Eight hundred and ninetieth chapters snow tomb trail
The Falling Star Monument at the top of the patio was lit, and the gate leading to the Holy Land Yuanliu Mountain was opened. Lu Zhengkang moved forward, walking through the long corridor into the bright skylight, but his eyes were also filled with deep wind and snow.
This is the foothills area. There didn’t seem to be so much snow in the past few times. It was so cold. The heat of the rune on Lu Zhengkang’s chest suddenly dissipated, deprived, extinguished, blown out. It was cold and cold, and it was so big in front of him.
The wind almost knocked him over. Lu Zhengkang was hunched over, his red robe was trembling, and the light of the runes was still shining.
Not as good as the reflection of the skylight on the snow, the mountains are white, cold, and hard. The rocks and mountain walls are scattered with the tombstones of those who fell into the stars. Long pillars are scattered scattered, scattered and buried by the wind and snow. The collapsed ruins cover the cold
The fig leaf, apart from making people completely despair at its dead silence, does not seem to make people feel nostalgic for history.
Lu Zhengkang was no stranger to such scenes. He just thought that he was an ordinary person who had to face such extreme cold. Since he was an ordinary person, his past power and power were no longer worth boasting about.
Firmly believe in pilgrimage. Just like so many times before.
Anyway, when the wind and snow cover his body and his thoughts freeze, nothing will remain except pilgrimage.
Climbing along the hillside, one after another fell into the snow. Their corpses and red silk cloth emerged from the ground in clusters, solidified by the wind and snow, like frozen bonfires.
Lu Zhengkang had only taken two steps when the tasseled mana on his back was already burned out. He felt the extreme cold seeping into his star soul. He tried hard to drill towards the frozen silk cloth, and the runes lit up the silk cloth——
It was just a little thawed, and the light from the silk could only warm Lu Zhengkang's robe, like a thin blanket that allowed the sun behind the winter clouds to warm a little.
Cold is the form of death and forgetfulness: it is fate and ending. Lu Zhengkang does not want to see the end before the end.
He huddled in a pile of cloth for a while, and random memories came back to him.
There are no specific fragments, but there are some faces of old friends, which soon disappeared, like scraps of paper scattered on the trickling water of the water channel, some colorful pieces of colored paper rising on the broken meanders of the water surface, and the soft spring light.
Silence in the water channel, light and liquid, water vapor and the smell of various flavors, wind and quiet sounds, what Lu Zhengkang cannot forget are some meaningless fragments of childhood.
Alas, he came here for no reason!
Lu Zhengkang forgot the purpose of his coming, but he still remembered in his heart that he had a purpose - this is the only remaining will when facing such a wind and snow that represents forgetfulness, just like his red robe gradually covered by frost,
His past is frozen, and his runes are weak. As Lu Zhengkang, he only has one thought of moving forward, but for what purpose, he has no idea.
There is an idea, and the journey has inertia. Starfallers embark on the journey for different purposes, but when they are near the end, when they are exhausted physically and mentally, there is only one idea of moving forward, only one idea of reaching the top, and only one idea that has a beginning and an end.
At this time, the traveler is irrational. Reason is a paradox. It is the most irrational thing to stay rational during the journey.
Lu Zhengkang shook his head and sang: "Deer."
He wanted to use this to strengthen his understanding of himself. His brain was almost frozen... Originally, the soul had no brain, but he couldn't forget his own name.
Suddenly there was a soft cry from behind: Yue.
Lu Zhengkang was a little surprised and turned around to look. Behind him, in front of the gate of the Holy Water Patio, a companion in red robes trotted up the ramp. He kept ringing: Yue.
His companion ran forward, his body also covered with wind and snow. He kept singing, and the warm light bathed Lu Zhengkang, making him breathe a big sigh of relief. If he had a mouth to speak, Lu Zhengkang would definitely say: "The source of the flow of mountains has changed."
It's cold.
It's always cold, it used to be cold, but now it's getting colder and colder, and the snow is much thicker.
This is a rift valley between two cliffs. The wind passes here. It is very fast and fierce. Lu Zhengkang is like a piece of wet felt. It has frozen hard without realizing it. If he continues to indulge in the red silk
If there is false warmth in the pile, it will slowly die.
Yue came at the right time, like a great savior.
The light of the companions singing to each other dispelled the cold air here to some extent. They walked side by side. They had never met each other before, so they just met and became friends together. The people they met along the way were all new friends, which made
Lu Zhengkang was somewhat comforted. It seemed that there were still quite a few people who had fallen from the stars.
But he was a little worried that something had happened to the companions he had met before. It shouldn't be possible, Lu Zhengkang thought to himself, who had he met before? When he recalled it like this, it was blank, and his thoughts were like
The snow on the ground is soft and soft. It looks rich, but it is so light that it feels a bit empty.
A strong wind blew from the mountain gap in front of them. Lu Zhengkang and Yue were blown somersaults. They hurriedly hid behind the scattered stone monuments and waited until the strong wind stopped before continuing forward. The wind was always blowing, and the difference was nothing more than strong or weak. Walking against the wind was almost
It's like drifting, as if his body and soul have no weight, letting the wind take away his past.
Well, does he actually have a past? Those so-called pasts are just dreams, right? Are they different from dreams? The story of the universe that happened in a grain of sand and a piece of snow, isn't it just like a dream? Do those who fall from the star also have dreams?
Joy keeps singing.
Lu Zhengkang is always distracted.
There was another strong wind, and Lu Zhengkang was caught off guard and rolled back. Yue hurriedly ran over from behind the stone monument, and he himself was blown away by the wind.
The two of them in red robes looked like two tumbleweeds on the snow. Lu Zhengkang sang a song and tried to sit up. Yue stood in front of him, and turned into a white pile. He stood up, shook, and whistled twice, but still
He looked very energetic.
Yue is much more determined than Lu Zhengkang, and his runes are warm, like a little sun.
Maybe he really couldn't get on the stage. Lu Zhengkang was quite depressed. He had completely forgotten why he came here. He just wanted to climb to the top. He had to climb to the top even if he froze to death. As for what's on Yuanliu Mountain, we'll see when we get there.
arrive.
They still sang to each other to warm each other, just like beating drums to spread flowers, echoing and making sounds with their hearts. Such ethereal shouts had no echo even from the mountains, only the sounds that each other could hear.
It should be so resolute, it should be so quiet, as long as you remember your name, call your name to the place of fate, just like you have heard it from others countless times, let your empty soul remember a name
. Let numbers be embedded in functions, let flesh and blood be embedded in bones, and let symbols be embedded in sequences. Without names and forms, they are nothing, no different from sand and snow.
They slowly walked through the crack in the mountain ahead and came to the closed mountain col. There were thick silk cloths everywhere and tombstones everywhere. Many travelers were buried here. The silk cloths were like grass on the tombs, cooling and humorous, in the wind.
The vigorous appearance is like the soul of the deceased gently swaying and waving. Death will not be peaceful, the body of the traveler will rot, and the name will be forgotten, but there is still something abstract left behind, which has always been left behind.