TRYMBPIETM 118: Revival of All Things (39)

It was noon, but a bright moon rose in the sky above the Puluo tribe’s territory.

Men, women, the elderly, and children, all dressed in traditional Puluo attire, formed a long line and solemnly walked into the forest one by one.

Some young children wore puzzled expressions, completely unaware that this might be their only chance in life to enter the tribal land.

Ah Lai stood by the window of the treehouse, looking down for a moment before slowly raising the corners of his lips.

He turned and walked back to the vine desk, changed out of the purple robes of the Puluo tribe’s great shaman, and donned an even more ancient style of robe.

Due to his personal preference, this robe was still purple.

Layers of light purple and dark purple, with intricate silver edges on the collar, cuffs, and hem, giving a sense of moonlight flowing even when standing still.

The silver jewelry accompanying the robe grew more elaborate, but the material exuded a strange, translucent quality.

He combed his black hair completely back, securing it with an ancient silver hairpin.

In an instant, the dim room was filled with a faint glow.

There was a knock on the door, and Ah Lai adjusted his sleeves before stepping forward to open it.

A tall white deer stood at the door, its eyes radiating an almost human-like joy and expectation upon seeing him.

Ah Lai patted the deer’s lowered head, then stepped aside to mount it.

The white deer let out a soft cry, turned, and began heading toward the altar of the tribe.

Many animals emerged from the forest, gathering on both sides of the small path, gazing up at Ah Lai on the white deer.

Some of them looked confused, while others already displayed some human-like behavior, but none approached the white deer. Instead, after the deer passed, they raised their front limbs, bowing in a gesture of respect.

This scene stunned many of the young people visiting the tribal land for the first time and caused Song Yuzhi, who had suddenly appeared in the observation area, to widen his eyes.

He looked around and recognized that this was the location where he had filmed the variety show Scenery Along the Way for the first time, his expression full of confusion.

He clearly remembered being on a plane heading for Linghe Village. How did he end up here after just briefly closing his eyes?

Could it be that he had encountered something sinister?

Song Yuzhi anxiously turned his head, and just in time, Ah Lai passed by him on the white deer.

A surge of surprise filled his heart.

He opened his mouth, wanting to ask for help, but as his gaze fell upon Ah Lai’s exposed chest, his face flushed bright red.

Ah Lai, however, halted the white deer.

He tilted his head and glanced at Song Yuzhi, a smile on his face, though no warmth in his eyes.

“Mr. Song, welcome to the ceremony.”

Song Yuzhi froze for a moment: “Ah? Ah??” He didn’t understand what was happening. Seeing that Ah Lai seemed to be waiting for his response, he hesitated and said, “Congratulations?”

Ah Lai chuckled lightly, nodded at him, and continued riding the white deer toward the altar.

Song Yuzhi looked up, watching Ah Lai’s back as it disappeared into the distance. A strange feeling suddenly stirred within him.

He tried to clear his thoughts, attempting to figure out what was odd about Ah Lai, but his musings were interrupted by an ethereal chant.

Song Yuzhi frowned unconsciously and looked toward the source of the sound. He saw Geng, the great shaman guarding the tribe, dressed in ceremonial robes, holding a shaman’s staff. Accompanied by a group of Puluo shamans, he walked toward the altar from another direction.

Ah Lai moved faster than them, and soon, the white deer stopped in the center of the altar, turning to face the great shaman Geng,.

Geng lengthened his voice, slowly speaking in the Puluo language.

Song Yuzhi didn’t understand Puluo, but at this moment, he somehow understood the words Geng was saying.

Geng was saying: “The time has come, please begin the ritual.”

So it’s a ritual?

Song Yuzhi felt a bit of awe.

His spirits lifted as he focused on the direction of the altar, where a group of shamans formed two rows, some holding offerings, others with incense, all walking solemnly toward the center of the altar.

Ah Lai sat still, unmoving on the white deer, his gaze toward the rows of shamans carrying a detached calmness.

Geng raised his staff, and along with the remaining shamans, began to perform a ritual dance in front of the blazing fire.

The two rows of shamans lit incense, bowed, and offered their tributes, chanting ancient prayers.

The sound of silver bells rang out, intertwining with their movements, crisp and rhythmic, carrying an ethereal energy that resonated with the souls of every participant.

Song Yuzhi felt his soul lighten, as though rising, looking down on the land from a strange perspective.

An invisible force approached from the horizon, intertwining with something.

The forest echoed with sounds of joy, and the moonlight grew even brighter.

He seemed to see faint figures in front of him, riding various animals, holding different silver ornaments, emerging from various temples, all gazing up at the moon with expressions of kindness and solemnity.

Another clear chime of the bells snapped Song Yuzhi’s consciousness back to his body.

He stood dazed for two seconds, instinctively raising his head. He saw that the incense at the altar had formed white strands, swirling toward Ah Lai.

Amidst the smoke, Ah Lai’s figure visibly faded, and a faint light began to emanate from the white deer.

Just like the figures he had seen earlier.

Song Yuzhi suddenly felt uneasy.

He wanted to study Ah Lai’s state more closely, but for some reason, a feeling of inexplicable timidity surged within him at this moment.

He felt unable to look directly at Ah Lai anymore and, without realizing it, lowered his head.

Ah Lai’s gaze grew even more distant.

He chuckled softly, stepping off the altar.

In the next moment, he had appeared outside a temple that had materialized out of thin air.

He touched the white deer’s antlers and walked into the temple, his pale purple sleeve fluttering in the wind. The silver ornaments beneath his large sleeve suddenly gleamed with a clear light, reflecting the moonlight from afar.

The great shamans completed the ritual dance and bowed again.

The moonlight grew even stronger.

Suddenly, everything in front of Song Yuzhi went black. He screamed, jumping up from the first-class seat on the plane, gasping for breath, still shaken.

His assistant was startled and quickly grabbed some warm water, asking him what was wrong.

Song Yuzhi sat dazed for a moment, drank a few sips of water, and barely suppressed the panic in his chest.

He said uncertainly, “It seems like I had a dream.”

His assistant asked, “What kind of dream? A nightmare?”

Song Yuzhi hesitated for a few seconds, then shook his head.

He couldn’t remember exactly what happened in the dream, but it didn’t seem like a bad dream.

It was just that, at the very end of the dream…

He murmured, “I think I heard someone say, ‘Our fate is over, please take care of yourself.’”

The assistant repeated the words and couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s quite literary, huh?”

Hearing this, a wave of disgust and irritation suddenly surged inside Song Yuzhi.

He glanced coldly at his assistant, his tone turning cold. “Maybe I’ve been reading too many scripts recently.”

The assistant was taken aback, scratching the back of his head, embarrassed into silence.

Song Yuzhi put down the water cup and glanced outside the plane window, suddenly pausing.

In the distance, where the sky met the clouds, a faint light appeared, shining so brightly under the glaring sun that it was impossible to ignore.

Song Yuzhi muttered, “What is that?”

……

The violent thunder and lightning still flashed across the sky, but the private plane that Chi Qingzhou was aboard remained mostly unaffected.

No matter how loud the thunder was, it miraculously avoided striking the plane.

The thunderstorm made the magnetic field chaotic, but in the end, it didn’t affect the communication between the pilot and the ground.

After passing through a relatively bumpy section, the plane returned to a stable state, and Du Huan couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.

He turned to check on his artist but noticed that although Chi Qingzhou was still gazing out the window, his interest had waned considerably, and there was even a hint of disappointment in his expression.

Du Huan was a bit puzzled, but he knew Chi Qingzhou was unusual, so he didn’t press him. Instead, he asked if he was hungry and if he wanted something to eat.

Chi Qingzhou withdrew his gaze, rubbed his wrist, and indeed felt like eating something.

He asked Du Huan, “I wonder if the private jet serves beef noodles?”

Du Huan immediately stood up. “I’ll go check. You wait here, Brother Chi.”

Chi Qingzhou glanced at his back and then turned his gaze back to the window.

The thunderstorm they had passed through was still ongoing.

But when the lightning struck, instead of ushering in the growth of spring, it brought a sharp increase in temperature.

In Chi Qingzhou’s perception, any place that had experienced a thunderstorm would quickly return to summer after the heavy rain ended.

Chi Qingzhou rested his chin on his hand, speaking softly, “The weather will soon return to normal, but I wonder if such heavy rain will affect the crops.”

If agriculture really did suffer a decline in yield, then…

He could take that ghost deity and smash it to pieces, maybe its power could compensate for these losses?

Chi Qingzhou’s face once again displayed a look of interest.

Xing Shuangzhan now had a body, so it wasn’t easy for him to come out of the shadows. He merely gave a gentle pat on Chi Qingzhou’s wrist, agreeing with all his decisions.

Chi Qingzhou smiled, feeling much better.

Just then, Du Huan returned with the beef noodles that the flight crew had heated up. Chi Qingzhou didn’t continue speaking, accepting the noodles and starting to eat after thanking him.

Du Huan observed him for a while and noticed that Chi Qingzhou’s mood had returned to normal, which relieved him.

He noticed Chi Qingzhou eating well and, feeling a bit hungry himself, went to get a chicken rice for himself, heating it up and eating it as well.

By the time both of them finished their meals, the plane was about to land.

Du Huan checked the luggage, ensuring everything was there, and then relaxed while waiting for the plane to touch down.

Thirty minutes later, the plane finally landed at the airport.

Chi Qingzhou put on the coat Du Huan had specifically brought for him and walked briskly off the plane.

The people arranged by Yi Shangxiao were already waiting nearby.

Although the plane had arrived a few hours late, they were relieved that it landed safely in the end.

The group took the luggage from Du Huan and opened the door to the van for Chi Qingzhou.

Du Huan casually asked, “Didn’t Mr. Yi arrange a car for us?”

The driver apologized, saying, “On our way here, there was an accident. The car engine broke down, so we had to get a van at the last minute.”

Du Huan glanced at Chi Qingzhou, noticing he had no reaction, so he quickly reassured them that it was fine.

Chi Qingzhou sat in the left side of the middle row of seats in the van.

Before the vehicle started, he quietly glanced at the sky outside.

The setting sun hung low, and the sky was painted in brilliant shades of orange and red.

The edges of the clouds gleamed with golden light, while the parts farther from the sunset were a deep, dark blue.

It was a beautiful, almost artistic scene, but at that moment, it strangely conveyed a subtle feeling of suppression.

Chi Qingzhou squinted his eyes.

He spoke softly, “Such a warm welcome. I’ve been looking forward to this for a while.”