There was no evil murder, no regrettable accident, just the capriciousness of fate.
In the early morning, the poet was ready to leave the village and continue his journey. However, under the wear and tear of alcohol and time, his life had already come to an end. The leisurely days of these days were just a reflection of the past.
The poet wandered to the foot of a large tree with dense branches. He thought he just needed a nap, but this time he never woke up again.
The villagers stood not far away, wondering what to do with this strange stranger. Finally, they thought of the stranger.
In the past few days, the stranger had been drinking and having fun with the poet. They felt that the stranger should be the poet's friend, so they called him over and left the poet's funeral affairs to the stranger.
The stranger came to the big tree near noon, and the poet was still sitting under the big tree. He closed his eyes tightly, as if he was not dead, but just taking a nap.
As the poet closed his eyes, the stranger realized the poet's old age. After losing those energetic and dazzling eyes, he was as old as a hundred-year-old man.
Maybe the poet is already an old man, but his incredible vitality always makes people misjudge his age.
The poet's collar was wide open and his pockets were turned out. Before the stranger came, someone had already searched the poet's body. Unfortunately, they found nothing on the poet's body except bread crumbs. He was indeed a wanderer.
Penniless.
The crowd was like vultures eating carrion. They got nothing from the poet. They dispersed after the stranger arrived. They didn't care what the stranger did with the poet's body. It had no value anyway.
Already.
The stranger stood in front of the poet's body. After a brief moment of astonishment, he was horrified to find that there was no sadness in his heart, but a hint of... joy.
"So what if you have freedom and have seen countless beautiful things?"
The stranger picked up the poet's body and said, "You died in the end, in this unknown place, taking your poems with you."
Faint laughter sounded from behind, and the stranger turned around warily, but there was no one around. Then he looked at the poet, but he was already dead, and his withered face was full of death.
The stranger quickened his pace. He didn't know what he was thinking. The poet's death made him extremely happy. Beautiful things were destroyed, but he was still despicable. This time, the stranger won, he won.
poet.
He wanted to turn around and leave and let the wilderness devour the poet's body, but when he wanted to leave, an uncontrollable thought came to his mind.
He can't leave the poet here, he must take the poet away!
The stranger resisted with all his body, but his body uncontrollably picked up the poet's body, took it away with him, and returned to his dark hut.
Along the way, strangers had a strange feeling that someone was following them, as if a ghost was lurking in their shadow, and with every step they took, it got closer.
The stranger placed the poet's body in the corner of the room, while he sat on a chair, lowered his head, and tore his face.
He didn't understand what he was doing. He raised his head and saw the poet's body hidden in the shadows, silently.
"Ha ha……"
The familiar laughter sounded again, from within the shadow.
The stranger raised his head, his pupils bloodshot.
"Death is the end for everyone, but unlike you, I have seen so many beautiful things before death comes..."
In the darkness, the poet tilted his head and said with empty eyes.
"Shut up!"
The stranger grabbed the hammer and hit it hard. The poet's body was knocked down and lay on its side on the ground.
"You are already dead!"
The stranger scolded angrily and at the same time affirmed in his heart that the poet was dead and he should not continue to think about those messy things. He still had a lot of work to do.
Pick up the hammer, swing the hammer, day after day.
"What is the use of your poems? One day they will be burned by fire and return to dust!"
The stranger lit the forge, and the blazing heat and splashing sparks filled his heart, and the fatigue of work made him feel peaceful.
"The forging in my hands is different. It is far tougher than poetry and is not afraid of water and fire."
The stranger picked up a red-hot sword blade, and the blazing light reflected in his eyes.
"But I'm still alive, my friend."
A deep voice sounded, as if a ghost was confiding to him.
The stranger turned his head and looked at the darkness in the corner. It was so dark there, as if it had swallowed up all the light and was connected to another dark world.
"This is eternal life, my spirit and will, and my poems will echo in your thoughts forever."
The stranger's heart trembled. He held the red-hot iron sword through his thick gloves. There was still a blazing fire on it, illuminating the darkness.
"No, you are already dead."
The stranger looked at the poet's body. At this moment, the poet's body had begun to rot, with large patches of corpses appearing. The nauseating smell was endless, and maggots were crawling inside the body.
The flaming sword pierced the poet's chest easily, and the stranger was ruthless, listening to the sound of the flames burning flesh and blood.
"Why? What are you afraid of? Friend."
The poet looked at him with a smile, not caring about the burning sword on his chest. Suddenly he stretched out his hand, grabbed the stranger's head, and forced him to look at him.
"Oh, I see, you are afraid of change, right? You have been comfortable for too long, so long that you no longer want to think about what is behind the mountains... and even say that you hate the mountains behind.
You have sunk into comfort, and every time you think about the mountains, you have to find a way to contain the restlessness in your heart to prevent the life you are familiar with from being broken."
The poet discovered the truth and burst into laughter. His throat was filled with twisted and weird maggots, which rubbed against each other and rustled.
"Shut up!"
The stranger scolded him bitterly, and the flaming sword in his hand stabbed deeper, even nailing into the ground.
"That's why you are so eager to destroy me. I am like a fire, igniting the desire in your heart. You must try your best to extinguish it, but all this... it is too late."
The poet looked like his conspiracy had succeeded, and he sang loudly.
"The fire is on!"
The stranger growled and drew out the sword with the flames extinguished, and slashed at the poet's body indiscriminately until it was chopped into pieces.
When the stranger regained his senses, he was kneeling in front of the blood on the ground. The poet's pale face was lying on one side, his pupils were dilated and turbid, his abdomen was bloody, his bones were broken into slag, and his bloody intestines were spilled.
The blood flowed out slowly and soaked under the stranger's body.
There were no words from the ghost, nor any unusual behavior. The poet had died long ago, and everything just seemed to be just an illusion.
The stranger stumbled up, his eyes full of fear. He couldn't figure out what happened. The stranger picked up a fire and threw it on the body.
The fire ignited instantly, burning the poet's body, and the bright light illuminated all the darkness.
The firelight brought warmth and tranquility, and the stranger's restless heart finally calmed down. He sat on the chair and breathed deeply.
Fireworks will reduce everything to ashes and extinguish the desire to rise again.
The stranger laughed to himself, but his laughter soon froze. Not far from the blazing fire, a book of poems lay quietly on the ground.
The stranger walked over slowly, his breathing suppressed and his heartbeat quickening. He had not been in such a mood for many years, with excitement and fear coexisting.
Thinking back carefully, the last time he was in such a mood was many years ago.
Ah, the stranger still remembers that day. It was the day when he picked up the hammer and was about to inherit the family business. But that day he did not show up in the blacksmith shop. Instead, he prepared his luggage and quietly walked alone before the morning light.
left home.
The stranger had had enough of his father's discipline. He didn't want to spend a mediocre life in front of the forge. The stranger wanted to see behind the mountains.
It was not a good day to set out. The stranger encountered a giant bear in the mountains and forests. At that moment, he did not have much panic. He felt that it would be good to die on the road of pursuit, but a person who should not be here appeared.
.
My father knew strangers too well. When he left home, his father followed him at a distance.
"Why did you come? Do you still want to stop me?"
During the escape, the stranger couldn't help but get angry at his father and said that he had always wanted to climb not only the mountains, but also the high wall named his father. He thought he had escaped, but he was still chasing after him.
"No...it's not."
My father shook his head. He was always tough, but his attitude unexpectedly softened at this moment. It was not clear whether this was due to the impending death.
"I've always known that I can't change your mind. Sooner or later you will leave me, but I just feel that you are not ready yet."
The stranger was stunned.
"Today is a good day. I wanted to see you leave."
As his father spoke, he suddenly stopped. He was already old. He was out of breath after running a few short steps, and the bloodthirsty roar behind him was getting closer and closer.
"but……"
The father did not continue speaking. He just looked at the stranger with a smile and waved to him, and then the dark shadow swallowed up the father.
The stranger couldn't remember how he left. He only knew that he kept running. Even if his legs were exhausted and numb, he never stopped until he returned to the familiar village.
After that the stranger never thought about what was beyond the mountains.
The stranger looked at the poem in front of him. He wanted to throw it into the fire, but suddenly a breeze blew by, swaying the firelight and blowing open the pages of the book. All the magnificent things were displayed in front of the stranger's eyes.
He picked up the poem in a strange way and looked at the various things in it. The stranger had not read the book and was illiterate, but he could see the scribbled pictures clearly. The poet used simple lines to outline one beautiful picture after another.
Picture scroll.
The poem has a magical power that makes it difficult for strangers to look away. They can only stare at the content. His breathing gradually begins to pant, and large drops of sweat drip down his forehead.
The stranger walked in front of the blazing fire. The fire burned the poet's body and warmed the stranger's body. The light illuminated the darkness and illuminated the pictures and words.
At this moment, the outside world broke through the barriers of the mountains and appeared before the eyes of strangers.
"Poets should not be shackled."
In the dazzling firelight, the poet's voice sounded again, and he stood in the fire.
As if the stranger did not hear his words, he continued to flip through the pages of the book, and then a blank page appeared in front of him. He continued to flip through a few more pages, but they were still blank.
The stranger seemed to understand something, raised his head and looked at the poet.
The poet's voice was filled with laughter, "You should understand now, right?"
The stranger nodded in understanding.
"As long as there are still people who can read this book, you are not really dead, and when I write down my story in it, I will also gain eternal life like you.
I will die, but I will also live, living in the hearts of every reader, and they will take me to the distant future."
The face in the fireworks showed a hateful smile. He affirmed everything about the stranger and spoke like an aria.
"Unfettered, spread forever."
The stranger responded, his words sounding like a child's sleep.
"Endless poetry."
The raging fire was released from the poet's body, scorching the earth, and climbed to the roof. The blazing fireworks engulfed everything indoors in an instant, dragging the entire house into the flames, turning into a torch soaring into the sky, illuminating the sky.
Village and mountains.
"Now you are a poet too."
The figure in the fireworks collapsed, annihilated, and turned into ashes with lingering fire.
The poet dropped the hammer, hugged the poem tightly, and ran towards the mountains without looking back, never to return for the rest of his life.
…
The picture began to blur and dissipate, and Boluogo returned to this noisy world.
The overlap between the ghost and Boluogo only lasted a moment, but this moment was indescribably long for Boluogo. He seemed to have truly experienced the life of a stranger and then said goodbye to him.
Boluogo was in a daze and had a splitting headache. All kinds of thoughts were running rampant in his mind. His self-perception began to deviate. For a brief period of time, he even thought he was a stranger.
Fortunately, this did not affect Boluoge for too long. You must know that Boluogo is a ruthless character who has spent a long time in a dark prison. His will is unimaginable. In less than a minute, Boluogo
Then he completely separated himself from the mixed memories.
"Lost..."
Boluogo said softly, Bailie's warnings to him were becoming reality one by one.
The ghosts flying around the storm seem to be individual "hearts", which contain the memories of their lives. The "spirits" are frozen on the earth. When the storm comes, they are destroyed into snow dust all over the sky and return to the storm.
In the blazing white core, as for the "body", it was abandoned in the world and returned to dust.
This may be death.
Boluogo had no time to think about the "endless poems" in his mind. His "heart" was being pulled toward the core of the storm. The "spirit" on the ground was still frozen and still stood upright under the raging storm.
This should be Bologo's gift, the Axis of Time, taking effect. His "body" in the mortal world has not yet died, and his "spirit" is still firmly locked. Therefore, the frozen ice sculpture is not destroyed by the storm, but
Boluogo's "heart" is heading back towards the storm.
Damn it, how did a promotion ceremony develop into this!
Boluogo screamed in his heart. He was powerless to resist all this. Just when he was about to be sucked into the blazing core, a pulling force emerged.
Like a fully-stretched bowstring being released in an instant, Boluogo's picture began to distort and pull into glowing lines.
Bologo fell to the ground uncontrollably, smashed into the frozen sculpture, and became one with his "spirit" again.
The frost on his body collapsed one by one. Before Bologg could understand the current situation, a melodious voice came from the distance. Bologg turned his head, and the familiar scene happened again.
The rusty anchor broke through the raging storm and landed in front of Bologg's eyes. The chain tightened and plowed up heavy smoke and dust on the ground.
Boluogo did not hesitate. He rushed forward with all his strength, grabbed a corner of the huge anchor, and was then dragged into the endless darkness.
－－－－－－Digression－－－－－
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