His vision followed the violinist into the flower forest.
Although he had no ears at all, he heard the song played by vibranium. The voice of a young man who is both unfamiliar and familiar sings lonely in the depths of the flower forest.
Pushing aside the red and white flower branches, I saw a young man in red clothes in the empty valley.
He turned around under the flower tree and looked at the violinist who was walking into the forest. Like a wild bird encountering a natural enemy, he immediately raised his head, his expressionless face showing murderous intent.
"There's no need to be so angry, and don't look like your father." The violinist said, "I'm just helping people lead the way. Look, your good friend is here. I don't want to use what you should have." How about saying hello to him?"
He raised his left hand and put it in front of his face. Luo Binhan's eyes penetrated into the bottom of the dark hood, and then squeezed into two cold eye sockets.
Everything fits perfectly, as if this head and this body were his own from the very beginning.
Luo Binhan opened his eyes, put down his left hand covering his face, and saw Jing Huang, who was in his twenties, standing under the flower tree. The black hair is as long as crane feathers, and the wide sleeves are as red as blood. They are bright but illusory flowing in the field of vision.
There is no real feeling at all, just like a phantom light painting smeared in the air. As long as you reach out and touch it, that image will disappear from reality immediately.
He looked at Luo Binhan, the murderous look faded from his face, and he still stood empty in the forest like a fantasy painting. The black jade knife rotated above his head, like a dark crescent moon.
Luo Binhan stepped forward and reached out to pull the other party's sleeve. His fingertips touched the flowing crimson, and then passed through it as if inserted into flowing water.
He waved his hand and scratched the young man's face, but the result was the same. The palm passed directly through the opponent's head without causing any waves on the young man's face.
"You should see clearly before taking action."
His lips opened automatically, and words that had nothing to do with his personal wishes came out. Then his neck was pressed down by some external force, forcing his eyes to look at the young man's feet.
He wanted to resist this inexplicable commander, but found that except for his eyes, no function in his body was willing to obey his command. He could only use vision to maintain his awareness of his own existence.
Although the senses at his disposal were so limited, he saw what he said needed to be discovered.
There are densely packed transparent meridians extending from the roots of flower trees. Threads as thin and soft as the mother's sewing threads penetrated the ground one by one and were woven into the blood-red long sleeves. Their number was already uncountable.
Relying on these threads, the young man is like a silhouette standing up from the pop-up book, completely integrated with the ground. What “hangs” him up from the ground is the black and white silk thread hanging from the air.
One is black, the other is white, and what penetrates the young man's head is a spirally wound double-stranded jade thread. It is led high into the sky like a string that hangs a puppet, and its end cannot be seen clearly.
The ropes protruding from the void and the threads growing from the trees fixed the "image" from both ends of the sky and the earth. The more he recognized this fact, the clearer and more distinct the threads he could see became.
At this moment, he could no longer tell whether his understanding of real things was gradually deepening, or whether he was giving imaginary forms to nothingness. But the answer itself doesn't matter; the things that need to be implemented don't change.
To tear those threads apart. The mind thinks so, but the body does not act at all.
"You need to do it yourself."
His lips and tongue whispered words, and his hisses were as thin as the words of a snake.
"You have only your eyes to get here," the voice told him, "otherwise you can't go back. You should learn to use them to your advantage and do whatever you want."
"Not anything," his lips followed, "but enough when necessary."
“There is no moment that is not necessary.”
"Only now is it necessary."
Opposing words kept coming out of his mouth. It was almost as if his mouth was arguing with itself. However, no matter which side he is on, it has nothing to do with his own thoughts.
His eyes stared at the line in the sky, invisible tentacles extending out. He imagined turning the tangled threads of black and white into fragile crystals, but nothing happened.
That simply can't be done. He didn't understand how that "reordering" was implemented, and he didn't like the format at all.
It's too cumbersome, too elaborate, too bland. Keeping and rewriting the original appearance of things was boring to him just imagining it. Obviously it can be solved more simply, all he needs is——
cutting. tear. break down. Pure and joyful acts of destruction do not require the establishment of a new order at all. A cold death, a death as wet and quiet as rain, it is impossible to accept just thinking about it.
What they want is riot.
chaos. fanaticism. Madness. Any form of destruction will burn like fire. That would be so lively, that would be so fun, and that way there wouldn't be anything superfluous left.
After recognizing this, he suddenly understood. The reason why I took in the red-clothed alien in the first place was neither out of curiosity nor to repay the kindness of saving my life. On that night surrounded by the fire of the green stars, in the horror of almost being caught in the flames, he felt the reality of his life like never before.
It doesn't actually matter if you die. It doesn't matter if all the family members are killed. As long as he can touch the reality of life, no matter how dangerous it is, it is just what he wants. It doesn't matter what the rules are, whether it's rational knowledge, or what kind of boring boundaries there are. Looting, killing, and dying, as long as the form of life remains the same, it doesn't matter what nice or novel name it is given.
Being ignored by the world, he also ignored the world. Amidst the two-way rejection and contempt, he never felt any discomfort. The reason for extending an invitation to a strange boy is the same as a moth rushing to a flame.
It's just a fascination with "death" that consumes everything.
His eyes rolled, showing joy. Although only his eyes could move now, he felt unprecedentedly free, as if he had bitten open a gray chrysalis and fluttered his wings to fly towards the flames.
His line of sight was about to extend, but his left hand automatically raised to block the outside scene.
"Luo Binhan."
Words rang out from his mouth, a simple yet calm call.
He recognized the voice and felt both incredible and darkly ecstatic. He had known this, and he should have.
"You can only do this once." The voice said, "Don't open it again in the future."
That's not your decision, he thought to himself.
The left hand that was covering his sight was lowered, revealing the black and white jade thread floating in the air.
Seizing that momentary gap, invisible tentacles extend from the eyeballs. Just like a lizard spitting out its tongue, it attacks the flying insects floating in the air and tightly wraps up the seemingly invisible rope.
Burn it, he thought in his mind. Don't simply tear it off, you should follow this sky rope and burn it to the end.
His vision was distorted by his thoughts. He saw a dark light dancing on the rope. It was not a real flame, but it sharply agitated the strands of the jade thread.
The dim light climbed up along the sky rope. Before he had time to get excited, his body walked up against his will. "Body" stretched out his left hand and held the broken end of the rope tightly, blocking his sight. Guanglan burned the gloves, exposing the skin inside.
Unlike the dead right hand, the left hand looks complete and alive, with long and neat fingers and thin calluses on the sides and abdomen. It didn't seem like the traces left by playing the piano.
The left hand of the "body" disintegrated in the light, and he saw the skin on it peeling off, and then the muscles and meridians were torn, and the original shape was beyond recognition.
The bloody hand loosened the broken rope and stretched towards his eyes. Put your fingertips into your eye sockets, take off the sticky and hot balls inside, and gently throw them into the sky.
Luo Binhan felt his vision begin to spin again. Three scenes, the vortex of the sky, the bloody ground, and the flower trees, passed by in turn. In the chaos, he saw the young man in red fell down, while the violinist's body stood on the same spot, lifting the hood covering his face with his bloody hands.
He saw a very familiar face, vaguely a face of a friend from his hometown.
His vision began to fall, towards the earth where the blood was pouring down. In a state of extreme astonishment, he opened his eyes and sat up from the ground.
The green wilderness comes into view. The fragrant grass is endless and swaying gently in the wind.
"Luo Han!"
He heard someone calling him, not from his head, but from the wind to his ears. He turned around blankly and saw a tree-like girl kneeling next to him.
Her body is made of wood and roots, the dense green vine leaves are long hair that is as loose as a waterfall, and it is covered with sky-blue vine flowers. When she blinked, her eyes made of dewdrops shone in the morning sun.
"...Blue Magpie?"
Luo Binhan said hoarsely. His body was numb and sluggish, like a vegetative state that had just woken up. The image that appeared in front of him was so unfamiliar that it made him suspect that he had been sleeping for a hundred years.
The wooden girl cheered. The dew that gathered in her eyes flowed down her cheeks. Then she spread out her arms with sprouting branches and leaves, and gave Luo Binhan a hug full of morning rain moisture.
