With this thought, my body lifted slightly, and it was Tunshe Nalin who carried me on his back.
Lying on his back, I caught the faint, solitary scent of burning incense lingering in the air. His back, pressed against my chest, felt cold and rigid, devoid of any warmth, as if he weren’t a living person at all. Then, my gaze fell upon the deep tunnel at the end of the stone bridge, and a chilling thought surged through my mind—could this bridge… actually be the Naihe Bridge?
Could it be that this Tunshe Nalin is a ghost errand who ferries souls?
I shuddered: “Tunshe Nalin… why are you so cold?”
He didn’t answer, and a layer of cold sweat broke out on my back.
“I… I’d better go down.” The moment I was about to let go of his neck, the cold fingers holding my ankle suddenly tightened.
“I, have a disease.”
“Oh, oh.” So that’s it. I snorted, thinking to myself that I must have truly lost my mind from fear. Can ghosts be like this, visible, touchable, and look… so beautiful?
After taking just a few steps into the tunnel, the candlelight revealed a pair of double stone doors, covered in intricate carvings.
Before I could examine the intricate carvings on the stone doors, they suddenly groaned open with a loud creak. Just as I was about to call out to Tunshe Nalin to let me down, he had already stepped inside, carrying me on his back.
The next moment, the stone doors slammed shut behind us.
The hand that had been gripping my ankle finally loosened, and my feet went numb as I slid down to the ground. I watched as Tunshe Nalin walked ahead, raised his hand, and placed the skull candle on a high stand. Only then could I barely make out the interior space before me.
It was a courtyard surrounded by a square corridor, with an ancient tree at its center, its massive trunk wide enough for three people to encircle with their arms. Gray-brown vines coiled like serpents, sprawling densely across the ground, creeping up the walls, and winding around the sturdy stone columns. I followed the direction of the vines and looked up, where I saw a tall tower, resembling an ancient palace, with seven or eight floors. At the very top was a round open dome, high above the ground. From here, I could see the faint curve of a dark crescent moon, partially obscured by the canopy of the large tree.
The architecture here reminded me of Ta Prohm Temple in Angkor Wat, where trees and stone towers intertwine in perfect harmony. Ancient, weathered, and enigmatic, it felt as if it had absorbed centuries of history, blending seamlessly into its surroundings.
As my eyes settled on Tunshe Nalin’s figure before the ancient tree, the unsettling dream from the previous night surfaced in my mind, sending a chill through me. Yet, paradoxically, my urge to paint was more intense than ever. If, within this ancient, haunting setting, the blind, fair-skinned beauty with dark hair were to strip down and sit naked beneath the ancient tree, vines wrapping around his body and dead leaves covering him, I would undoubtedly be able to create a masterpiece capturing the theme of death and rebirth.
“You can, rest here.”
Suddenly, Tunshe Nalin’s voice interrupted my reverie. I walked towards him and noticed that the tree roots grew in a ring shape, and the hole in the center was covered with a thick layer of animal skin, which looked like a bird’s nest.
“Do you usually… sleep here?”
So wild?
I found it a little funny. I took off my boots and stepped on it. It felt very soft, but I sank into the ground as soon as I stepped on it. It seemed to be supported by vines from the bottom. I took another step forward and stepped on a hard surface. I didn’t know what it was.
Curious, I lowered myself to one knee and reached to lift the hide, but a hand suddenly seized my wrist.
I was startled and looked up only to see Tunshe Nalin looking down at me. His face was hidden in the shadows, and his expression was hard to discern. I could only hear his sinister voice: “Down there, it’s dirty.”
I retracted my hand, and doubts rose in my heart again—could he really not see? Or was it my misunderstanding because I saw he was blindfolded?
Tunshe Nalin knelt beside me, his posture rigid and unwavering. He lacked the ease one would expect from a master. Instead, he resembled a terracotta warrior guarding a tomb or keeping watch over a prisoner as if he was a jailer.
His strange posture was both eerie and somewhat amusing, but remembering what he had said about his illness, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was truly blind. I wanted to laugh but held it back. But sitting together in a kneeling posture like this felt incredibly awkward, almost as if we were about to partake in a ceremony. I pressed my fist against the corners of my lips, cleared my throat, and asked, “Tunshe Nalin, is there something wrong with your eyes?”
He answered softly, “Sensitive to, the light.”
No wonder, he wasn’t truly blind after all.
“Can I see?” I blurted out.
Tunshe Nalin remained silent, not responding, his gaze seeming to pierce through the black cloth. I immediately regretted speaking so bluntly. My request had come purely from the artist’s desire to see the full face of a muse, with no hidden intentions, but his reaction made me feel as though I seemed trivial. Of course, if he were a straight man, he probably wouldn’t think twice about it, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt.
“I don’t mean anything by it, I’m just a bit curious.” I tugged at the corner of my lips. “I’m an artist, and I tend to focus too much on people’s appearances. It’s like a professional habit, sorry.”
“Art-ist?” Tunshe Nalin repeated, his tone finally showing some fluctuation.
His ten fingers rested on his knees, slightly curled, and the faint blue veins on the back of his hands became visible, as though my profession had stirred some intense emotion in him. Fearing that I had inadvertently offended some taboo or caused my muse to feel repulsed, I quickly smiled and added, “Just a painter, like the one in your village, it’s just a different name.”
Oh my, if he has a distaste for my profession, how could I even bring up the idea of asking him to be my model? Not to mention, how could I hope to win his heart and capture him under my paintbrush? I consider myself a charming man, and I was quite at ease with Ming Luo, who seemed cynical when we first met. But as for Tunshe Nalin…I don’t have any confidence at all.
“What do you usually… paint?”
Just as I was thinking about what to say next, he took over the conversation.
It seems that he is not disgusted.
I am happy: “People, I painted people.”
“How many people, have you painted?”
I raised my eyebrows, a little surprised by Tunshe Nalin’s question: “A lot.”
As soon as I said this, for some reason, I vaguely felt the air pressure around me change. Even the skull candle hanging on the branch above flickered, and the flame became dim.
“A lot.” He nodded stiffly. “Did you paint, them all, willingly?”
I was even more puzzled: “Of course, who else can force me to paint?”
“That’s, good.” He said faintly.
I had a hunch that my words reminded him of some unpleasant past events, so I smiled and said, “But, when I started learning to paint as a young boy, I was indeed forced to. I painted hundreds of balls and cubes a day and later plaster figures. It was so boring. I hated painting at that time, until… later a boy about my age came to the studio, and we used each other as models, and then I started to like painting people.”
That was my first muse and also my short-lived first love that ended in vain. However, I didn’t plan to tell this to the man I just met. I just wanted to divert his attention. Unexpectedly, the candlelight flickered and went out in an instant, and everything around was plunged into darkness.
I was so scared that I grabbed Tunshe Nalin’s arm and asked, “Is the candle burnt out?”
He remained still. In the darkness, only his cold, low voice broke the silence: “You have painted many people… Have you ever painted a dead person?”
I shuddered as a chill ran down my spine, goosebumps prickling my skin. “O-of course not. I’m not a doctor—there’s no reason to examine a body. Why would you ask that?”
“You and, the artist in the village, are different. He only paints, the dead.”
“Tunshe Nalin!” I called out sharply. I knew he could sense my fear—was he intentionally trying to scare me or play with me? Could it be that beneath his serious surface, he had a completely different side? But as I looked at him, he didn’t seem like that kind of person at all.
“Would you also be willing to paint the dead?”
He continued to ask.
I couldn’t help but think of the puppet head painted by the artist, the eerie puppet that sat up on that stormy night, and the driver who lost his life. A chill surged up from the depths of my heart, and no matter whether I answered yes or no, I felt like some unimaginable consequence would follow. Terrified, I quickly tried to break the eerie silence formed by his words: “I don’t want to paint the dead. I only want to paint beauty… I want to paint you!”
The light grew a little brighter. Looking up, I saw that the skull-shaped candle above had rekindled itself. I let out a sigh of relief, only then becoming aware of what I had just said.
…Although blurting it out was a bit abrupt, the words had already left my mouth. Since he remained expressionless, I couldn’t tell how he felt about me—a fellow man—calling him a beauty and saying I wanted to paint him. At the very least, I didn’t sense any sign of disgust. Feeling a little bolder, I pushed my luck: “The painter in your village only draws the dead, so he must never have painted you.” I smiled and stared at him. “If no one can capture you on canvas, it would be… such a waste.”
Although my praise sounds a bit exaggerated, but it is sincere. I just don’t know if he will be happy or not.
“You want to, paint me?” After a moment of silence, Tunshe Nalin spoke, “Do you think, I’m good-looking?”
Oh my god. Perhaps only in the depths of the mountains could such a breathtaking person exist, completely unaware of his own allure—he is truly a rare, unpolished gem. I gazed at the black cloth covering his eyes with a sense of pity. “Tunshe Nalin, is it true that, like everyone else in this village, you’ve never been outside?”
“Go, outside? To where?”
“The world outside… don’t you want to see it?” I lowered my voice, feeling like the serpent tempting Eve to leave the Garden of Eden—after all, who could guarantee that coaxing this unpolished gem, staining the blank canvas, or leading this solitary, mysterious being out of here would be the right choice? I was merely driven by my worldly desires and artistic longing, hoping to lure my muse into my grasp.
I already missed Ming Luo, and I must not miss him again.
Tunshe Nalin was indifferent and did not answer, as if he had no desire for the outside world.
Seeing that he didn’t take the bait, I continued to coax him gently: “Maybe the person you’re waiting for has fallen in love with someone else out there and doesn’t want to return. Aren’t you planning to go look for him? Do you really think just waiting will be enough?” I lowered my voice. “Is that person your beloved?”
My words must have struck a nerve. Tunshe Nalin’s lips tightened slightly, and he didn’t respond, but I was certain that my guess was right.
“Too bad there are no art supplies or internet here; otherwise, I could paint her based on your description and post it online. Maybe we’d quickly find her whereabouts.”
“I went out, and searched, searched for a long, long time.”
He suddenly said.
“Huh?” I was taken aback. “You… went out to search?”
He nodded.
“So, you used to go out!”
I felt a surge of hope. I had thought that none of the villagers could leave, but it seemed that wasn’t the case. At least, it seemed that Tunshe Nalin was an exception. Could he also be a “transportation official” too?
