The charred, skinny, severely deformed hand moved in the wind. Burns, or corrosion by certain chemicals, make it difficult to see its original appearance. It was no longer possible to distinguish skin and muscle from this horrific mutilation. It was just five thin charcoal sticks inserted into a flat piece of coal. If anyone touches it lightly, this weird and tragic thing will probably fall into black dust and shatter into pieces.
However, what is incomprehensible is that the scorched bone-shaped palm is still connected to the fleshy arm and wrist. The boundary between the two is clear and is completely hidden by bandages and gloves. When the owner gently turns his wrist, the five withered dead fingers are also bending and stretching flexibly, directing the breeze lingering between the fingers. The dark black color of the wreckage seemed to be polluting the air. The clouds suddenly covered the green field, and the light on the top of the hill became darker.
Zhaniya clenched her right hand hard. "Is that why you're wearing gloves?" she asked, staring at his hands. "What is this?"
The man on the top of the hill wore that contemptuous and malicious smile. This smile was now familiar to Jania. She was able to distinguish between the man in front of her and the friend in her brother's eyes - the man she once called "Mr. Glove." But she didn't understand exactly how this difference was caused. Is it a clever disguise? Split personality? In any case, the person speaking to her was the man who killed Lot, and even the man who had briefly looked at her in that mirror room.
He spoke. The voice was very soft, but the wind carried every word clearly to Zhaniya’s ears: “This was originally your brother’s hand.”
"What?"
"Your brother's price." The person on the top of the hill whispered like a chant, "Two years ago, he should have lost at least one hand."
"This hand doesn't grow on him."
"Someone paid for him," he replied with joy.
Jania didn't know if this was a lie to her. She stared at the hand, and seven or eight completely different thoughts came to her mind, and then she thought of something Lot said last night.
"A fatal blow to the abdomen," she murmured. "Back from the dead."
Her eyes moved down, from her left hand to the foreigner's belly. The dark double-breasted coat tightly blocked all evidence, but she did see it last night. She was sitting on the sofa in the living room and saw with her own eyes what happened in the kitchen: the murderer followed the victim to the deepest part of the kitchen, and then The victim was supposed to get the water glass, but suddenly turned around and came face to face with the murderer. They may have said something, or they may have just looked at each other, and then the murderer suddenly picked up the knife and plunged it fiercely into the victim's abdomen. No one knew what made Lot suddenly attack, but the whole process was so clear that Jania even remembered her mother's scream at that moment.
But even her mother later admitted that she was wrong. At that time, she firmly believed that Lot's cruel knife could pierce a person's stomach, but later she found out that it was just a small flesh wound. The medical student almost treated the wound by himself, and even took the initiative to go out to the community hospital for examination. No living person can be so alive with a penetrating abdominal injury - but is that injury real? Or was that really a living person?
"About this question," the person on the top of the hill took the initiative to answer, as if Zhannia had already opened her mouth to ask, "You may have heard that two mirrors should not be placed opposite each other, as that will open the door to infinity."
I've never heard of such nonsense. Jania retorted in her mind. Moreover, at least in a world of physical arithmetic, even two parallel mirrors cannot reflect indefinitely. She was not an expert in the field, but at least she knew that light dissipated, and there were no such perfect mirrors in the world.
She deliberately kept these words from her mouth. And just as she guessed, the people on the top of the hill could still hear her voice. He placed his still gloved right hand on his abdomen. Jania couldn't help but wonder what the hidden hand looked like.
"Rituals are just a limited imitation of an ideal situation." He said slowly and softly, "And I have always been very tolerant of the focus. As for that room with a mirror..."
He moved his right hand across his abdomen. "He could have killed your brother in that moment, at least, after enough time."
Jania took two rapid breaths. She felt that the air was getting hot and humid. An unexpected rainstorm is coming soon.
"You?" she asked hesitantly, "Did you save him at that time?"
"I just agreed to the exchange."
Jania could not quite understand the meaning of this sentence. Then the man at the top of the mound pressed his right hand back to the center of his abdomen. He was so contented in the turbulent storm, so happy that he felt ready to dance at any time.
"This wound must exist." He smiled, almost singing, "But - on whom? For what reason? In what place? As long as one life is exchanged for another, only one person needs to sleep in the tomb. "
He burst out laughing. The volume was not high, but the strong wind swept across the fields like a pack of dogs that heard the whistle, knocking down every piece of crumbling grass. Zhaniya, who was unsteady on her feet, almost fell down, but she gritted her teeth and maintained her balance. Lower your body, press your center of gravity forward, then overcome your emotions and throw your anger back.
"You are not him." She tried to grasp some facts, "You and... my brother's friend are not the same person."
The foreigner tilted his head to one side in boredom. It didn't bother to answer her questions, which could also be considered an acquiescence. She began to piece together the fragments of facts in her mind: the first time she saw "Mr. Gloves", Lot's arrival and death, and the thing in front of her... How could all of this make sense? If what she witnessed with her own eyes was true, and what her brother believed in was also true. There must be a reasonable explanation between these two dead ends that block each other.
"Possession." She said the word in the smallest volume, as if she felt disgraceful about it. This shouldn't be a word that a qualified detective could say, but she found that once she accepted this damn answer and accepted that there were things beyond reason in this world, the rest became smoother.
"Did he call you," she said, trying to piece together the next piece, "because he knew Lot would come, or because you told him Lot would come? He came here because..."
She paused. "My brother." But the answer wasn't clear enough. "He summoned you to save my brother."
The shape of the answer now seemed to fit more closely with the fragments of facts she knew. Although the person on the top of the hill didn't say a word, Zhaniya firmly believed that she was getting closer to the correct answer. This makes sense. This might even explain Lot’s unexpected attack in the kitchen—it wasn’t the murderer who needed the attack, but the victim. She once thought that it was all a disguise, a pretense to avoid suspicion, but what if it wasn't? What if Lot wasn't just bragging, but actually punched a hole in her brother's stomach, but the wound disappeared for no reason? Transferred? Appeared in another person?
She immediately thought of stomachaches. It was only natural for someone with a stomachache to clutch their stomach, and Lot's attack provided a reason for the wound to appear. But, how can it be done? There should be a lot of bloodshed——
"Bandage." The person on the top of the hill reminded him with a smile.
"It will still be very painful." Zhannia said bluntly, "It hurts so much that people can't even stand up."
"For those who still feel pain, this is true."
Jania stared at the other person, trying to figure out what this sentence meant. Regardless, she now admitted that she might have had a bit of a preconception about Mr. Gloves. If she really lost her brother last night, who cares if Lot's death was ugly? She herself would have wanted to smash Lot's head into pieces. Now, if someone bore the unknown pain for her brother, she owed that person a huge favor - but when she saw the drunken and confused madness emerging on that pale face at this moment, Jania really Couldn't be more grateful to its owner. Can she trust him? Can you trust what is coming into this body right now?
"Why not?" The person on the top of the hill asked softly, "I am your only chance. Without my permission, you are destined to leave early."
"I do not understand what you are saying."
"About the achievements you will achieve." The foreigner smiled and put his finger to his lips again, as if he wanted to reveal a shocking secret, "Find a way to survive in the maze of the future, endless roads, endless dead people. But you... I will allow you to go a little further, to the limit of your luck, within the boundaries of all the potential history of this land, I will allow you to find the way out, for the sake of the past. The person you saved from certain death.”
If this wasn't completely crazy, Jania thought, then it might just be a deliberate attempt to mess with her brain. After possessing a medical student, this thing might now want to use her as a container. She had no choice but to think hard about how situations like this were handled in movies and movies: not being able to name oneself, not being able to make and accept invitations, not being able to make eye contact... all useless ideas. These people have already come to live in her house!
"What do you want?" She finally had to ask bluntly, "Can you leave this body and set its owner free?"
"It is not recommended that you have such a wish."
"That's what I thought." Jania asked a little provocatively, "So what?"
"Then your brother's life will be worse than death."
Jania's expression changed. She first thought it was a threat, and the other party undoubtedly could do it. But what is this for? Just to occupy a mortal body? What's so special about her brother's friend's body?
"Don't think so bad," said the foreigner, "all I ask for is the most ordinary seat in the world."
"By taking someone else's?"
"What do you think life is about?" the other person asked softly. "When you eat every piece of meat, every piece of vegetables, and when you clear out the hornet's nest and termites from your own house, you think you have never occupied someone else's place. ?"
Jania was speechless. It's not that she can't argue. About different life forms, different ecological positions, the special status and transcendent intelligence of the human species on this planet, and the differences in moral standards based on the same kind and the different kind - even if she values animals Protecting the hometown, the punishment for killing a dog can never be compared with killing a person-these are all clichés, and you can see people arguing over and over again before every election. But before Jania could lay out these clichés, she was already aware of the response she would receive. If she wants to question the other party based on the moral standards of cannibalism and self-interest at the expense of others, she has to solve a more basic problem first.
"Who are you?" she asked. Then she changed her words, "What are you?"
The foreigner clasped his hands on his chest, tilted his head to one side, then bowed slightly and made a salute that was completely unfamiliar to Jania.
"In the stories you tell," he introduced himself, "I am the one who denies everything. I am the man of Glarus and the man of Salem. I am the man of Broken who sits on the top of the mountain."
A drop of drizzle fell on Zhaniya's forehead, and flowed along her brow bone into her eyes. In the hazy water vapor, the dark image on the top of the hill rose and expanded rapidly like smoke, turning into a looming phantom. Zhaniya had to raise her head hard to see the huge thing at a high place. And when she really saw it clearly, intense fear pierced her like lightning.
A terrifying and strange shadow stands between heaven and earth. The head clung to the dark and heavy clouds, and its long hair hung down from the sky like rotten and torn black silk; the bare bones of its feet trampled on the former sanctuary and cemetery, as if this monster had reduced everything to rubble. It was completely naked, just like a mummy wrapped in dead skin and bones, letting the strong wind scream between its translucent ribs. When it lowered its head to face Jania, who was as small as an ant on the ground, the face that had been weathered into a skeleton was still smiling ferociously. Dust and rain hit its empty eye sockets and cheekbones, plunging it into a hazy and eerie white mist. For some reason, Jania identified it as the face of a dead young woman.
The hellish vision stared down at her motionless. Its lips and tongue are completely decayed, its vocal cords are gone, but the wind is making a sharp mocking noise. The ethereal voices that came from nowhere hummed in her ears:
“Those who seek the sublime advance,
Those who surrender themselves will fall into oblivion.
The building collapsed from tiny places,
Flies and ants breed from abundance.
Eternity! If you are willing to stop for a moment,
Let the hound run into the forest,
Let her think she can find a way out,
In the end, he couldn't escape being down and lost.
Now let's play a game with her,
Nor does it hinder long-term plans.
Listen to this side bet:
You can use all your strength,
Save your blood relative.
As long as there is still power left in the spring,
Wild beasts roam, poisonous snakes hide,
Death must stand by and watch.
But if the clock runs to the end,
The hands of the watch dropped and hung silently,
A life is ended.
Go, secret spy!
Hurry home and open the trap,
Save that idiot from the vat.
My family’s betting is just a joke,
The elves' bets will not be tolerated.
Wait until you leave a drop of blood,
That's when the show kicked off. "
The showers fell, and the world was in a state of confusion. Jania stumbled and ran home. What happened on Green Hill was quickly fading in her memory. It's still there, not that it's been forgotten, but it's just become ambiguous, hard to distinguish between true and false. But she remembered the song that the wind sang in mockery.
Rush home quickly. She ran across the muddy grass, shaking raindrops from her face. The reason for this was unclear, but she felt an urgency. The quicksand is falling, the clock is ticking, and she must race against time. She rushed into the house with the first thunder and lightning, and the rain left wet marks on the clean floor. Malcolm, who was looking at a certain painting in the living room, raised his head and shouted in surprise: "Jennia!"
Jania looked at the painting in his hand, the painting of a water nymph that had been sent anonymously. She saw the wet and hazy face of the succubus in the painting, as if two abyss-like dark eyes were exposed in the clouds, and the gauze surrounding her body was like white mist. She recognized that face instantly, the face of a walking dead monster. She finally knew who the character in the painting was!
"You need to change clothes quickly and blow-dry your hair!" Malcolm said, "Jania?"
There is one last mystery that remains unsolved. Jania slowly turned around and walked towards the basement. In the chaos of last night, she, like everyone else, had forgotten about it.
At the bottom of the fish tank, the lobster was lying on its belly, its eyes looking hopelessly gray. It has been dead for a while. Jania stood outside the tank looking at it, and Hannah's voice rang in her head: Even if you do everything right, even if you give it the best conditions, it may still die at any time. It does not depend on your efforts, but only on its own nature.
She put her left hand into the tank to fish out the dead shrimp, but she was pricked by the sharp thorns on the shrimp shell, and a ray of bright red spread in the water. Jania felt a little out of breath. She tried to take deep breaths one after another, but it could not relieve the sudden severe headache. At that time, she finally painfully realized that she would be tortured by this violent and desperate rage for a long time to come, maybe even for the rest of her life.
(End of chapter)
