Subject: [FFML] [3 of 3][Ranma][Fanfic] Waters Under Earth - Chapter 24
From: "Alan Harnum" <harnums@hotmail.com>
Date: 9/5/1998, 2:54 PM
To: ffml@fanfic.com

Waters Under Earth

A Ranma 1/2 Fanfic by Alan Harnum - harnums@hotmail.com

All Ranma characters are the property of Rumiko Takahashi, first
published by Shogakukan in Japan and brought over to North
America by Viz Communications.

Homepage at:  http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Bay/9758

Any commentary is always welcomed.  

Chapter 24 : A Pricking of Thumbs [3 of 3]
     
     "We are none of us alone in this," he said finally, words to
fill the quiet void.  "Not you, or I, or any other."

     Shampoo tilted her head to look up at him, and smirked
condescendingly.  "You really believe that?"

     He considered silently for a moment.  "I guess I do."
     
     She shook her head.  "You a foolish man, Ryoga," she
clucked.

     The words did not sting him, even if she had meant them to.  
"I've never claimed to be more than that."

     She smiled up at him, her eyes half-closed.  "Foolish man,
but you have good heart."

     Ryoga felt an odd sense of pride, and happiness, at the
words.  He studied Shampoo for a moment, standing under the 
light of the stars and moon.  
     
     How he had changed, he wondered silently.  How they had all
changed.  The comfortable world of conflicts, the easy status 
quo, the roles chosen for each them, all of that had been ripped 
asunder.  The threads were torn, but they were being gathered, as 
if by unseen hands, plucked and spun, woven anew, the patterns
changing.  

     "We should get some sleep," he said to Shampoo eventually,
after what seemed like hours of silence between them.  "We've got
a lot of travelling to do."

     She nodded her head.  "Yes."
     
     They turned, each almost in time with the other's movements,
and began to walk towards where the huddled shapes of their
comrades lay upon the ground.

**********

     He watched them go back down the slope of the land towards
their campsite, the girl and the tall boy.  He had watched them
from less than twenty feet away, hidden by the covering shadows
of trees, still as the stones of the earth and as quiet as the
whisper of the wind.

     He remembered this landscape from before, walking it in the 
winter, and the men and their horses breathing clouds of frost 
into the air, the snow crunching under his feet and theirs, and 
the heavy hooves of the horses.  He had pushed them too hard, 
forgetting sometimes that they needed sleep and food.  They had 
followed him blindly, walking after him till they dropped dead in 
their tracks, driving their horses to keep up with him until the 
hearts of the animals gave out.

     The climate, at least, had been nothing to them.  They were
used to colder climes than this.  But of the nearly ten thousand 
he had begun his long, long march with, less than one of every 
ten still lived.  The elements, disease, and the scattered
skirmishes he'd had to engage in when they were unavoidable, all
those had taken their tolls.

     It would have been enough, if he could get them through the
protections of Jusenkyou.  And a way had been provided; a
darkness succoured long within the heart of the valley, a betrayal
driven by jealousy and hatred.  The way had been opened, if only
for a little while.

     But he had been defeated, his force annihilated, and he had
fled, to wait, to plan for the next opportunity.  And now, after
so long a time, he had it again.

     He had no army this time, only himself.  He would not need
one.  Yet.  When the time came, Yoko and her followers would
serve his purposes.  For a time.

     And, oh, he smiled now, his eyes the cold blue of ice, the
barest edge of a lightning stroke.  How sweet this would be, how
very, very sweet.

     And, turning, he walked into the night.
     
**********     

     "Want some water, Rouge?"
     
     The older girl looked up from where she sat under the 
shading branches of a tree, then slowly nodded.  Akane sat down
next to her and handed her the closed canteen.  Rouge opened it
with immense care and took a delicate sip before she carefully
closed it again.

     Afternoon was fading slowly towards evening, and they'd 
stopped to rest for a little while, before they would press on 
into the night, hoping to get as far as they could towards the 
Joketsuzoku village before they made camp.

     "I hope we find an inn tonight," Rouge said quietly.
     
     "Me too," Akane agreed.  She felt dirty with road-dust and
sweaty from travel, and knew Rouge was no doubt in a worse
position than her.  She had lagged behind for the last hour of 
travel, voicing an occasional complaint about her weariness or 
her aching feet.

     Shampoo had told her rather harshly to shut up after about
her dozenth complaint, and Rouge had lapsed into a rather shamed
silence for the rest of the time, until Happosai had called a
halt to rest and take his bearings.  

     There had been little conversation between any of them on
their walking, all of them lost in their own thoughts.  Even
Happosai's joviality had waned by the time they'd stopped for a
mid-day meal.

     "Akane?"
     
     She glanced over to Rouge.  The girl looked much less exotic
dressed in a borrowed skirt and blouse, though still, Akane 
thought with an unfamiliar twinge of jealousy, more beautiful 
than anyone had the right to be wearing clothing that didn't fit
them completely perfectly.  "What is it?"

     "You never told me why you were all in China.  You said you
would."

     Akane drew a soft breath, realizing she'd been avoiding it
all day.  And she had said she would.  It wasn't as if she was
worried about bursting into tears again; she'd done plenty of
crying already over Ranma, and didn't feel the need for more.

     But to talk about it, to acknowledge the pain that underlay
the surface of every action she did, only made the hurting of her
heart worse.  

     She took a moment to gather her thoughts, looking around to
the other members of the travelling party.  Genma appeared to
taking a nap nearby under another tree.  Shampoo was sparring
with her own shadow on a nearby rise of land, and Ryoga sat
cross-legged near her, sorting through his backpack.  She saw no
sign of Happosai.

     "Akane?"
     
     Steeling herself, Akane launched into a concise explanation
about Ranma's disappearance.  Rouge listened silently, eyes
growing wider with each passing moment.

     Finally, when Akane finished, she bowed her head sadly and
stared at the ground.  "I am so sorry, Akane."

     "It's okay," Akane replied, the barest tremble in her voice.  
"I'm going to find him.  He's going to be okay."

     Rouge nodded.  "I'm sure he will be."
     
     She raised her head, and reached up to brush a lock of
silky hair out of her eyes.  "I will be glad to go to the village
of the Joketsuzoku.  I came to Jusenkyou the first time because
of them, you know."

     "How's that?" Akane asked, intrigued.
     
     Rouge looked reticent for a moment, as if she were sorry she
had mentioned it.  "It's silly..."

     "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Akane said
gently.

     The other girl sighed, and shrugged.  "I wanted to see if
they would let me join somehow.  I wanted to be a strong woman,
like I had heard they were."

     Rouge's gaze fell to where Shampoo spun her bonbori through
combat forms, effortless grace in her movements.  Akane saw envy
in Rouge's eyes, admiration.  "I wanted to be strong.  The power 
of Ashura made me strong, so..."

     "Why did you want to be strong?" Akane interrupted.
     
     Rouge looked sad as she spoke.  "My parents raised me to be
a good wife who would get a rich husband.  Someone who would
provide a big dowry to keep them comfortable in their old age."

     She toyed with one of the gold bracelets on a slim wrist.  
"I learned how to cook, to clean, to be demure and ladylike.  I
learned how to speak English and Japanese, how to play music... 
All that a good wife should know."

     Turning her head slightly so that Akane could only see her
face in profile, she went on, in a quiet voice.  "When I was
eighteen, they took me to a meeting with the man who would be my
husband.  He was nearly forty years older than me, a rich
businessman who'd never married."

     Akane raised a hand towards Rouge's shoulder, and then
hesitantly dropped it.  "Rouge, if you don't want..."

     "I would have married him," she said softly.  "It was all I
had been raised to do.  A shy, beautiful bride.  But when he was
talking to my parents, I saw his eyes, the way he looked at 
me..."

     She shuddered.  "Like I was an object, a piece of property,
no more than that.  And somehow, I realized that it was wrong,
that I could not live like that."

     Shaking her head, she seemed to regain some of her 
composure.  "So in the night, I packed up and ran away.  I had
read about the Joketsuzoku in a book, and..."

     She shrugged.  "You know the rest.  I came to Jusenkyou, and
fell into the pool of Ashura.  So I was strong, then, as I had
wished."

     Slowly, she rose to her feet, and stared up at the sky,
clear blue and nearly cloudless.  "I did not realize for too long
a time that the greater the strength, the greater the price that
must be paid for that strength."

     Akane was numb and silent, still sitting on the ground,
still contemplating the story she'd been told.     

     "I'm sorry to hear that, Rouge," she said finally, standing
up and putting a comforting hand on the other girl's arm.  "Your
parents..."

     Rouge shook her head.  "I have not seen them since I left.  
I do not think they will want to see their disobedient daughter 
again."

     She seemed to bury her sadness then, smiling gently at
Akane.  "I am sorry to have burdened you with my own troubles,
Akane.  You have many of your own now, you do not need mine."

     "It's okay, Rouge," Akane said, taking Rouge's hand in hers
and giving it a companionable squeeze.  "We're friends, right?
So we should listen to each other's problems."

     Rouge squeezed her hand back, looking both surprised and
happy.  "Thank you, Akane."

**********

     Happosai knelt on the top of the hill, palm pressed flat to
the ground, unlit pipe clenched tightly between his teeth.  His
eyes were closed.

     He was not, strictly speaking, entirely there.  His 
consciousness was ranging more freely than usual, travelling 
through the area around him, through the earth and air, along the
paths left by the passages of time.

     He was seeking something.  What it was precisely, he did not
know.  But ever since they had abandoned the train and began 
their long walk towards Jusenkyou, he had felt the vague
suspicion that they were being watched.

     At first, he'd dismissed it as his sensing of Rouge's Ashura
curse.  He was not an expert on Jusenkyou by any means, but he
understood how some of the curses could alter the mentality of 
the host.  The Ashura curse was different, though.  He could 
sense that easily, simply by looking at Rouge's aura.  There was 
an impression of something on the edges of it, something vast and 
awful and hateful.  It was very important that the girl be cured 
of the curse, and soon.

     The feeling of being watched had not left, however, and he
had begun to realize it was not related to Rouge at all.  So he
had called a halt, and gone off on his own to try and figure out
just what was going on.

     There was nothing he could sense, no presence that would
account for the feeling of being watched.  Slowly, slowly, he
drew back into himself, letting consciousness layer back over
subconscious, opening his eyes as his heart began to beat faster,
his breathing grow more rapid.

     Suddenly, he spun, pipe falling from his mouth to bounce on
the ground.  His aura flared around him in crackling power.  

     "Show yourself," he growled, his eyes little more than
slits, glowing slightly with the force of his energy.  "Whatever 
you are, come out and face me."

     Nothingness greeted him, and a silent patch of shadow cast
by a cloud straying in front of the sun.  He let his aura die,
and sat down heavily, picking up his pipe and examining it for
any damage.
     
     "Jumping at shadows," he muttered disgustedly, shaking his
head.  "Old fool."

     Dismiss it he might, but still he could not shake the
feeling that an unseen eye was pacing all that they did.  He'd
just have to be on his guard.

     A quick flick of his wrist sent a match into his hands, and
he lit his pipe as he walked down the hill towards where the
others rested.  They still had a lot of travelling to do.

     Halfway down, he paused and slowly looked back towards the
empty hillside.  Then, shaking his head warily, he continued 
down the hill.

**********

     They did not find an inn that night.  In fact, they saw no
signs of any human civilization at all.  They were in true
wilderness now, travelling through a terrain of rocky, useless 
soil and scraggily vegetation.  Mountains loomed all about as 
they trekked, rising sharp and forbidding in the distance.  

     Sometimes, they felt as if they were the only people left
alive on earth.  They made camp at last, bone-weary and 
exhausted, all of them falling into a deep and uneasy sleep, to
the far-off night sounds as the things of the darkness, owls and
cicadas, began their music.

     In the morning, after perhaps two hours of walking, they 
came to the mountain pass that headed westwards into the valley 
that held Jusenkyou.

     Happosai never managed to shake the feeling of being 
watched, but, unsure of his own fears, he kept it to himself, and
eventually managed to ignore it.

     An hour after they entered the pass, they crossed the border
of Jusenkyou.  The ancient, sleeping power passed invisibly over
them, found their hearts to be without malice, and let them 
enter her domain unchallenged.

     Perhaps ten minutes after that, a single traveller passed
through the border.  The unconscious probing flowed past him, and
did not even register his presence.

     And thus did the Serpent enter into the valley.
     
**********

     The village of the Joketsuzoku lay in a craggy dip in the
mountainous terrain, a rolling valley of rocky hills and rising
crags.  Houses lay scattered haphazardly about the uneven 
terrain, with no clear pattern to their layout; long and even 
rows of farmland dotted the flat portions of the land.

     Ryoga took a quick count from his perch halfway up a winding
trail leading into the bordering mountains, estimating perhaps a
little less than two hundred houses, in designs ranging from 
large and elegant to small and thatch-roofed.  Scattered figures
ranged throughout the dusty streets, too far away to make out any
details.  

     He glanced to Shampoo and the others where they stood beside
him, wiping a hand through sweat-damp hair.  "We're here, then."

     Shampoo nodded, and took a deep breath.  "Yes."
     
     Then she began to walk down the trail, a heavy pack on her
shoulders, carrying a clattering bag in each hand.  The treasures
of the Joketsuzoku, both those her great-grandmother had brought
to Japan and the ones Happosai had taken so long ago, returning
to their source.

     Ryoga followed after her, carefully picking his way down the
steep path.  A chance stray of his foot sent pebbles scattering
down the rocky face, and he glanced back to the rest of the
travelling party pacing him.

     So they'd arrived at last, Ryoga realized.  This was where
their lead for Ranma ended, and such a slim lead, a weapon
wielded against them that Happosai said could only have come from
here.  

     He hoped they were right.  He hoped Ranma was near here.  If
he wasn't, they might not find him in time.  

     In time for what, Ryoga didn't know.  He only knew that
Ranma was either in Cologne's hands, or in the hands of the two
maniacs who they'd fought on the mountain.  And despite what had
happened to Cologne, he found himself hoping that she had been 
the victor.

     As they came closer to the village, he saw the heads of 
those walking in the streets go up with interest, and they began
to approach.

     "There don't seem to be many people out today," he said,
looking to Shampoo as the villagers came closer.

     Shampoo looked up at the sky, and shrugged.  "Is lunchtime.
Most inside for meal."

     A ring of about two dozen women in plain but elegant 
clothing similar to Shampoo's usual style of dress had 
half-surrounded them now.  All of them looked to be around
Shampoo's age, and more than half carried visible weapons, a
mixture of polearms and swords for the most part.

     Ryoga looked warily around at them, as he and his comrades
stopped walking near the border of the village.  The Joketsuzoku
did not look exactly unfriendly, but not particularly welcoming
either.

     Shampoo dropped her bags, took the pack off her shoulders
and laid it beside her on the ground.  She folded her arms and
looked about at the silent circle of weapon, a challenging
stance.
     
     A quick glance to Akane rewarded him with a reassuring if 
slightly nervous smile.  Genma appeared to be trying to make
himself as inconspicuous as possible, while Rouge seemed slightly
fearful.  Happosai was simply looking around at all of the women
and nodding thoughtfully, a trace of a smile on his face.

     There was a long silence as the two groups seemed to size
each other up, and then a girl a few years older than Shampoo
stepped forward and spoke in Chinese, staring directly into the
eyes of the returning Joketsuzoku.  There was a vaguely
accusatory tone to the words.

     Shampoo answered in her native tongue, sharply and angrily.

     The other girl snarled something back.
     
     Shampoo said a single word, in a snide voice.
     
     The girl threw a punch at her.  Shampoo sidestepped, spun
low and cut her legs out from under her with a low kick.  The 
older girl crashed heavily to the ground.

     A few murmurs ran through the gathered tribeswomen.  Half of
them scattered quickly away into the village.  Ryoga frowned
unconsciously, and tensed slightly.

     "Ryoga?"
     
     He turned his head at Akane's touch on his elbow, relaxing
slightly.  "I wish I could understand what they're saying."

     "The girl was saying Shampoo had lost her strength," Rouge
said softly.  "Then Shampoo called her... something very rude."

     Akane shrugged.  "I just hope Shampoo doesn't start a fight
right now."

     Ryoga saw Shampoo glance back and snort slightly.  She
turned to the girl she'd just knocked to the ground and offered 
her hand.

     The girl turned her nose up and stood, pushing back long
dark hair with one hand and brushing dust from her pants with the
other.  Then, she slowly swept her eyes over the travellers
gathered behind Shampoo, and asked something in Chinese.

     Shampoo answered in a quiet but forceful voice.
     
     The girl nodded once, said something else, and extended her 
hand to Shampoo.  Shampoo took it, and they gripped each other's 
wrists for a quick moment, hard, still glaring at each other
hostilely, and then the girl turned away and walked off down the 
streets of the village.

     The girls who remained looked at the travellers with
undisguised interest now.  Shampoo glared back and forth at them,
and barked something in Chinese.  

     They turned and walked slowly away, casting a few backward
glances as they went.     
     
     Shampoo turned around and smiled slightly at them.  "Elder
coming now.  We stay here."

     "Who was that girl you talked to?" Ryoga asked.
     
     "Bai Ling," Shampoo answered.  "I beat her in semi-final of
last tournament.  She ask if I get lazy and weak in Japan.  I 
show her I not."

     Villagers were emerging from their houses now, older men and
women, small children, cowed-looking teenage boys in robes
similar to what Mousse wore.  They stood at their front doors
watching the outsiders with interest; the low hum of their voices
filled the air of the village.

     From around the corner of one house, Bai Ling returned,
accompanied by a hunched and elderly woman.  They made an odd
pair, a tall and pretty young women and a wrinkled crone.

     The old woman walked not with a cane or stick, though, but
with a wicked-looking polearm topped with a wide blade like a
crescent moon, her wrinkled hands wrapped tightly around the haft
with a strength that belied her age.  As she came closer, Ryoga 
saw her eyes; they were like he remembered Cologne's eyes, 
ancient and dark and burning with cold intelligence.

     Ryoga heard Shampoo say something under her breath.  From 
the tone, it sounded like a curse.  "What's wrong?"

     "Fang Shi," Shampoo answered in a half-whisper.  The name
was said with a great deal of distaste.

     The old woman stopped in front of them, leaning on her
weapon and regarding them with her ancient gaze.  Then she 
slowly said something to Shampoo in Chinese; Ryoga heard what
might have been Shampoo's name, and Cologne's.

     Shampoo bowed her head, and said something in respectful
tone.  

     "Very well, then," Fang Shi replied, her Japanese perfect.
"We shall speak so your foreign friends can understand us.  I ask
again, Shampoo, where is Cologne?"

     "Is long story, elder," Shampoo answered.  "I ask leave for
friends and I to get settled in house of my family, and then I
answer questions."

     "No," Fang Shi said briskly.  "Where is Cologne?"
     
     Bai Ling glared at Shampoo, and said something tauntingly in
Chinese.  Shampoo's eyes narrowed, but then Fang Shi elbowed her
companion hard in the ribs, doubling her over.  "Keep quiet, 
girl."

     "We tired, elder," Shampoo said.  "Been long travel for past
few days.  We ask to rest, wash road dust from ourselves."

     "Are you deaf or stupid, girl?" Fang Shi snapped.  "Where's
Cologne?  And where, for that matter, is your husband?"

     Ryoga saw Akane's face twist angrily for a moment before she
visibly regained control.  "Easy, Akane," he whispered to her.

     Even at those quiet words, Fang Shi's gaze focused on him 
for a moment.  He looked back at her, frowning slightly.  

     The elder dismissed him with her eyes and turned her
attention back to Shampoo.  "Well, Shampoo?"

     "Elder..."
     
     "No more excuses!"
     
     "Oh, really, Fang Shi, let them have a few hours to rest," a
deep, sardonic female voice said from behind Ryoga.  "The poor
things look half-dead."

     He turned to see a tall woman dressed in grey robes trimmed
with white.  By the lines around her eyes and mouth, he would 
have placed her in her late fifties, but she was trim and fit as
any woman half that age.  Silver-grey hair fell midway down her
back in an elaborate braid, and she carried a slender wooden 
staff in her left hand, shod at either end with iron and inlaid 
with pieces of smooth jade that swam green in the sunlight.

     Shampoo turned as well, a grateful look on her face that
faded when she saw the woman, replaced by a weary sadness.

     "Lang Bei," she said quietly.

     "Hello, Shampoo," the woman said.  "Is my grandson with 
you?"

     Shampoo shook her head.  Surprised for a moment,  Ryoga
quickly realized that Lang Bei did look a lot like Mousse; they
had the same eyes.
     
     "Ah, well," Lang Bei said, shrugging her shoulders.  "Go and
get your friends settled.  The Council will hear the details of
what occurred to you in Japan, and your explanation for Cologne's
absence, after the evening meal.  Public meeting."

     She glanced past Shampoo to Fang Shi.  "If that's alright
with you, Elder Fang Shi?"

     "Fine, Elder Lang Bei," Fang Shi answered venomously, before
turning and stalking away, the haft of her polearm sending up 
puffs of dust as she supported herself with it.  Bai Ling 
followed close behind her.  

     A dozen feet away, she turned and looked back, her voice
harsh and cold.  "But we will have our answers, one way or
another."

     The watchers in the streets and houses began to disperse 
with the show over.  Lang Bei stood regarding all of them 
silently for a moment, and then smiled slightly.

     "Welcome back, Shampoo," she said quietly.  Then her smile
slowly faded, and her face went hard, blue-grey eyes cold. "Fang 
Shi and I agree on little, girl, but in this thing we are as one.  
We of the Council will have our answers.  For everything."

     Then she turned and strode away, grey braid bouncing against
her back as she walked, long staff swinging in her hand and
occasionally tapping the ground.

     Shampoo looked around at all of them, saying nothing.
     
     Happosai finally broke the silence.  "Handsome woman for her
age, I'll give her that."

     That seemed to break the air of tension, and there was a bit
of nervous laughter.  

     "Come," Shampoo said.  "Family's house this way."
     
     She smiled.  "My home."
          
**********     
     
     He watched the confrontation in the village from far away,
watched the crowd disperse into the streets and houses of the
Joketsuzoku's village.

     He dug his fingers into the stone of the mountain crag he
stood near as easily as if it were made of water.  Even after so
long a time, his hatred had not died.  

     He hated the Phoenix Tribe, isolated in their mountain, 
their king dead now.  He hated the pitiful, fallen people who the
Musk Dynasty were the last remnant of, their noble bloodline long
corrupted and diluted.  He hated Jusenkyou, and everything that 
lay within her confines, all her peoples, all that she protected.

     But nothing, nothing compared to how much he hated the
Joketsuzoku.  There were no words to describe the depths of his
hatred, no way to render it into terms that any other being might
understand.

     His hate was a flame, burning down through all the centuries
since his rebirth, consuming all in its path.  Cities had fallen,
and he had hated them.  Life after life he had given to the Dark,
and he had hated them.  Empires rose from dust and returned to 
dust, and still his hatred had been fresh and new as ever.

     Oh, how he despised them.  He could live till the end of
time, till the last star burned out in its cradle, till the last 
world fell to howling dust blown on the winds of the void, and 
never would he hate anything so much as he hated the Joketsuzoku, 
for their memory was the memory of the treachery that had been
done to him.

     And because he hated them more any other thing upon the
earth, he would use them as his weapon, as his tool.  He would
make them the engine of their own destruction, seal their doom 
with their own hands.

     "You shall pay," he said softly, in his true voice, older
than the fall of Rome, a voice that had spoken before Shanghai 
and Tokyo were even rude villages by the water.  It was a voice 
raw with hate, like a blade scraped time and time again upon the 
whetstone, until all that remains is the edge, so sharp and fine
that even a mere touch draws blood.  "Oh, do not think that you 
shall not pay."

     And then he took the flame of his hate, and buried it, 
layer upon layer of ice piled atop, cold calculation underlain by
rage.  Fire would consume at last itself, but ice would last
until the end of time.  

     He knew enough of hate to know that for destruction, ice 
would do as well as fire.  With that, he shrugged his shoulders,
put on another face like other men might don another set of
clothes, and went walking down towards the huddled village that 
lay below, smoke rising placidly from the chimneys of the houses, 
spiralling into the air like twining wreaths.  
    
     He smiled as he approached, his blue eyes cold and flat as a
snake's.  They would learn the price of betrayal, all of them, 
amidst the ruins of all that they held dear.  They would fall, he
would drag them down into the darkness, and with their fall, the
fall of Jusenkyou, and he would fulfil both his lord's desires
and his own, after so long a time denied.

     Fourteen centuries had passed since his last failure.  This 
time, he would not fail.  There could be no more chances; not for 
him.  

     He would have his victory this time.  The Dark would consume 
Jusenkyou, until all that remained were memories, and, in time 
those, too, would pass away.

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