That is a question that no one living on earth, including Zha, can answer. No one knows why he was captured - to be killed, but not where he was. Even by the latest and most stringent standards, he never kept anything that collectors wanted.
The collectors never took away a living person. A normal, living person would die within a few minutes after being hoisted into the chariot. If the chains were fastened to the hands and feet, they would be torn off in a short time during rapid flight, so the hanging strings at the bottom of the chariot were tied around the body. It needs to be tied tightly around the waist and chest several times to prevent the body from being torn apart immediately during flight.
They did not hang him further under the chariot, for that would have killed him in a few strokes. While feeling dizzy, Zha thought of his family, but didn't know what exactly happened.
His arms and legs were broken, and if he could still gesture, the collectors ignored him. They poked a needle into his arm, and the liquid in the tube penetrated into his body. The pain subsided and was replaced by drowsiness and numbness. Then he was put into a narrow box. Most of the time he was unconscious or heard some rumble coming from inside the tank. Inside the chariot or inside his own skull, he couldn't say.
Only on those rare occasions when he was half awake did he know that the box had been opened. They squeezed fluid into him with a needle so he could see a little more clearly, and then began to communicate with him. Under the influence of syringes and injections, Zha felt that his thoughts were covered with thick ice floes. He was suffocated underwater and accepted all inquiries in a daze. His mind was dulled and he could not well understand the collectors' intentions. The questions seemed meaningless to him: Have you seen anyone suspicious in the past? Do you remember something strange? Are you dissatisfied with the collector?
At first Zha could only make sounds, using some syllables to express recognition or denial. After he confirmed that he had seen something strange, the collectors gave him a pair of prosthetic hands - they were not hands at all, but two iron frames with movable branches. Zha watched with horror as they were connected to the ends of his bleeding limbs. He felt no pain, no heat or cold or any touch on his "hands". Only when the collector is willing to let him do this, those two "hands" seem to suddenly come to life and can make gestures according to his wishes.
They asked him to describe it. Describe a moment many years ago when Krishna became angry. And what he, his family, everyone he knew was doing at that time. Zha told them everything truthfully. Ever since he witnessed the exquisite movements of those "iron hands", the thought of lying has never entered his mind.
The answer may have been satisfactory to the collectors, but not so satisfactory that they were willing to release him. Zha was soon put into the sealed box again, waiting for his fate in the dark. He should have fallen asleep due to exhaustion, but the rare absolute darkness prompted him to wake up.
He was dead. This is clear. But now he still wants to know how his family is doing. His children, wife, and his sister's family far away in the highlands went to his sister in the middle of the river. On the day the Collectors walked through his door, he didn't get a chance to see anyone. He was almost unconscious.
Maybe he has no family anymore. Just like the collectors who occasionally hang whole families under their chariots. If he had chanced to glance under the car, he would have seen the mutilated, blackened remains of the people he once loved, assuming he could still recognize them. In certain years and in certain people's memories, collectors always behave this way.
In other years, however, the collectors seemed more charitable. They killed only the husband and wife, or spared the one who had the occupation of a miner. Children, especially girls, are always left alone. Zha never considered why they changed strategies from time to time, but the man who was sprinkled all over the river and his family were still alive. Maybe they're having a merciful year. There are no foolproof rules on earth, it all depends on the weather.
He finally fell asleep in that small cage. In the dream, he was blowing vacuum tubes in his workshop. The winding shaft pulls out endless wires. The heating furnace left him soaked and breathless. Year after year, I don’t know what the meaning is. Yes, of course it makes sense, he supplies the carvers with extra acoustic tubes and then goes to the greenhouse owner to get food. Everything was agreed upon in advance. In this way they live. Continue to offer sacrifices to Krishna. Keep living. It is a sacrifice to live. It is to live for sacrifice.
His hand hurt so much. Even though he had no hands and was asleep, it seemed as if there were still a pair of hands that were slowly dying, causing him to moan like a babble. The collectors watched him like ghosts in the corners of the box. He didn't know the reason, but he didn't need a reason to be afraid. They come from Krishna, and Krishna is one with them. Let Krishna be victorious, let Krishna be angry. There are no more sacrifices.
In the confusion of pain and chaos, time was spinning rapidly like an axis. When Zha left the box with clear thoughts again, he found that he was taken to a completely unfamiliar place. A rotunda wider than any other room, the color and texture of the metal were unfamiliar. The collectors dragged him along and discussed with gestures whom they should take him to.
Zha couldn't understand who they were referring to. It was a gesture he had never encountered before. He thought that it might be the leader of the collectors, and then he became frightened by this idea - if there really was a leader, why would he need to see him? No one has ever encountered anything like this.
The collectors dragged him forward. The corridor was a strange arc-shaped structure, curving inward little by little, its walls covered with soft, low, unfamiliar plants that lit up as they walked in, and sprayed out bursts of shimmering colored mist. When Zha smelled the tasteless fog, he felt that his fear gradually faded away, as if his iron hand was as dull as his.
Halfway through, another man joined them from a fork in the road. He walked beside the collector dragging Zha without causing any commotion. The collectors neither looked at him nor spoke to him, but just walked forward with him in tacit understanding. Zha had become confused in the colorful mist, but when he glanced at the man, his surprise made him wake up slightly.
This is a man without a metal skeleton, but he is also a freak who does not belong on the earth. His skin is fleshy and smooth, unnaturally delicate, and his face is very small, so his facial features are oddly constricted, his eyes are too shallow, his lips are red and shiny, and his nose is also awkwardly shaped. These are not as eye-catching as his ears, because the man's outer ears are deformed, hanging pitifully on both sides of his head like two round algae leaves, almost completely covered by hanging black hair. Such pitifully small ears are a fatal disability. Zha has heard of such deformed babies and has never seen anyone survive to adulthood.
The freak smiled at him. Although Zha had never seen such a strange face in his life, he felt that there was an indescribable familiarity in the other person's expression. He stared at the freak in confusion until the Collectors took him into a room without Aya mist.
The rooms are exquisitely furnished. There are uniquely shaped light sources on six sides, forming some unrecognizable pictures. Rotating and shaking instruments were placed on both sides of the room, operating in an orderly and sensitive manner like living creatures. Sitting on a hemispherical floating chair in the center of the room was a man without a metal skeleton. He is normal, his ears are not deformed, and he is young and beautiful. But he was already dead, with a complete hole cut out of his chest, his eyes covered with white shadows, and a foul stench emitted.
Zha stared blankly at the dead man on the chair. But he was the only one in the room who seemed surprised. The man with deformed ears walked up and stood behind the dead body expressionlessly. When his black eyes looked over coldly, Zha felt that he was about to faint.
No one protested. The collectors faced the dead man and crossed their shoulders in respect. They gestured as if they were talking to the corpse, or to the person behind the corpse. Most of the words they used were incomprehensible. I only knew they were talking about a search. Search, arrest, and execute. They might want to execute him.
Sometimes the collectors paused and remained silent, as if waiting for a response from their audience. No reply at all. The dead man rotted quietly on the chair, and the freak stood behind him indifferently.
I see. said the collector, gesturing. He continued to gesture to the dead man, reporting the supplies collected this time and the number of people. The number of people was not as large as expected. Zha didn't understand what this meant.
The collector is again waiting for a reply. The dead and the freaks looked at him with terrible eyes. No one answered him at all.
Yes, let’s not do it for now - the collector gestured as if in reply.
Zha knew that maybe he was mentally disturbed. Because the Gatherers were more numerous and stronger than he was. Because he was still experiencing phantom pain in his non-existent hand. Even what he saw in his eyes was abnormal. Maybe this is the normal situation in the black sky. The black sky is full of ghosts, and the collectors are talking to the ghosts. What's unreasonable about this?
He didn't dare to look at the seat anymore, but stared intently at the collector's hand. He guessed from the movement of the hand what the leader's answer was. He only looks at the parts he can understand, and life is still a life he can understand.
But, suddenly, the Collectors let him go. They retreated from the room as if they had been ordered to do so, without anyone explaining to him or ordering him to follow them. Zha was still lying on the ground like a dead person. His foot was broken long ago and was not equipped with an iron brace.
He lowered his head and saw red cloth fluttering against the ground - the freak was wearing a very strange loose red cloth robe. This finally occurred to him. The red robe is also very strange, but not as scary as the face.
"Zha." He heard someone's voice. The voice was that of a young man. The man called out the pronunciation of his name, and he barely registered. When he raised his head, he saw the man with deformed ears observing him in front of him. The man's weird face and cold eyes made him breathless. He felt that the other person was not a human, but another animal, an animal that looked similar to humans and was also very smart.
That face, which might have been beautiful and endearing in another animal, would have been a hideous deformity in a human being. This monster in red robe. Zha gasped laboriously. He suddenly thought that this monster might be the leader. What about the dead man on the chair? Maybe that was a man being executed?
The monster in red robe captured him. He must now be very light from hunger and disability. He wanted to fight it, like a brave and mature man, but the hoarse roar that came from his throat turned into a wail.
The monster put him on a chair. The body that was originally sitting on the chair disappeared somewhere. It was indeed an execution platform. It stood in front of the chair and looked at him for a while, its long and dark eyebrows furrowed. Then its sleeve moved.
A piece of snow-white stuff fell out of its overly wide, crimson sleeves. When Zha saw it, a large beam of electricity passed through his head. The piece of white paper did not fall to the ground, but hung in mid-air as if it was supported by an invisible table. Then a series of sounds came from the doctor's mouth, but clear images appeared on the white paper.
That's not a painting. Zha had never seen such a clear and complex painting. It is like an electrical rubbing of the memory in my mind, accurately outlining the dark stone ditches and water channels in the highlands, and the lonely single house in the frost-covered field. Then there was a girl holding a bottle of insects, his sister. As a child, Zha stood outside the door and looked up.
The man in red stretched out his hand from his sleeve. He grabbed Zha's wrist connected to the iron bracket and looked at it, then smiled inexplicably and seemingly contemptuously. When he smiled, there was a sly look in those black eyes. Zha understood in great shock.
I can fix this. The man in red told him.
Zha broke free from his grasp. The other party did not embarrass him and gently let go of his hand. In a situation more incomprehensible than death, he summoned the other party with his clumsy, bleeding metal arm. He had called each other that since he was a child.
Physician. He typed the word convulsively.
Yes, it's me. the other party answered. We meet again. I'm doing the research I mentioned to you. Now I've come to a conclusion.
