The peasant girl watched the Winged One disappear with her own eyes, but she was not too surprised. The creature was something she had never seen before, so she thought it must come from outside the world, such as the void where the iron ship floated as the old man once mentioned. But she had other doubts in her heart, because the wing-headed man looked completely different from the old man. Was that the old man who had transformed into his own body? His true appearance is also similar to that of the Winged One?
she asked bluntly. The old man shook his head after hearing this.
"Weigaden comes from another country." He said, "To go to his hometown in a fire-breathing iron ship, you have to walk for thousands of years. But if you look at it from the entire void, your two countries are far apart. Very close. It was once a Holy Spirit, like your gods, but a little different. You see, each of the gods your father created was unique and had their own place. But in Vigaden's Home, there are as many spirits like it as there are trees in the forest. They form legions, serving only their Creator.”
Another king, the peasant girl thought. She also asked the old man to tell him about the king, because Wigaden was different from the characters in other stories, but she had seen it with her own eyes. She thought that the king of the Winged Ones was also a Winged One. But it turned out not to be.
The old man described to her the past situation of that country: one being ruled the entire world. It is as supreme as a king, but it cannot be called a king because it thinks that it is higher than this title. It should be called "Eternal Father" or "Supreme Lord". It rules no actual territory, but is the supreme owner of everything. Mortals there don't really own anything, everything is just a temporary reward, including their own bodies and souls.
This statement is also difficult for peasant women to understand. She knew that the gods had a lot in the past, but it was all paid tribute by mortals to make them feel happy and satisfied. The gods also have their own power, and they can create all kinds of things from ashes, which mortals may not be able to see in their lifetime. But no matter how much we ask for, mortals always still have something that belongs to them. No matter how poor the people are, they can always peel off the bark of trees or pick up some wild vegetables. How can the king snatch these from them? The gods can neither drink nor eat. They enjoy tributes just for pleasure. There are also gods who eat things that mortals do not understand. For example, Endon often drinks from the hot spring - but no god wants everything. They always like it. of and dislike.
The old man is smiling again. "The point is everything," the old man said. "It's not about likes or dislikes. You imagine a father looking at his child. Maybe he particularly likes the child's facial features, but not the color of his hair. But no matter what, the child is His will never let the child's hair be free just because he doesn't like it. He can ask the child to shave his hair or change the color with dye. Because everything belongs to the father, he has the right to dispose of it. What you like and what you don’t like. Your father is a king who doesn’t like to think too much. He only cares about his own happiness, and then puts the things he doesn’t like far away. But the former owner of Wigden, ah, He was a ruler who pursued perfection. Everything had to operate in the most perfect way in his mind, without any deviation. He created many observers like Wigaden to supervise and manage the world he dominated. He specified in detail what kind of rules everything should follow and how to treat its similar and different species. If he found that a species did not suit his wishes and it was difficult to make complete changes, he would order the observers to change it. Completely erase the species and then start from scratch. Another difference between him and your father is that he never enjoys pleasure - in fact, he has no material pleasures, no hot and cold, no hunger and thirst, no sour, sweet and fragrant, he can feel What he got was coordination and chaos, so his pursuit in this area reached its peak. The observers he created had this part of his characteristics: they were not interested in the singing of birds and the fragrance of flowers or exquisite art. They only focused on whether life runs according to established rules. . I'd love to tell you about those rules, kid, because they make sense and are ridiculous at the same time, but there are so many of them that it would take five days and five nights to explain them all. If you are unfortunate enough to break one of them. , the observers will punish you, making your whole body bleed with ulcers, and you will feel as painful as being in hellfire while living in this world."
The peasant girl had no feeling of fear. Her body and mind were made by the king out of mist and wind. Sometimes her body was destroyed in battles, and she did not understand what pain was. She just felt that the owner of the Winghead was very unreasonable. Why are there so many requirements and so strict requirements? The desires of earthly life are all innate, and it sounds unbelievable to require them to act according to the rules in everything. Even if they are barbarians who worship evil beasts, the gods do not go out of their way to exterminate them, but instead allow them to self-exile and consume themselves.
"That is also a way." The old man said, "Do you still remember the man with the machete? Life like them, if not restrained by a strong law, will only make themselves and others suffer. You It can also be said that it is the fault of the environment, but this changeability is what makes them mediocre. The previous owner of Wei Geden was very dissatisfied with this. He wanted to polish a more solid and noble temperament, and also wanted to More flexible and richer than the observers. But it is not as easy as carving out a solid stone. He can be said to have the same love for his children and works for his creations - of course, if the works cannot show his mastery, he will He would rather tear it down and start over again. And so he kept on tearing it down and starting over again, until the fire of hell brought his own doom.”
The old man still seemed very easy-going when he said these words. He seemed to have neither appreciation nor disgust, and simply described what he saw in an understatement. He held the peasant girl's hand and wandered in the night forest again. The snow was already very thick at this time, and flakes of snow from the treetops fell on the peasant girl’s forehead. She touched it in her hands, thinking that the cold was also one of the vanguards of the Hellfire. That means that the heat inherent in the world itself has been taken away by the hellfire.
The old man told her another strange thing. He said that snowflakes are very delicate, but this delicateness is very small, like the "invisible little things" they once encountered on the fog trail. The old man used branches to draw on the snow, drawing various symmetrical and complicated patterns. He said that was what the pile of snowflakes looked like in the peasant girl's hands. Those patterns looked beautiful but fragile, and the peasant girl could only hold the snow flakes carefully to avoid crushing them all. She thought of the tops of the willow trees covered with snow, and of her dream of wandering through the mist paths.
She finally remembered what she wanted to ask the old man, and her mood suddenly dropped. The old man noticed it immediately. He put away the branches that he had drawn on the snow and asked the peasant girl why. So the peasant girl mentioned the mist trail again. She didn't care where the end and entrance of the mist trail was, she just wanted to know whether the shadow that fell there could return to the world.
The old man was silent. He had never had such a long silence, so that the peasant girl unconsciously became afraid. Finally, the old man put his hand on her hair and stroked it slowly and gently.
"Let's go to a more appropriate place to talk about this," he said softly.
They walked to the foggy place again and walked forward for a long time before the old man started to speak. But he did not say whether the king's dream could be recovered, but talked about the priestess of Nabibai. Tell her what hobbies she has in life, how smart and brave she is. She once faced off against a much taller robber and used clever tricks to trick him into taking away his weapons.
She personally pressed the robber to the statue of Ye'e with a knife, and said "kneel down", and the robber fell to his knees in fright. But after all, she has never killed anyone, and she is naturally kind-hearted. She wanted to make the robber change his ways and make him swear to the statue of Ye'e, but the robber broke his promise. At this time, a hunter happened to pass by. He took his bow and shot the robber to death, and then rescued the priestess.
The Orion lived far away and was therefore unknown to the priestess, but he had become familiar with him ever since. They often interacted with each other and finally developed a good impression of each other. The priestess was sworn to follow Jehovah and would never marry a mortal. However, Nabibai is a place with open customs, so they often meet privately. The priestess managed this matter very carefully and used many methods to avoid conception. She hesitated, but ultimately decided to abide by her oath and completely sever contact with Orion.
Orion was very sad, and before parting with the priestess, he made one last request, hoping that the priestess would predict the outcome of his fate for him. The priestess agreed to his request and brought the prepared concoction, incense tablets and cigarette tray. She drank the concoction, prayed sincerely to Ye'e, and then saw Orion's fate from the smoke. This was her innate talent, which she had used for many important people, but when she saw Orion's fate, the result shocked and broke her heart. As a priestess, she still told the other party the result completely truthfully: Orion will have a great heir in the future, a hero who will achieve unprecedented achievements. That glory will make Orion's family famous in the world, but he himself has no hope of seeing it. Until that day. He will perish in the hellfire like all others and be covered with new sprouts.
Her prophecy was conveyed to Orion exactly as it was. The old lover stood in despair outside the temple of Ye'e for a long time. Three times in a row he asked to see the priestess, but was always refused. He had no choice but to leave in frustration, and never saw the priestess again - that night there was a terrible earthquake in Nabibai, and the temple of Ye'e completely collapsed, and all the priests were not spared. From then on, Orion left his hometown and never returned to Nabibai. Many years later, his child was born, and he became a hero that no one before him had imagined.
"This is the ending of the priestess," the old man said. "I once wanted to try to find her lost dreams on this road, but in the end nothing was left. This is uncommon, but it happens occasionally."
The peasant girl was completely confused. She didn't know how this story related to her problem. Many heroes have been born in the world, some of which can even make the gods marvel and praise them. But those heroes are all dead, and they are of no help in regaining the king's dream. She repeated her question again.
But the old man still didn't answer directly. He then spoke of the Creator of the Winged Heads, the ruler who laid down many rules in detail. He said that the ruler also encountered hellfire in the end, but the old man happened to be there at the time, and he happened to have a way to save the world. To achieve all of this, there is only one prerequisite, and that is that the world of the Creator can no longer be ruled by him. The old rules can remain, but the status of "having it all" will eventually disappear.
Are you going to take away his world? asked the peasant girl. She didn't have any fear or doubt when she asked this question, because she trusted the old man very much.
"That's just a small sacrifice," said the old man. "Nothing survives Hellfire unchanged, and you and your father know that. But the Creator is unwilling to accept any change - and I need to point out that and mortals The greed of others is different. He does not waver for any existing interests, but the perfection he pursues in his heart cannot tolerate any stain. If external forces want him to change, he would rather let everything be destroyed forever and return to nothing. The old days that are gone do not allow the unknown new life to replace him. Ah, he did indeed do this, tearing down the world he created. Since everything was created by him, I think he also has the right to veto everything - including The lives of His creatures. At the end of Hellfire, the Creator gained eternal dominion in the dream of death and no longer had to worry about change. I did nothing about it except to try to retain what He once was. Legion Commander, you have already met Wigaden. In fact, I prefer young people who are full of energy, but Wigaden is a very careful and thoughtful helper. You will understand me if you see the meticulous look on his face when working. mean."
The peasant girl was trembling when he finished speaking. A violent storm arose in her heart, and her thoughts were more confused than foggy clouds, but she did not try to sort them out. A third time she repeated the same question. The old man looked at her calmly, as if he was finally ready to give an answer this time.
"There is a throne in the black palace of the Usurper King," he said as he spoke. "Most of the time the Usurper King sleeps at the bottom of the pool, but at certain midnights, his courtiers will come to see him. Then he will Sitting on the throne with a dead body, participating in the discussions of his ministers. I have never seen the throne as it looks now, but I heard that it was once smashed and then rebuilt with gems filled with residual dreams. Under the throne The steps are said to have been untouched, so I know what they look like: they are made of seven-color crystals pounded into powder and the ashes of tricksters. Before the new king usurped the throne, one of the greatest witches used silver The strings were filled with protective spells on both sides of the steps. From then on, no one could make a crack in the steps of the throne, except the witch's third child, who had a magic power that could rival her. He once played under the steps of the throne, using The dagger given to him by his mother had a line of words carved on it. That line of writing must still be on the steps to this day. I wonder if the usurping king has seen it. That line of writing, if used in your language, means this - "
His voice stopped suddenly, and even his steps stopped moving forward. The peasant girl turned to look at him and saw that he seemed to be listening to something. By this time they had gone far, far away in the foggy path, and she wondered what kind of things the old man could hear. She waited for a while and finally asked.
"A voice I never thought of," the old man said, "a possibility. There are many possible answers, but since it's here, we should go take a look."
He held the peasant girl's hand and walked forward for a long, long time. That time was so long that it was immeasurable, as if a mortal life had passed. The peasant girl didn't find it boring. The underground life made her very patient. On the way, the old man also pointed out many interesting shadows and taught the peasant girl how to listen to the shadows. He said that the voice of the shadow that everyone hears is different, because it is not actually the shadow that is talking, but the soul that sees the shadow. They walked farther and farther, and the peasant girl felt that she might soon get out of the boundless hellfire and go into the void where the iron ship floated.
But she didn't see the iron ship in the end. At the end of her journey with the old man, she sees a red child.
The strange child stood alone on a high fog cloud. He was wearing an alien costume that the peasant girl had never seen before, and his hair was long and spread down his back. At first she thought it was just like her, a dark-haired girl in a red dress. But as they got closer, she could see it was just a pretty boy. He is not a shadow, his appearance and expression are clear, but his expression is as hazy and gloomy as the shadow.
"Ah, sure enough," said the old man, "he came here. I don't think he did it deliberately, it was just an unintentional fugue. People occasionally fall into strange places in their dreams. You see, he can't see us, because He’s thinking about his own thoughts.”
The boy on the foggy cloud stared down, his spacious sleeves fluttering, like a man standing on a cliff overlooking the sea. His gaze penetrated the peasant girl and the old man without any reaction. The peasant girl and the old man also looked at him. In the shadow mist, the peasant girl felt that the boy exuded a terrible color. red. Overflowing boiling red. More thrilling than all the flowers, all the blood, all the fire, the lips of children and the reflection of hellfire. That's the red of the giant worm that devours the world! She immediately understood that this child was no ordinary person, because the red color did not come from the clothes, but reflected in her heart.
"Another orphan." The old man said, "Fate has given you some similar arrangements. I think you will get to know each other sooner or later - but you don't have to be busy for a while. When your father's affairs are over, I will also go to visit on that tide. I prefer talking to children than to elders. The way children think is always closer to the essence."
He took out the wooden flute again and played a tune. The melody style of the song was very strange, something the peasant girl had never heard before. It is like a thin smoke disturbed by birds, vaguely taking on the shape of emotion, and then dissipating in the water in a blink of an eye. When the song reached the middle part, the boy on the foggy cloud suddenly fell down. He turned and looked around in the clouds and mist, his hair and jade stones on his belt jingled, but his eyes were empty and unfocused. He seemed not to be able to see the two visitors in front of him, but only heard the echo of a little music. He slowly stretched out his hand in the direction of the old man.
The peasant girl was very close to him and saw light surging in his black eyes, but it was not a source or an ice ocean, but a gloomy and endless flame. Suddenly the boy retracted his arm and walked away without looking back. The old man was still playing, but the boy just turned away and never looked back. When the boy was about to disappear into the mist, the old man put down his wooden flute.
The peasant girl saw a smile on his face and whispered an ancient short poem:
"The hand of fate, the hand of long-cherished wishes,
The fire stretched out the tender hands of a child,
Take it by the throat of the one who restored the country. "
The red child disappeared behind the mist. The old man took back that smile. He knelt down and looked at the peasant girl face to face.
"I wanted to give you the answer later." He said, "Child, dreaming is a rare ability. In dreams, mortal children are equal to you. The more things you want to understand, here The harder it is to go further. Your dream should have lasted longer, but now you have begun to ask questions. I see your pain, but there is nothing I can do about it. The tragedy of the sublime is that you cannot change, in that perfect self It cannot self-destruct. You see, those crushed gems are more difficult to add to the cycle than fallen leaves, but in fact they are also broken to the point of being worthless. You can only use force to remelt them. This process goes over and over again... You still have You don't fully understand what I mean, because you haven't seen the same thing as many times as I have. There are many people in this world who are looking for a perfect gem, a gem that will never break, but the great witch's first one long ago Three of the heirs, a child with great magical powers, had figured it out. He carved his own thoughts with his dagger on the steps of the throne."
There was a deep ocean in the old man's eyes. His sadness was so intense that in the end it no longer looked like sadness, but became a slight teasing attached to his smile.
"Nothing is immortal." He said softly like the breeze. "The creator of Vigarden chose eternal and stable death, and the Orion who murdered the priestess was your father in disguise."
