Chapter 115: The Human-Faced Flower

Every flower, whether resplendent or otherwise, hides a mysterious shadow behind it.

The tarot card that Macarius handed to Luo Hanyi appeared weathered, as if it had endured a great epoch, imbued with a distinct sense of vicissitude and the accumulation of history.

On the slightly jaundiced card, several enormous flowers were depicted. They were of different species, and the temperaments they exuded were vastly different. The only commonality was that in the center of each flower, where the petals should have cradled a stamen, there was instead a fleshy tumor. Traces remained upon these growths, resembling the faces of faceless beings.

Luo Hanyi stared at the card for a long time, completely immersed, his eyelids not even fluttering until his eyes grew sore and forced a blink. He set the card down, placed his hands behind his head, and stretched his stiff neck from side to side, nodding thoughtfully as if he had come to some realization.

This tarot card brought by Macarius was like a glimmer of dawn in the darkness, finally allowing Luo Hanyi to gain a deeper understanding of everything he had experienced in the past.

Each flower represented a person. There were five flowers entrenched upon his heart, each representing someone he had encountered. In total, he had met seven people: Stone-Silkworm, Manluo, Xiaofeng, Shuiyue, the Man in White, Heather, and Macarius. Two of them were not among the five flowers; they were outsiders who did not need to vie for the nourishment of his heart.

Luo Hanyi took a deep breath. He was now facing a deadlock; he had to eliminate all the outsiders first, and then locate these five flowers—the flowers rooted in his heart, competing for its nourishment...

Luo Hanyi quickly identified the two he deemed outsiders: Shuiyue and...

He was certain that Shuiyue was an outsider. She did not belong here. The aura she carried felt profoundly familiar to him, as if they had once spent every day together, their essences seeped into the deepest reaches of each other’s souls. Even though he had long lost all associated memories, the sense of attachment and longing remained. Even if Shuiyue were one of those flowers, Luo Hanyi refused to believe it, let alone the high probability that she was not.

Luo Hanyi silently repeated her name. Beyond the sorrow and bitterness, there was only a deep sense of unreality.

"Shuiyue, Shuiyue... a moon in the water, a flower in the mirror..."

"Ha, this is truly unbearable." Luo Hanyi rubbed his eyes; a sharp, tearing pain lingered at their corners. Shuiyue’s sorrowful question echoed incessantly in his mind.

"Where are your tears? Why?"

"Where are my tears? Why are my eyes only dry and in pain!" Luo Hanyi, like a furious lion, pounded the table with his fist.

One strike, two strikes... The table groaned under the torment. The aged wood could not withstand his wrath and teetered on the verge of splintering.

"Ah! Damn it!" Luo Hanyi braced himself against the table, gasping for breath. His bloodshot eyes seemed to turn the color of blood. He glared viciously at the table, as if venting his spite, and slammed his fist down with all his remaining strength.

With a "crack," the tabletop gave way, shattering into pieces. Splinters of wood pierced his fist, and blood sprayed out, mingling with the debris to create a grand, tragic tableau—bright red blood mixed with dark wood chips, like a surreal meteor shower, cruel and dreamlike.

"Boom!" A sudden thunderclap startled the dazed Luo Hanyi. He swayed, feeling an overwhelming weakness. The extreme release of emotion had brought him no relief, only a boundless exhaustion, far greater than running thousands of meters. Heartbreak is a devastating force.

Luo Hanyi looked at his hand. Blood continued to flow, and wood splinters were clearly visible embedded in his flesh. It looked excruciating, yet he remained impassive. He wiped away the debris, tearing open the wounds further until they were a mangled mess. Ignoring the injury, he tore a strip of cloth from his garment and wrapped it around his hand; blood immediately soaked through the peculiar fabric.

"Boom! Boom!..." The thunder continued, as if the heavens were enraged, intent on unleashing divine retribution upon the sins of the world.

Luo Hanyi opened the window, watching the sea of black clouds descending upon the world. The bright morning light had been nothing but a fleeting calm before the storm.

"Is this a portent of something?" He sighed, leaning out to greedily inhale the cold, damp air—perhaps tainted with mist, for it tasted foul. He shook his head and exhaled. Only then did he realize he was on the third floor of the Fog Inn; having traversed a labyrinthine path, he had moved from the second floor to the third.

Outside, the thunder persisted. There was no rain, but hail the size of fists pelted the building with an eerie rhythm, leaving one to wonder if the dilapidated inn could survive this catastrophe.

"The end is here; the time for reckoning has arrived." Luo Hanyi stared at the apocalyptic scene outside. A strange arc curled his lips. His eyes, now free from confusion, were crystalline. His cold, stern face mirrored that of the former Xiye—indifferent as a corpse, calm as a machine.

Luo Hanyi walked toward the door without looking back, his resolve hardened. He was going to where the truth lay—a place without mist, only the naked, bleeding truth.

"Macarius, why did you give me this card? Are you truly an outsider?"

"What is the significance of this codename?"

"If you are an outsider, why do you keep following me? Why does my instinct tell me I despise you?"

"Or, if it isn't you who follows me, then who is it?"

"And what is the purpose of that diary? To tell me only that the sea is strange?"

"What is the meaning of this story?"

"What are those five flowers, and what does each represent?"

"What has everything I experienced been trying to reveal to me? Xiaofeng, Shuiyue, the Man in White, Heather, Macarius—everyone seems to be trying to tell me something..."

All the questions in his mind erupted at once. Like a cold, metallic torrent, they crashed against his nerves, yet strangely, they did not shatter his fragile sanity; instead, they were consumed and dissolved.