Chapter 23 Arachne
Why did Mors reject me again?
A week ago, when Perturabo woke up from the ground and looked up at the back of Morse's chair, these words danced repeatedly in his heart, even covering the fatigue on his body.
He intentionally brushed the question from his heart, trying to preserve some precious pride for himself, but all the self-encouragement only wiped the sentence brighter and clearer.
Perturabo had to lift off the thick white cloth that kept him warm and asked loudly: "Morse, why can't you teach me to win?"
Then he heard the answer, exactly the same as the one he had received before falling asleep.
"You have learned skills from the local masons of Lokos." Morse's voice came through the back of the chair.
That was all the answer he got.
Perturabo didn’t know if his anger was too obvious, because in the next day, wherever he passed, people around him would immediately shut up and avoid his eyes, just like It was as if he could tear them apart and swallow them alive.
He angrily denigrates the cowardice of others in his heart. Is he such a rough and ruthless person, with such a violent and unrestrained character?
At least he hasn't done anything extraordinary so far.
I won’t do it in the future.
Thinking of this, he made a special note in his mind that the small scars he gave Morse a few months ago must not count.
Walking around outside, visiting every corner of Lokos's capital, he saw ordinary things everywhere.
Soon, Perturabo had to return to the workshop residence to check the source of the burning pain caused by the friction between the sandals and the soles of his feet.
He should have been accustomed to the weakness of his mortal body, but it seems that he has once again forgotten his current situation.
This mistake that came from himself caused him to redirect part of his anger towards his own mind. When he analyzed his behavior with a guilty look, reason came back to him.
Why did Morse reject me again?
Perturabo sat cross-legged on a soft cloth cushion - he and Morse unanimously rejected the tyrant's brocade rug. Morse loved his cane chair, and he sewed it himself. He made a cloth cushion with stitches so dense that they could nail thirteen layers of leather.
The pain from his ankle to his calf was gradually relieved. He counted the minutes and seconds, and countless thoughts in his mind were like a school of fish swirling in the sea.
He did nothing wrong, did not violate the rules Morse gave him; after all, Morse never gave him clear rules.
Whether it is cold words about transactions, or urgings and orders about confession, they are all part of a vague rule. These hazy conditions jointly create an untouchable boundary, Perturabo Moment He knew it existed, but he couldn't pinpoint it with words.
He could not tell clearly how many drachmas Morse's patience was worth, nor could he find out how many drachmas were needed to exchange Morse's tolerance.
He groped and tested, but every time Perturabo thought he had won Morse's love, the rope boundary like spider silk and web would fall abruptly.
Didn’t Morse want him to win? Did Morse no longer think highly of him?
Perturabo thought dully, picking up the stitches of the cloth pad with the edge of his fingernails, and fiddling with the most inconspicuous piece of his countless works. His eyes slid over the large number of drawings and models scattered around, and fell on himself. This is the one he made most carefully among his works.
Reproduced double stone statue.
He stood up supporting the wall and walked to the stone statue.
Born out of his initial conception of the stone statue fighting Morse, he applied all the knowledge and skills he had learned recently on it. Every line and every bend was carefully processed from drawing to wax. Rigorous calculation of the module.
Yet his heart was still beating against his chest worriedly.
Perturabo gently touched the warhammer held by his image in the stone. The hesitating waves carried the angry boat, sometimes lifting it up and sometimes submerging it.
He read a vague lack in the objects he carefully constructed, but he could not find a breakthrough.
In the process of carving, what necessary knowledge did he lack? The craftsmen in this backward country could not complete his teaching.
And if Morse could take a look, everything would be solved.
All he needed was an instruction, and he clearly just wanted an instruction.
He picked out the awl from the tool and was about to modify it in some completely meaningless places when a thin piece of snow-white paper folded appeared from under the awl.
He immediately knew the source of the paper, and the waves in his heart suddenly calmed down, leaving only a little bit of embarrassment that made his hands tremble.
Perturabo quickly unfolded the paper towards the light.
Then he witnessed how much a man who kept saying that he wanted to tell everything with his mouth, without letting people guess their thoughts, so that the communication between each other could reach the peak of efficiency, could save words and ink.
Morse may have many indicators that cannot be quantified, but his calligraphy must be sold at a high price, worth as much as the gold reserves of several city-states.
On the paper, a short line of handwriting read: "Who is Arachne?"
"He is simply inexplicable!" Perturabo blurted out.
“Who?”
Sitting opposite Perturabo, observing the various living conditions of the citizens who were gradually gathering below the high platform, Andos was suddenly uttered by Perturabo. The sound brings back reality.
Andos subconsciously replied with a word, turned his head, and saw a boy whose face was a little red from the summer morning sun, torturing the edge of his seat with his nails.
Perturabo shut up and told himself that Andros must have heard wrong.
Soon, Andos' confused face slowly turned away. The boy just breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Callifon whispering to the waiter, and then he personally placed a drink in the center. The three-color concentrically edged disk with mythical patterns walked toward him, leaned down, and handed the fruit drink two feet in front of him.
Perturabo expressed his refusal with a sustained gaze, and Callifon was lifeless.
“We should set up parasols here.” The daughter of Lokos said with a smile, “Obviously there are no priests from the religious religion to preside over today, but everyone still abides by the custom of not blocking the sight of the gods with a canopy. ”
"You are too backward." Perturabo said bluntly.
"Maybe." Kalifon held the tray with both hands and stood upright again. A soft strand of hair was hung on her cheek by the breeze. "Perhaps the knowledge we possess is indeed as far away as a long river compared to the knowledge held by your teacher."
Perturabo felt his hands gradually tense on the brocade cushions The ground tensed, and he didn't know what was wrong, so he had to attribute it all to the fact that he was still worried about Morse.
After all, he didn’t even know if a man in black would appear in the spectator seats on the high platform today.
"This is exactly the truth of the matter. Morse's knowledge is an endless library." Perturabo suppressed his confused mood and said with confidence, "But you can put down your worries, I will Obtain the recognition of Lokos and use my ability to lead the Lokos people to overcome difficulties and regain their lives.”
Kalifon looked at the sea of people under the high platform. It was getting late, the sun was getting higher, and people had already filled the streets in front of the palace with their bodies and voices.
Different and lively faces are chatting happily, boasting about recent experiences, sharing wonderful things at home, and wondering about the existence of the high platform. Square patches on robes, newly made simple ornaments, yellow pottery kettles, hair towels, fruits with stones to be sold in the market, vegetables with seeds, and all kinds of fresh soil. Living things are spread out nicely under the bright sky.
Her eyelashes fluttered slightly, and the shadow of the white vulture in the sky passed over her face, as if her face itself was making waves. After the light and shadow passed by, she was as elegant as ever.
"Lokos will thank you." Callifon said, "If that day comes, your statue will replace the statue of the late king at the city gate. But people are here, and I want to return to my place first. Go up.”
(End of this chapter)