The Warrior Scholar Chronicles. Ink and Moon on Rice Paper.

Chapter 8 Trapped and Forgotten

Chapter 8 Trapped and Forgotten.

Now feeling grateful for the boarded-up window, Tang Yun felt a warm blush suffuse his gaunt cheeks. Did he truly worry about others seeing his naked, pale, bony body? Thankfully, his cheesy grin masked any insecurities.

Undeterred by the bitter cold, Tang Yun infused soul qi into his pale feet, watching as the bluish hue dissipated and a soothing warmth enveloped his body. Squinting in the flickering light, he made out rough shadows of the broken wooden furniture.

Nimble, delicate fingers instinctively caressed the smooth, silky skin at the back of his neck, tracing the contours of a long-abused muscle. As his touch lingered, he sensed a subtle yet newfound strength emanating from within. The once-tense area now felt revitalised and invigorated. Tang Yun blinked back tears and felt a tightness in his throat. He sighed in exasperation as the same old story played out - one thing stolen, and another given.

This time, he achieved one dream - he could hear the cheers of victory in his head, beats those stupid elephants he thought. A soft, gruff laugh echoed into the room. With the art and notebooks scattered around the room tugging at his heartstrings, he feigned a laugh to mask his true emotions.

Did many notebooks and pictures survive the destructive energy released by him? That remained unknown. More in shock than anything, he ignored what would normally have sent him into a panic. Instead, he focused on moving one unsure foot after another, tentatively stepping towards his disintegrated bed. With anxious eyes, Tang Yun searched for any sort of covering—whether bedding, linen, or his thick, comforting woollen blanket.

A thin hand reached out to touch his bedframe, but the dry, brittle material disintegrated beneath his fingers. Overcome with laughter as he looked around as the ash scattered everywhere. This included his charred nightclothes, forming a little pile on its own.

Naked, dust covered, was a new look for Tang Yun. However, his renew self, got over it without a fuss, as his black eyebrows narrowed. "It's dark but I wonder," he muttered, before a gurgling sound emerged from his empty, flat stomach. He patted his bony abdomen with his dirty hands, realizing that he needed to feed his wafer-thin body.

In the near darkness, Tang Yun's thin arms extended into the cold, still air, his spiritual power following suit. It swirled and whirled within him before erupting outward like a bursting wall of Shen energy, radiating in all directions. He could feel the almost translucent energy rush expanding outward, creating a wet wave of bristling power that rippled through the air.

A wide smile formed on his face as his perception expanded alongside the growing wave of shen. With each passing moment, his awareness heightened, and his eyes began to glow with an increasingly vibrant red fluorescence, reflecting the red light emanating from the cracked walls adorned with ancient calligraphy and rune art. Tang Yun's spiritual awareness opened up a whole new world to him—a world radiant with energy and intricate details he never imagined could exist.

Despite the wall Ogham drawings being mere imitations of the ancient Sour People's script, the qi-infused red ink shimmered brilliantly from each stroke. Tang Yun couldn't believe his eyes. How could his drawings emit such a vibrant light? Awe-struck, he released a long breath of admiration. Yet, his tense expression soon morphed into a grimace, a testament to his annoyance at being surprised once more. Nonetheless, his curiosity about the long-dead language and artwork ignited his almost fanatic addiction, and the radiant glow unveiled intricate details he previously overlooked, captivating him even further. Something so unusual for a child of six, unprecedented.

As Tang Yun beheld the radiant glow emanating from his own replicated drawings, a surge of curiosity swept through him like a gust of wind. The captivating sight, amplified by the dazzling qi pulsating from each brush stroke, ignited a spark of wonder within him. It led him to a profound realization. If the runes and glyphs crafted by cultivators possessed such luminosity, wouldn't it suggest that forgotten tombstones adorned with enigmatic symbols, the scratched drawings lining ancient roads and laneways, or even the trial, would also burst to life with an ethereal glow?