Chapter 187: Finger Lickin Good

The flight down lasted only a moment before Yang's stomach lurched upward. Senior Brother Qing An's ability to sustain flight seemed to meet some resistance, and instead of a controlled descent, Yang felt them drop.

Yang screamed, but no sound passed his lips. He clamped his jaw shut in shock as he realized the terrifying situation he was in. There was no whistle of rushing wind, no echo, not even the sound of his own frantic breathing. The moment they had crossed the threshold of the pit, the darkness had stripped away his sight and hearing.

This place had placed some kind of block on the senses. Correction: All senses except touch. He could still feel the crushing pressure around his waist where Senior Brother Qing An’s arm had locked him tight, showing that touch was working and that he was still with Senior Brother Qing An.

Although he knew it was unlikely to work, he still gave it a try. "Senior Brother, can you hear me?" No answer. Which confirmed his hypothesis.

They hit the ground hard enough to drive every drop of air from Yang's lungs. A moment later, Senior Brother Qing An landed partially atop him, crushing what little breath remained. Yang lay completely stunned in the dark, struggling to orient himself, but before he could even attempt to push up, Senior Brother Qing An grabbed his wrist and hauled him to his feet.

The grip was iron-tight, bordering on painful, but Yang understood the desperate necessity and made no move to pull away. In total sensory deprivation, that single point of contact was their sole anchor to each other. Losing it meant being utterly abandoned in the dark alone.

Guided by the pull on his wrist, Yang began to walk.

The ground beneath his feet felt neither the fine sand from the desert nor the sandstone of the temple. It actually felt like damp dirt, with some give. He wanted to crouch down to feel and inspect it, but the unrelenting pull on his wrist kept him moving. He chose to just give up the idea as he had no way to communicate his intent and no desire to risk separation.

The feeling was far worse than anything he had experienced in either of his lives. Even in the void after his first death, where he had first encountered the mysterious bead, he had possessed a strange, pseudo-visual awareness of his surroundings. Here, he was locked inside his own skin, completely severed from his surroundings.

A human had five senses. Out of the five, Sight and hearing were lost to him. Touch he could still feel, leaving taste and smell. Yang had a feeling the sense of smell was also gone since he couldn't sense any smell, but he couldn't be sure with the disorientation he was already feeling with the loss of his other two senses. That left only taste to be tested.

Without any thought, he brought his free hand to his mouth and licked the back of it, expecting a salty, if not dusty, taste after spending so long in a desert.

Instead of what he expected, he got hit by a thick, sour, putrid taste, with a rusty sweetness underneath that was vile beyond imagination. He immediately bent double over and retched.

Senior Brother Qing An stopped, and Yang felt a hand reach out frantically to check on him, before settling onto his back, rubbing in slow, steady circles once he pieced together what was happening.

Grateful for the silent comfort, Yang waited until the dry-heaving subsided. He wiped his mouth against his own shoulder, refusing to let his hand anywhere near his face again after touching whatever foul substance coated this place.

He wished he could think of a way to convey this to Senior Brother Qing An apart from putting his finger in his mouth, which he would not do in case whatever this was had more dangerous properties than simply being revolting.

They trudged around in darkness for quite some time, and Yang occasionally felt some movements from Senior Brother Qing An that led him to believe he was performing some kind of technique or using some treasure or maybe even just scratching himself. It would probably feel the same to Yang.

Yang had long realized that he had spent most of his time on talismans while neglecting to broaden his skills, and now he was paying for it. With his arsenal of watering techniques like Spirit Spring Rain, Qi Dew, and Cool Breeze Watering Technique, all he was able to do right now was make a rotting blood slushy to wade through.

Even his golden needles were useless if he couldn't see, and his small mole puppet was out of the question. If Senior Brother Qing An’s sophisticated human puppet couldn't function down here, then a simple mole puppet made for scouting didn't stand a chance.

Lulled into his own thoughts, Yang walked on autopilot, allowing himself to be dragged blindly along.

THUMP.

His foot caught on a hard, raised object in the dirt and Yang stumbled forward, pitching over and throwing his hands out to break his fall. He winced, less from the sting in his palms than from the sickening touch of the damp soil, as a cold wave of horror washed over him.

He could no longer feel Senior Brother Qing An’s grip on his wrist.

Yang scrambled up instantly, extending his arms and sweeping the empty dark. He had only tripped a step or two; Senior Brother Qing An had to be close by. He jolted suddenly as he felt Senior Brother Qing An place a hand on his shoulder and let out a relieved sigh, only to freeze as his blood ran cold as every internal warning signal his inner instincts had ever used went off at once.

Yang lurched backwards, falling onto his hands and scrambling away in a crab-like crawl on his hands away from whoever or whatever had just touched him. He pulled out every fireball talisman he had and threw them in every direction around him.

There was no explosion or light, but he did feel the shift in the air as the talismans went off and the feeling of the blaring alarm disappeared, at least for right now. He stood up again, feeling terrified. By now, one of his Senior Brothers should have worked something out. If they hadn’t managed it yet, then what would he, with his rather limited knowledge and no experience to speak of would do?

Yang stood up slowly, his heart going very fast.

Just as despair began to pull him under, a sudden, warm flare ignited deep within his chest as he felt an urge to step to the right. He walked forward, surrendering entirely to the guidance of his inner instincts. His breathing relaxed even though his external senses were utterly blind; the bead could perceive the hidden dangers of this place and was actively steering him through them. This was the first encouraging sign since entering this place; he just needed to trust the bead in his soul and find his Senior Brothers.

He followed the pull of his instincts as he navigated the invisible labyrinth for what felt like a long time, taking sudden sharp turns, doubling back, and weaving through unseen hazards. Eventually, the internal pull intensified, urging him to sprint forward to his right.

Yang quickened his pace until he slammed face-first into a solid stone wall.

Or what felt like a stone wall, until some part of the structure reached out and grabbed his shoulder in a punishing iron grip.

Yang nearly recoiled out of sheer reflex, but the alarming feeling in his instincts remained dead silent. He had found one of his own. He bore the bruising pressure without complaint, refusing to break contact for even a second.

After deeming him familiar, the hand moved from his shoulder towards his hair. They felt his head, and Yang realized this Senior Brother was verifying his identity. Since all of his Senior Brothers wore their hair loose to varying degrees, only Yang’s could be clearly identified by touch as he always kept his tied up beneath his crown. As the person attached to the hand seemed to have recognized him, he moved his hand back to his shoulder, this time giving him a comforting squeeze.

The next few seconds were a chaotic tangle of limbs in the dark. A pair of hands, already holding each other, reached out to touch his arms, while another hand reached down to firmly grab his wrist.

Yet, just as they began to pull him along, the bead within his core vibrated again, a sharp, unsatisfied impulse that left Yang thoroughly confused.

The new grip on his wrist tugged him forward, but Yang locked his legs, refusing to move.

What does it want? He wondered frantically.

Yang reached up with his free hand, tracing the arm holding his wrist back toward the other pair of linked hands. The grip around his wrist tightened, trying to keep him still, but another hand settled on his arm to steady him. Following the relentless urge of the bead, Yang reached out and pressed his bare skin directly against the hand on his arm.

The moment skin touched skin, the hand beneath his froze.

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