The events encountered during this promotion ceremony were beyond Boluogo's control, but Boluogo remained calm. He knew very well that panic would only accelerate his defeat.
Boluogo tried hard to control his emotions and observed everything from an absolutely rational perspective. He was not clear about the scene he was experiencing at the moment and could only analyze it with his superficial knowledge.
At this moment, Boluogo's soul was frozen into an ice sculpture, standing on the earth, while his spirit was leaping. Pulled by the blazing white storm, he was swept into the howling wind almost in the blink of an eye, like a
fallen leaves.
As he got closer, Bologg forced his eyes open to observe the core of the storm. It was an absolutely blazing white light. Under a brief direct gaze, Bologg actually felt the pain of his pupils being burned. He looked away feebly.
, he saw figures flying around with it.
They were thousands of ghosts, ghosts similar to those of Bologg. These countless ghosts surrounded the outer edge of the storm, forming part of this huge destruction.
It was difficult for Boluogo to understand the scene in front of him. It was completely beyond his imagination. Boluogo could not even tell whether this was a real thing or a symbol of some kind of power, just like his own body, mind, and soul.
He became a part of the storm, being pulled around while the blazing white storm continued to advance on the ice field, swallowing up the towering ice sculptures. Most of the ice sculptures were annihilated into dust the moment they approached the storm and merged into it.
In the storm.
With the slow advancement, Boluogo's ice sculpture, the embodiment of his soul, will also be swallowed by the storm. Boluogo becomes nervous. He doesn't know what will happen once it is swallowed by the storm... But for Boluogo,
This is definitely not a good thing. His soul is already incomplete, but nothing can go wrong again.
Like a drowning man, Boluogo waved his hands randomly, trying to grab something within reach, but he could only catch the snow dust that kept rising, and then ghosts passed him by with cheers.
There was a lingering sound, and then Boluogo collided head-on with another ghost.
Boluogo did not collide with this ghost, but intertwined and overlapped with it. In an instant, Boluogo saw thousands of broken images, which rained down on Boluogo's memory like a violent storm.
When a child is born, he cries endlessly, learns words awkwardly, and takes steps, until he follows an adult like a deer...
Boluogo is experiencing the life of others in a wonderful way, watching this stranger grow up little by little.
The stranger lived in an era far earlier than that of Bologg. At that time, the land was still ruled by kings and lords. There were no railways or newspapers, transportation was blocked, and people were ignorant.
Unlike those numb adults, the stranger has longed for the outside world since he was a child. He often sits on the grass and looks at the mountains in the distance, wondering what is behind the mountains.
Whenever he mentioned this to his father, his father just replied perfunctorily, "After mountains there are still mountains."
"Then what happens after that? What happens after those mountains? There must be something after that, right?"
The child looked at his father expectantly, but his father was silent. This tired man had never been to such a far place in his life. The tall mountains were an insurmountable wall for the people in the village.
The father rubbed the child's head and said, "Don't think about that. Things behind the mountains are meaningless. What you should do is learn my craft."
His father is a blacksmith. As his father's child, he should also be a blacksmith in the future.
The young child didn't understand what this meant. He just smiled. But what he didn't know was that as he grew older, his curiosity about what was behind the mountains grew day by day, and the constraints from his father became more and more intimidating.
People suffocate.
"You should forget what is behind the mountains, and instead learn from me honestly and become a blacksmith. Only in this way can you support yourself!"
When his father looked at him, covered in mud and weeds, he knew immediately what he had done.
Cross the mountains.
He kept trying to cross the mountains, but failed every time.
Faced with his father's rebuke, he would retort a few words at first, but gradually he became silent.
He realized that the mountains were so big that no matter how hard he tried, he could not see the end. Perhaps he should listen to his father's words, become a blacksmith, and live a peaceful life in this remote village.
The stranger compromised, and his ordinary days continued without incident. He grew from a child to a young man, took over his father's hammer, and became the best blacksmith in the village.
He felt that this should be his life, hammering steel in a hot shop until his child took over. But one day, the arrival of a stranger broke all this.
This remote village rarely sees strangers. Only during a fixed period of time every year, caravans will pass by, or taxes will be collected from the lord.
On this day, the villagers gathered around the tavern, observing the strangely dressed guy. The stranger looked bohemian, drinking heavily, and telling novel stories.
travelling poet.
The villagers called the stranger this way. The first moment he saw the poet, he was deeply attracted. He didn't know what this emotion was, but in this decayed ancient village, the poet's life was so...
Fresh.
The poet is no longer a young man. His face is weathered and his hair is streaked with gray. But when he laughs and tells stories about that distant place, he is so young, far ahead of everyone else.
The stranger chatted with the poet in the tavern until late at night. This was the first time he had chatted with others for so long. He took out his savings and bought the poet one drink after another. The poet said that he would not stay here for long.
We'll leave in a few days.
For this reason, the stranger did not work in the past few days, but closed the blacksmith shop and lived and dreamed with the poet. They talked a lot, which extended to the mountains.
The stranger asked, "Do you know what's beyond the mountains?"
The poet drunkenly replied, "After the mountains? There are still mountains."
The stranger was a little disappointed, as his father's answer was the same, but he still persisted and asked, "What about behind the mountains?"
This time the poet fell silent. He put down his wine glass and replied seriously, "That is an extremely vast world."
"There are endless wilderness, huge rivers flowing through various countries, mountains with snow-capped peaks that form high walls, and plateaus where the winds are raging and never stop."
The poet's voice suddenly became softer, and with an evil smile, he described such a world to strangers.
"It is a colorful world, far more interesting than this village. There are many things you have never experienced, never known, and never owned..."
The poet hugged the stranger, his mouth full of wine and pride.
"That's life, that's living, my friend!"
"But this all comes at a price, doesn't it?" The stranger is no longer a child. "You are wandering. Except for poetry, your journey is no different from wandering. You have nothing. Even the money for drinking is paid for by me.
of."
The poet shook his head, "No, I own everything. When I step into the vast beauty, the vast beauty belongs to me. When I sleep among the grass and fields, this boundless land is my bed... I see
Come on, friend, there is longing hidden in your eyes, you also yearn for that kind of world, right?"
The stranger said nothing.
"Why don't you follow your heart? Are you unable to give up all this comfort?"
"I'm bound here, no! I'd rather stay here."
The stranger's father died soon after he took over the hammer, and his mother left when he was a child. In this remote village, there is no one worthy of the stranger's love, and no one he cares about.
Yes, but like a force, the stranger is trapped here and unable to leave.
The poet smiled slightly and said nothing more. The stranger looked at him. He had obviously drunk so much wine, but at this moment, there was no trace of confusion in the poet's eyes. There was only wisdom and sobriety. It seemed that he was drunk only on his body.
, not his soul.
He picked up the book pinned to his waist. The cover was made of cracked cowhide. There were many notes interspersed between the thick pages, and scrawled writing filled every inch.
Stranger text, "What is this?"
"I am a poet," the poet said, "this is my poem."
Turning over the page, the poet took up his pen and started writing. While writing, he looked at strangers from time to time.
"what are you writing?"
"The story of my experience... I met a dusty free heart in an ancient and corrupt land. Unfortunately, I came too late, and he has become one with all this decay."
"So what if you wrote all this?" The stranger knew that the poet was alluding to him, "You will eventually die, and so will your poems, returning to the dust of waste and no longer known."
"No, it won't," the poet's eyes lit up, denying the stranger's words, "this will never end."
“Poetry is endless…Poetry has no end!”
"It's just crazy talk!"
The stranger was angered, and he didn't know why he was angry. Is the poet too perfect?
Yes, the poet lived the life he longed for. He extended an invitation to himself, but he did not have the courage to accept the change. In order to maintain his poor dignity, he denied everything about the poet.
He thought that the poet was so smart, and he must have been seen through by the poet, so how ridiculous was he in the eyes of the poet?
The stranger locked himself in the room for several days. He tried not to think about the poet or what happened behind the mountains. He only hoped that the poet would leave as soon as possible and return the peaceful life to him.