“You dared to crash into the Throne of the God!” Odin’s deep voice echoed through the rain.
“I’m just a driver. Drive too much, and sometimes my hands slip,” the man said calmly. “I know what you’re after. Alright, I’ll give it to you—no problem.”
He patted Chu Zihang’s head. “Go to the trunk and get the case—the black one, with a silver mark on it.”
In the trunk, there was indeed a black briefcase, specially made with a rough and durable leather surface. On it was a silver plaque engraved with an image of Yggdrasil, half lush and half withered.
Chu Zihang handed the case to the man, who weighed it before handing it back to him. He looked at Odin. “I’m ready.”
“Then, human! Come forth!”
“You’ve disobeyed me many times before, but this time, you must do as I say,” the man leaned over and whispered into Chu Zihang’s ear. “Remember, don’t stray too far from me, but don’t stay too close either. And when I say ‘run,’ you run back to the car—don’t look back, no matter what.”
“Okay!” Chu Zihang trembled.
The shadows surrounded them, pushing Chu Zihang and the man forward. They whispered to each other in some ancient language, sounding like a mixture of chanting and weeping.
Chu Zihang couldn’t understand a word, but those serpent-like lines in his mind were waking up, constantly shifting. Suddenly, he understood, those longing voices of the dead:
“Human… “
“Another human again…”
“The blood of that child…”
“Fresh meat… tempting…”
“Thirsty…”
Chu Zihang covered his ears, looking around in terror. All of the shadows had the same face, with no expression, yet each face seemed to tell countless stories.
“What you hear, I hear too. Don’t be afraid—Dad’s right here beside you,” the man said softly.
The man stopped, about a hundred meters from Odin, and the same distance from the Maybach behind them—right in the middle. The rain continued to beat down on the long sword in his hand.
“I think even if I hand this over, you won’t let us leave,” the man said.
He spread his legs, his wet pants fluttering in the cold wind like a swaggering thug on the streets. But acting like a thug in front of a god-like being?
“I will grant you your lives,” Odin said. “A god never lies to mortals.”
“To turn into these dead things?” The man gestured to the surrounding shadows with his thumb.
“No, your bloodline is far superior to theirs. You will be even stronger.”
“No room for negotiation?”
“Whoever has come to this land will return again, and anyone who comes here must be a servant of the gods.”
“Son, they say you’re a center for the city team and good at breaking through?” The man whispered into Chu Zihang’s ear.
Chu Zihang nodded nervously.
“Negotiations have failed,” the man said. “Give me the case.”
He took the case and gently patted Chu Zihang’s head. “Remember everything I told you, every word.” Suddenly, he slapped Chu Zihang on the butt and roared, “Run!”
Without a second thought, Chu Zihang turned and sprinted toward the car, running as fast as he could. For a long time now, he hadn’t believed a word the man said, but on this rainy night, holding the man’s warm hand, he suddenly became a child relying on his father again.
The man threw the briefcase toward Odin, like a piece of fresh meat thrown to a pack of wolves. Half of the shadows surged toward the case, while the other half blocked Chu Zihang and the man.
Their forms twisted with speed, like serpents leaping from the ground.
The man ran after Chu Zihang, but perhaps because he was middle-aged, he wasn’t as fast as Chu Zihang, and the distance between them grew. The man looked at Chu Zihang’s receding back, a smile suddenly forming at the corner of his mouth. “Run fast, you little brat.”
He spun around abruptly, the long sword sweeping out in a blinding arc, the rain scattering in a circle.
Chu Zihang heard terrible sounds behind him—the sound of blood spurting from wounds, of bones breaking under the blade, mixed with the wind and rain.
He could hear the wails of the shadows, “It hurts,” “It hurts like hell,” “It feels like I’m burning alive”—desperate wails, as if coming from hell.
Thick, cold blood splattered on Chu Zihang’s back, the rain unable to wash it away. The man was always behind him. Chu Zihang mustered his courage and glanced back; the man swung the sword like a lion, one shadow after another split under the blade’s light.
A transparent aura spread out in the rain, and the man let out a high-pitched roar from deep in his throat, just like the whispers of those shadows—a sound from the vast ancient past.
Where the aura enveloped, time seemed to slow down. The wind and rain thickened, and the shadows also slowed, everything like a slow-motion film. Only the man remained unaffected, spinning and swinging the sword, stepping, gliding. Water splashed slowly beneath his feet, and the dark blood of the shadows flowed slowly, suspended in the air like thick ink floating in water. Amidst the ink, the man’s sword light was like a silver swallow.
Chu Zihang had never thought a man could be so powerful, and this man was his father.
He finally lunged into the car, turning back to shout into the rain, “Dad!”