Chapter 21 Clay Pot
Perturabo was Morse's first apprentice.
Morse had never thought of accepting an apprentice before, because he had not yet abandoned his identity as a seeker on his personal path; Perturabo was the only exception, and it was also the first time that Morse experienced to the troubles of being a teacher.
He is not worried about whether he has become a qualified teacher. Obviously, regardless of whether he is qualified or not, Perturabo will not leave, especially before getting his sincere concern.
This is somewhat difficult, in fact, it is even Morse's own little trouble.
To arouse enough emotions to brew a true love for a bastard boy is not a subject suitable for him.
The sun has been hanging for a long time, and a large flock of white birds slowly flies through the air, cutting a low shadow over the heads of the crowd.
Morse stood in the crowd, covering his black cloth with an ordinary dark blue robe in order to blend in with the crowd and observe his apprentice from another perspective.
He raised his head, without using his psychic powers or doing anything extra. He just let his sight pass through the gaps in the crowd of countless people who were shaved, sweating, or wrapped in cloth, or The heads with hair hanging down to their shoulders, or wearing gold and silver crowns, or carrying foreign bird feathers, looked at the two opposite figures on the high platform in the distance.
There were a lot of people on the high platform. Apart from Andos, who was sitting relaxedly on the cushions on the ground, and Perturabo, who had a straight back and could not see his face clearly on the other side, there were only a few people left in the tyrant's family. Also present, the children flanked the king.
There are also some familiar faces, courtiers, soldiers, craftsmen, and foreign guests. They are all the people who appeared before the tyrant in Perturabo except the priests; there are also a few unfamiliar faces because of the distance. Also unable to see the faces, one can only see the innocuous figure of the middle-aged man, the reflective head with hair loss on the top, and a few words exchanged between each other from time to time.
The broad-winged white bird in the sky circled back again. Morse brushed away the distracting thoughts of plucking a few snow-white bird feathers and watched these natural creatures leave.
"There are a lot of eagles today." Someone on the side sighed, "Is it the great mind of God Isis?"
Morse stood idle with his hands on his chest. . Hearing this, he turned his head to look at the man - because the crowd was surging, the man was squeezing him.
"Is this a good sign?" he asked, using an even tone that combined all the accents of the locals, which brought a friendly smile to the man's face.
"Isis loves everyone. She protects craftsmen and sinners, as well as the undead, young children, girls and nobles."
"Sounds good." Morse was noncommittal. "Do the white eagles often come to Lokos?"
"They come when the goddess Isis casts her gaze. Alas, the fortress of Lokos protects us, so the goddess's white eagles often come This is the place where she loves peace." The man smiled and made a bird gesture on his chest. "As for other birds, those big, carnivorous, cold birds often hover above the heads of other city-states."
Morse's eyes swept over this lively guy. "Are you a local?" he asked.
“My mother came from a city-state far away. But I grew up here and am also a local - so I was surprised to hear that someone was going to challenge Prince Andros today, but then everyone When I heard that Lord Perturabo was coming, I became very excited and couldn't help but throw away my work and come to see him."
The man grinned sheepishly and shook the handbag in his hand.
Morse changed to a more relaxed stance, no longer paying attention to the opponent's strong body and normal distribution of calluses.
"Oh." He said coldly. "Not bad."
In this short period of time, he got to know this stranger, found a way to describe him, and understood his profession, origin, status, and abilities; these things made him appreciate the name The stranger's character loses interest with more details, such as the person's name, family and more personal details.
As for the knowledge about strangers and these boring thoughts, they slipped out of his heart gently with his acquiescence, like some shining flowing water, leaving smoothly and without reservation. Gone, not even a trace of boredom remains.
And every time Morse clearly heard the disappearance of this kind of spiritual emotion, he would spend a thousandth of a second to test whether he was uneasy because of his rigid emotions, just like a patient observing himself from the perspective of a doctor. disease. Then he would spend another thousandth of a second remarking on the small amount of old-fashioned self-love still retained in his ridiculous brain.
The stranger poked his head beside him, "Did you also hear about their competition? Who do you think will win? Of course I hope our prince wins, but rumors Lord Perturabo is also a very good person, and it is rumored that he is the favored child of the gods, so I..." He lowered his voice, fearing that other Lokos people would hear, "I hope Lord Perturabo wins. ."
Morse raised some interest: "Is Perturabo a good person in the rumors?"
"Everyone says he is a real genius, although he is very far away from us. Far away. And if a genius comes to be Lokos's friend, he must be a good man," said the stranger, looking at Morse.
"People often say that every time Lord Perturabo seems to be angry, he will hold back his anger for some reason; he can't be oppressed by others instead of suppressing his anger spontaneously, right? Then his character It must be noble."
Morse turned his head and stared at the stranger until the stranger sheepishly wiped the sweat from his forehead that was exposed to the sun with his free hand.
“Am I wrong?” said the stranger.
"Who knows."
The stranger was confused. He looked up at the big sun above his head, then looked at the competition that was about to start on the stage, and wiped his sweat again. , took out a sealed clay pot from the cloth bag in his hand, opened it, and was about to drink it, but suddenly thought of something, and handed it to Morse again.
"The weather is too hot. In addition to water, I should also wear a straw hat to block the sun... Forget it, do you want to drink some water?"
Morse suddenly laughed, and this was not a disguise. Joy, but a whim that comes from the heart.
It’s like seeing a new and happy thing suddenly pop up among all the things arranged one by one in the world. A colorful thing pops out of all the same gray clothes, and all the yellow leaves A green leaf emerged, and a bright red wild flower was mixed into the pale bouquet, which was refreshing and happy.
This flashing and jumping joy was caught by Morse, and then expressed in the form of laughter.
He took the clay pot and took a sip. The cool water is especially soothing on a hot day.
Morse returned the clay pot, and the stranger wiped the mouth of the pot, drank the water, and then said in surprise: "I feel much cooler all over."
"Of course."
Suddenly, the surrounding crowd began to move again, like a group of geese or chickens with stones behind them, pushing and shoving forward in a chaotic manner.
Morse called the stranger lukewarmly: "It's about to begin."
The stranger's cheek twitched, and some small wrinkles formed on his face. Baba's fluctuations. He carried the clay pot and followed Morse forward.
His hand wiped the top of the jar again.
What kind of divine choice can make more chapters in a long time...
(End of this chapter)