In fact, he was watching it all.
From the first three targets ran onto the platform, one of them hid, the other two argued with each other, and then three more came. Here comes the new argument and persuasion.
Now, he can hear as well as see. In this small patch of miraculous land surrounded by Death Wish, he could learn everything that was going on. That might be because he was doing something—a state of "being" that was rare for him. Most of the time, he only has "about to do" and "done." When he wanted to finish throwing something away, it was as simple as blowing out a candle in one breath. This job simply cannot last very long.
But this one was long. In other words, he was doing it over and over again. He didn't know how many times he thought he had succeeded, but the red seeped out of nothingness again, like a bloody hole that couldn't be blocked. In the shadowy river, he could feel the blood-stained forest thing standing in the chaos looking at him, appearing and disappearing, disappearing and reappearing. A lingering illusion, but the flower of life is indeed blooming. A bait disguised as a bright butterfly was flying brightly in front of his eyes. He shot and threw over and over again, sure he had smashed it to pieces, but he couldn't make it go away. Over and over again, until the forest was filled with missed arrows and blades. They won't disappear until they complete their mission.
No one can break into this forest of swords and swords. It is his gaze, his vision, his desire. For so long he has been able to do anything against him—unless there was life that could escape his sight. That was by no means a direct confrontation, just a clever way to escape search.
But this time things are special. After many attempts he finally noticed. This time is extra special. Somehow this cunning butterfly managed to neutralize his work. He won't think about other things, other goals, other techniques. He has forgotten all of them long ago. The only thing he can do is to continue to throw the next throwing knife forever. What if this never works? The thought had never occurred to him. He will not be happy for success. Naturally, he will not feel angry or upset when he fails. He just kept implementing it.
A strange phenomenon is that when he keeps trying the same goal and constantly completing it, the chaos in his perception tends to calm down a little bit - that is not a "cure", and it is by no means a radical cure for the disease. But he was like a person who was born with twisted bones and was forcibly twisted. Before the force to correct him disappeared, it was very painful for him to walk and see the world like a "normal person". This is not a cure, this is not a recovery, quite the opposite - this is some kind of suppression, some kind of attempt to transform him into a different form. When he can realize this, it means that he may have been influenced by the other party.
But that's nothing. Apart from his sole job, nothing about himself mattered. He looked out with his reawakened senses, as completely objectively as a Cinerama recorder activated.
He observed the outside world like a panoramic video camera, observing the phantom of blood and the only remaining island. A realm not yet invaded by death's arrows. He did not leave this island intentionally - all life that appeared here should be terminated. He did not care to slightly change the order of disappearance, but something limited it. A streak of colored light, or a curtain of flowing fog, separated the island from the center of the sword forest. When he wanted to focus on someone on the isolated island, the image of the other person disintegrated in the rippling neon light and turned into blurry spots of light.
That's a kind of protection. He soon understood. A curtain blocked his view. A wish to escape death. It was not sight or air that it cut off, but something like his sight that brought death.
But that can be broken. He can feel it. That curtain did not confuse him like the blood-red butterflies fluttering in the deep forest. It was just some solid desire, and if he searched very hard, he could always find a way to see the life behind the curtain. He didn't do that, because the other way was obviously simpler and more in line with his simple pursuit: kill the holder of this wish.
He is doing it. He is doing it. again and again. The flower of life extinguishes here and blooms there. The work was endless, so he never had to rush. He can never really get the job done unless...
The dispute on the isolated island is over. He heard the last words spoken by the man standing under the golden bell. The content of the words is irrelevant. He could understand that language, he knew that it was within the range of what he had known during his lifetime. But to him, it was no different from the sound of wind or water. That is the noise produced by life in its operation. It does not matter whether you listen to it or not. He also saw bright and dazzling silver light, as light and pure as feathers; a fluffy little shadow cunningly hidden in the optical illusion. Its steps and eyes made him feel familiar.
The last shadow with horns attracted his attention the most. The shadow itself was nothing surprising, but there were two special things hanging on her waist. One thing he was very familiar with, the other was very bright and dazzling.
what is that? He wanted to identify it more clearly. But he couldn't look too intently. The curtain hindered him, so he could only vaguely realize that the thing was very small, with dots of vermilion connected together, like flowers blooming on a cane. But those vermilion and cold flowers also exude the warm breath of life, the breath of blessing and protection, coiled around the waist of the long-horned shadow. Its scent was so similar to the person he was killing that he wanted to destroy it too, turning every bright red petal into a withered gray-black.
The man with the horns walked under the golden bell. The person who was standing under the golden bell gave way to her. To be more precise, he seemed to be inviting her to come under the golden bell. He gave the absolutely central position to the person with horns and asked her to make a wish.
Please tell me the wish you just made. The abdicater indeed demanded so. The others looked surprised. Even the blood-red butterfly fluttering in the forest seemed to be attracted. But he didn't stop. He just heard the words but did not think about the meaning of these words. He stared deeply again, bringing tranquility to the surging life.
The red butterfly sank and seemed to disappear transparently, but then took off again. The man with horns asked: Me?
--Yes. It has to be you.
--Why? I'm not good at wish machine language.
-Your wish must be fulfilled. This is an important prerequisite.
The man with the horns walked under the golden bell. She hesitated, but saw no harm in her wish. So she stretched out her hand towards Jin Ling. Red butterflies float in the forest.
The cunning, fluffy shadow suddenly moved and sneaked towards the central area. Its sharp claws protrude from its furry forepaws, and its fangs poke out from the sides of its soft cheeks. Its hunting posture reminded him of the prey that must be killed.
I make a wish. said the man with the horns. She paused, as if thinking. I made a wish to the person who gave me the Silence—
The hunter lunged fiercely at her with his claws.
