a soulmate like his Shimu, a lifelong companion. He closed his eyes and pitied himself, a profound, aching self-pity, because he knew that in happiness and suffering, or until his skin wrinkled and his hair turned white, he would never have anyone standing by his side, never have that companionship he so desperately craved. He continued to stand there, a solitary figure, watching the wind blow Deming's ashes across the mountain, knowing that part of him had died that day, a piece of his soul forever lost.