Braised Dragon with Soy Sauce

Chapter 2

Where am I? Why am I hearing birds chirping and insects buzzing? Am I still on the ranch and haven't left yet? I was just at a crossroads in the city! Was what just happened a dream? It must be!

Mo Yuming woke up groggily, and before he even opened his eyes, he heard many melodious bird calls, interspersed with strange insect and bird sounds he had never heard before. Although somewhat doubtful, he ultimately concluded that what had happened to him not long ago was a dream.

His eyelids felt incredibly heavy, and he didn't want to open them. His head was buzzing, and he felt dizzy and disoriented. His body felt like it was falling apart, and he had no strength at all. Mo Yuming felt that he probably hadn't slept enough and wanted to sleep a little longer.

"I should get up earlier. It would be a bit embarrassing to keep a dozen big bosses and leaders and a bunch of reporters waiting for me for too long."

Although he felt extremely tired and didn't want to move at all, Mo Yuming thought to himself. He was a very self-disciplined person and never made excuses to postpone or break his promises.

So even though he felt extremely tired, and even though his eyelids felt as heavy as lead, he didn't try to find an excuse to sleep a little longer. He forced his eyes open with sheer willpower!

"Huh! Where am I?!"

As soon as Mo Yuming opened his eyes, and the scene in his vision gradually became clear, he was immediately startled by what he saw!

The first thing that caught his eye was not the spacious and bright, but rather simple and rustic bedroom, nor the study where he often dozed off in that exquisite and rustic rocking chair, nor the pickup truck that he had been driving for seven or eight years, which was neither new nor old!

What came into view was a surprisingly tall tree, and many kinds of flowers and plants that I had never seen before. The tree was astonishingly large, lush and green, taller than the giant sequoias in America, at least thirty or forty feet tall, and possibly even taller, like a skyscraper.

Mo Yuming was lying below and couldn't see the treetops at all. The tree trunks were also frighteningly large, so large that it was hard to describe.

Mo Yuming had never seen such a large tree before. He roughly estimated that the trunk was at least ten zhang in diameter. The bark was mottled like scales, and each crack was as big as a palm, dark red in color, which was very strange.

The ground beneath the tree is covered with dense vegetation, with various strange shrubs, vines, and flowers layered upon each other in a pleasing, staggered manner. Among them, the flowers and plants blooming with colorful and exotic blossoms are strangely shaped and very charming. Some of the flowers and plants that bloom in the shade of the branches, where they do not see the sunlight, still emit a faint glow, as translucent as crystal carvings and jade carvings. The red and white flowers are breathtakingly beautiful and exquisite.

Seeing such a strange yet real scene before him, Mo Yuming was dumbfounded. His mind went blank, and he remained speechless for a long time before he came to his senses.

Only then did I realize that I wasn't lying on that slightly messy but absolutely large, absolutely comfortable and soft bed. Nor was I lying on that not-so-new but absolutely soft and impressive leather sofa. Nor was I in that somewhat shabby pickup truck compared to the furniture. Instead, I was lying in a thick clump of weeds that I had crushed into a mess.

Mo Yuming, his mind a complete mess, tried to turn over and stand up, but as soon as he moved, before he could exert any force, a piercing pain shot through his left arm.

Turning around, I was stunned: this wasn't my arm! A small, white, and delicate child's arm, wrapped in shredded cloth, lay twisted on the weeds. There were several huge, scarlet wounds on the forearm, the flesh torn open, the bone exposed, a bloody mess, and the wounds were covered with weeds and wood chips.

The torn sleeve was stained crimson with blood flowing from the wound. Even the slightest movement of the elbow sent a dizzying pain through him; it was likely a broken bone and a dislocated joint.

His right hand and the rest of his body were fine, with only minor abrasions. Although it was still a bloody and gruesome sight, it was only superficial injury. Looking at the body of a child, Mo Yuming was dumbfounded. He was clearly a middle-aged man nearing forty, but how had he become a child of about six or seven years old?

Another wave of dizzying headache came, and Mo Yuming lay down weakly on his fragile and small body.

My head was still buzzing, my consciousness was a mess, and then fragments of memories I'd never seen before started flashing through my mind intermittently:

Like something out of an ancient martial arts film, seven or eight tall, agile masked men, dressed in matching dark blue tight-fitting outfits, wielding sharp weapons that gleamed coldly, and each with a white wolf's head embroidered on the left shoulder of their clothes, were relentlessly pursuing an old man and a child.

The old man was pale, with a trace of blood at the corner of his mouth. His clothes were torn, and his body was covered in wounds. Gushing blood seeped through his clothes and dripped to the ground, leaving a long trail of blood as he walked.

His left hand, already a bloody mess, clutched the infant tightly in his arms, never letting go. His right hand, sleeveless, held a large, blood-dripping, chipped knife as he ran desperately forward.

The six- or seven-year-old child clung tightly to the old man's neck, his large eyes filled with terror as he watched the masked man relentlessly pursuing him. He was completely bewildered, utterly unaware of what was happening.

Mo Yuming realized that the image in his mind was not from any period drama he had watched, because that helplessness and fear were something that even the best-made films could not convey to the audience.

That feeling was incredibly real; only someone who has experienced it firsthand can truly understand it and have such a profound memory. Through these fragmented memories, reason tells him that this child must be himself now.

The fragments of memory kept changing. After running for an unknown amount of time, the group of people chased and fought until they arrived at a cliff.

The cliffs rise over a thousand feet high and are incredibly steep. Below the precipice, thick clouds and mist hang in the air, obscuring the depths and the presence of anything at the bottom. The clouds churn incessantly, and faint rumbling sounds occasionally emanate from within, as if countless bolts of lightning are surging deep within the clouds, sending chills down one's spine.

Standing on the edge of the cliff, even the bravest person would feel their heart pound, because no one knows how deep the clouds that gather and never disperse lie beneath. Even the seemingly harmless smoke is too eerie, because it is rare for clouds to gather and never disperse for so long. And from time to time, streaks of lightning and rumbling thunder can be heard from within the clouds.

A hurricane was blowing incessantly from the cliff edge, raging past everyone and making their torn clothes flutter loudly. The old man, swaying precariously, stopped in despair at the edge of the cliff.

The relentless escape had left him utterly exhausted. Swaying precariously, he used his long sword for support to keep from being blown over by the hurricane. He slowly turned around, struggling to open his eyes, which were stinging from the strong wind, and glanced back. He saw that the eight men in black who had been hot on his heels had already taken up positions, brandishing their swords and closing in in a fan shape, blocking all escape routes.

The old man gave a bitter smile, turned his head back, looked at the child in his arms with loving eyes, and said to the child in a slightly hoarse voice:

"Afraid?"

Whether the little boy didn't understand or didn't hear clearly, he didn't cry or make a fuss; he simply shook his head slowly without uttering a sound.

"Well done, Grandpa didn't spoil you for nothing! You truly are my grandson! Remember that wolf! If..."

The old man's voice reached the boy's ears intermittently.

Suddenly, with a loud 'bang', a dazzling white light flashed behind the old man.

The two of them flew off the cliff like kites with broken strings, falling into the mist that filled the canyon. A cloud of blood mist rose from the old man's back, and his left hand, which was tightly holding the child, finally loosened its grip.

A powerful shockwave hurled the boy from the old man's arms, throwing him into the depths of the cliff. His large, terrified, and helpless eyes watched as the violently churning white mist drew ever closer...

Mo Yuming's head throbbed with pain once again, the terrifying memories in his mind were interrupted, and all impressions became blurry. The only thing that remained clear and unchanged was the wolf's head embroidered with white thread.

When the pain subsided slightly, Mo Yuming laboriously raised his fair right hand and gently touched the back of his head. A sticky, slightly cold mucus covered his small hand. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was a semi-congealed blood clot.

Mo Yuming immediately realized that in addition to his severely injured left hand, he had also suffered a serious injury to the back of his head. His life was hanging by a thread.

Mo Yuming cursed the heavens inwardly. Everyone else time-travels and ends up healthy, but I'm the only one who ended up like this! Whether I can survive is still an unknown!

As the pain subsided slightly, Mo Yuming gritted his teeth, supported himself with one hand, and struggled to stand up. He then grabbed a nearby tree branch for support and, grimacing, shakily stood up.

Due to excessive blood loss, after finally managing to stand up, her head began to spin, her legs trembled uncontrollably, her heart pounded, her throat felt like it was on fire, and she was extremely thirsty.

Unable to wait to die in this unknown place, a strong will to survive compelled Mo Yuming to endure the excruciating pain and dizziness, struggling to stay conscious. He propped himself up with one arm, using a large tree nearby for support, and moved forward unsteadily. Just as he regained consciousness, he seemed to vaguely hear the sound of flowing water ahead.

One step, two steps... Mo Yuming gasped for breath, struggling to move his body, half crawling and half shuffling around the big tree in front of him. Sure enough, a rock was visible through the gaps in the trees not far away. Above the rock, a small spring of water fell down, hitting a protruding stone slab on the ground below, splashing up a circle of pearl-like water droplets and making a tinkling dripping sound.

The crisp sound of dripping water gave Mo Yuming tremendous strength, causing him to use all his strength to stagger and almost crawl to the edge of the rock. Exhausted, he knelt down beside the stone slab, slowly bent down, lay on the stone, pressed his face against it, and greedily sucked at a small puddle of water on the slab with his mouth.

The cool, sweet spring water flowed down his throat and into his stomach. A refreshing coolness instantly spread throughout his body, bringing an unprecedented sense of comfort. The pain in his body seemed to slowly disappear. Mo Yuming knelt weakly on the ground, his left hand dangling like a limp noodle, his right hand resting on the stone slab, his head leaning against his arm. A wave of weakness washed over him, and he closed his eyes listlessly, drifting back into a hazy sleep…

The sound of dripping water became the most beautiful lullaby in the world; it must be a lullaby sung by his mother! Although Mo Yuming had lived two lives, he had never seen his mother sing in person, nor did he know what she looked like, but he was certain that the songs his mother sang must be the most beautiful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Wolf!"

"It's a wolf! Don't come any closer! Get away! Help! Help..."

In the pitch-black, empty space, Mo Yuming looked around in bewilderment, but could see nothing.

A nameless fear gripped Mo Yuming, and just as he was about to shout, a giant white wolf suddenly appeared in the endless darkness.

Its eyes emitted a blinding red light, and it opened its blood-red maw, revealing sharp fangs, as it fiercely pounced on him. He was terrified and wanted to run away, but his legs felt like they were filled with lead and he couldn't move an inch. He could only frantically wave his arms, trying to drive it away.

But no matter how he waved his hand, it was to no avail. The white wolf rushed towards him, howling and biting at him...

"Grandpa! Come quick, the little boy is awake!"

A little girl's urgent cry reached his ears; the clear, sweet sound waves vibrated in the darkness, causing the entire space to seem to ripple, and the snarling giant wolf began to twist and contort...

"Oh……"

"Child, wake up! Wake up..."

……

"Is that Grandpa? Why does he sound so unfamiliar?" With a hoarse voice, the white wolf vanished. A wave of dizziness washed over him, and Mo Yuming awoke with a start.

Upon opening my eyes, the first thing I saw were two unfamiliar faces:

One was a kind old man with a thin face, wrinkles, dark brown skin, and white hair and beard. He was wearing a gray hemp garment that was pieced together haphazardly. He was leaning on a dark, smudged vine cane and tugging at his beard with one hand. He was looking down at himself.

The other was an innocent little girl with jet-black hair, fair and delicate skin, and a beautiful, delicate face, but her forehead and cheeks were covered with black handprints. She was laughing and joking. The little girl was also dressed in coarse linen clothes, the loose-fitting clothes tied around her waist with a strip of cloth, which looked quite comical. The little girl held onto the old man's cane with both hands, and was looking at him curiously with her big, watery eyes.

"Where am I?"

Mo Yuming struggled to get up, but his body felt as heavy as lead, especially his left hand, which felt as if it were bound by something. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move it, and even the slightest movement sent a piercing pain through his arm. His consciousness began to drift again.

"Don't move! You'd better not move! Lie down properly, your wounds haven't healed yet! Don't shake them open again!"

Seeing Mo Yuming fidgeting, the old man quickly stopped him.

"Girl, quickly go and serve a bowl of the cooked venison porridge to the young man. He must be hungry!"

"Ok!"

The little girl gave a sweet reply, then immediately turned and ran out quickly...