Dragon Raja 2; Chapter 6: A Dark Rainy Night (6)

Dragon Raja 2

“Share a meal too, huh?” Chu Zihang sneered.

The man fell silent. Chu Zihang didn’t say anything either; all they could hear was the relentless pounding of raindrops on the car roof. The temperature in the car seemed to drop suddenly, the warm air from the heater unable to disperse it.

After a long time, the man let out a slow sigh and spoke in a well-worn tone: “That’s why I say you’re still young—you don’t understand. When you have a child of your own one day, you’ll get it. Having a child is like giving half of yourself to that child. It’s like you can feel where they are, like telepathy. You’ll constantly care about them, think about them—it’s just natural, for no reason at all. Besides, people all die someday. When I die, everyone will forget me, but you will still be here, and half of you is me. It’s like leaving a part of myself in this world.”

“You only know how to make a child, not raise one. Someone else raises him, and he becomes less and less like you!”

“I… I wanted to raise you too.” The man mumbled.

A low laugh echoed from the sound system. Chu Zihang was startled, thinking it was just static. The laughter was faint, but grand and solemn, like it echoed within a bronze bell. Chu Zihang kept staring at the man’s face in the rearview mirror, and suddenly there was a change—blue veins pulsed from the corner of his eyes, like restless little snakes. The man’s normally slack face was now tense, as if red-hot iron had been quenched in cold water.

Chu Zihang had never seen such an expression on the man’s face before—it was as if he were a different person. His pupils contracted abruptly, revealing immense fear.

Someone knocked gently on the car door.

“In such heavy rain, who could it be?” Chu Zihang turned his head and saw a dark figure cast on the window. He thought, could it be that the elevated road was closed, and it was the traffic police? He reached out, intending to roll down the window.

“Sit back!” the man roared.

A wave of fear suddenly engulfed Chu Zihang. He glanced at the speedometer—it was at 120 kilometers per hour. Who could be running alongside a Maybach on the elevated road, knocking on the door?

The knocking grew urgent. It wasn’t just one person, but three, five, more and more figures gathering outside the car. They peered through the rain-splattered windows, looking down at Chu Zihang. Outside, blinding mercury-like light shone in, turning both Chu Zihang and the man’s faces ghostly pale. The man turned to look at Chu Zihang, trying to suppress the tremor in his voice, and said, “Don’t be afraid, son!”

The knocking turned into a sharp screech, like something sharp scraping against steel and glass. Chu Zihang thought it was the shadows’ nails.

“Where are we?” Chu Zihang couldn’t help but scream.

The man grabbed Chu Zihang’s wrist with one hand, forcibly pulling him from the back seat to the front, tossing him into the passenger seat.

“Buckle up!” the man said in a low voice. At that moment, all traces of fear had disappeared from his face—it was as hard as iron.

The accelerator was pressed to the floor, the Maybach’s body shuddered, accelerating fiercely. In seconds, the speed reached 180 kilometers per hour, and it continued climbing, because they hadn’t managed to shake off the shadows. Silver light poured in from all directions, and countless dark figures surrounded the Maybach in the beams of light, like a group of reapers at the bedside of the dying. They opened their eyes in unison, their golden pupils glowing like torches. Chu Zihang curled up, clutching his head in pain.

His brain throbbed violently, chaotic blue-purple lines twisting like countless snakes, or like hieroglyphs on ancient stone tablets, which had come to life, dancing like spirits. Images he dared not imagine even in his deepest nightmares flashed before his eyes—a young man with a golden eye split open on his forehead lay on a black stone throne, a long sword of bone piercing his chest; young girls rolling on a carved stone altar, screaming in pain like the prelude to childbirth; black wings rising in the sunset, covering half the sky; a woman bound to a copper pillar slowly opening her eyes, her white hair fluttering, and two thick streams of bloody tears flowing from her eyes…

It was as if he were watching the serpents’ dance in the primeval darkness, those serpents using an eerie language to tell him lost histories.

“That’s ‘Spiritual Vision.’ Your bloodline is being awakened. Such a strong reaction… I don’t know if it’s your good fortune… or misfortune.” The man gripped Chu Zihang’s hand. “I always hoped this day… would come a little later.”

He didn’t know how much time had passed before Chu Zihang slowly raised his head, like waking from a nightmare that had lasted a lifetime. He couldn’t describe the feeling—it was like a nearsighted person putting on glasses, and suddenly the world became extraordinarily clear. His vision, hearing, and even sense of smell had all awakened. He looked at the man in a daze, who reached out and gently touched the top of his head—whether it was out of care or sorrow, he couldn’t tell.

“What’s happening? Are we going to die?” Chu Zihang asked.

“Son, welcome to,” the man took a deep breath, “the real world.”

“The… real world?”

“Whatever you saw just now, or whatever you’re about to see, don’t tell anyone else, because no one would believe you. They’ll think you’re crazy,” the man said. “Honestly, I think living in an unreal world is a bit happier, so I always wanted you to understand this a little later. I always wanted to keep my distance, so you wouldn’t get dragged into this, but when I got your message today… I couldn’t help myself but to come get you. Well, it doesn’t matter now—if a dad wants to establish a certain image in his son’s heart, he has to man up a bit. I never had the chance before.” The man licked his lips. “Are these guys trying to give me a stage to show off? Not too bad!”

Chu Zihang couldn’t understand. He thought the man must have been scared senseless, speaking nonsense.

The Maybach had already reached its maximum speed—275 kilometers per hour—the tachometer needle entering the dangerous red zone. The man floored the accelerator, gripping the steering wheel and staring straight ahead. There was nothing but silvery light ahead, nothing visible—they seemed to be speeding toward a silver ocean. Pale, featureless handprints thudded against the windshield. Shadows pounded on all sides of the car, their strength enough to shatter the shatterproof glass.

The man reached over and pulled a pitch-black umbrella from the car door.

Series Navigation

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