Chapter 33 Time flies (4k)
“It’s been too long since I last wrote a new story. I didn’t know how to start writing for a while, and even this line of inscription I’m writing now makes me wonder. I am extremely hesitant, like holding a sharp pen, hesitating about the shape and structure of each letter."
"I will spend my time completing this new fable, not pursuing it. His name is spread throughout the land, but it is only a rough record of worldly events."
"A child, a man-made, unique child from heaven, with all his arrogance, Fear, hatred, and attachment came to this distant world that had long been lost in the night and wilderness, and collided with everything. He was destined to be far away from the unknown."
"He is the sharp blade of silver, the bullet of the gun, Iron armor, his power will shake the mountains and deep lakes, but will his sharp edges cut through the long-lasting blood, or pierce the throats of mortals? Will his heart melt into the molten iron, or be forged from a new furnace? Burning heat? ”
"I saw the towers collapse, the arches collapse, I saw the rivers dry up, the deep seas surge, I saw..."
Suddenly someone slammed their fist on Morse's door, and a drop accumulated on the tip of his pen. The crumbling ink ball immediately fell to the smooth paper roll, and followed the capillary structure to form a pool of ink.
Morse took a deep breath. The next moment Perturabo pushed the door open, the edge of the thick soft blanket on the ground curled up strangely, and the soles of the boy's sandals and toes were stuck in the upper and lower parts of the carpet.
A moment later, there was a loud noise, and Perturabo and the carpet he overturned rolled up in vivid patterns on the floor.
The paper held by the boy flew outwards due to the conflict of air currents, then mysteriously turned and flew into the palm of a hand stretched out from the shelter of the wicker chair.
As Perturabo struggled to free himself from the carpet's trap, Morse read the new document.
His brows frowned and then dropped, gradually fading into an expressionless expression: "You'd better explain why you added gears, hinges, and gears to this sink used for washing fingers before meals. "Sharp saw."
"There is something missing in the drawing..." Perturabo finally stood up. Instead of asking what evil spell was attached to this murderous carpet, he was more interested in his own design. More concerned, "I think this item was originally designed to be an automatic household meat grinder, used to process meat that cannot be processed by a machete in family life."
Morse turned over the drawing, The content of the next drawing was extremely complex, and even he needed some time to identify what the finished product would look like. Perturabo leaned into his hand expectantly until Morse rolled up the drawing and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Humanity needs toy birds, not miniature storm craft disguised as toy birds.”
"Really?" Perturabo asked suspiciously, "That's not what the army asked me for in the list of requirements."
"I'm just thinking about your army." Morse changed to the next one. Drawings, "What about this one? A military helicopter landing platform?"
"That's just an open-air theater." Perturabo said. "I want to build it between the market and the palace."
Morse folded the drawings in his hands and patted them in Perturabo's hands. "Okay, goodbye, I'm busy."
"What are you busy with?" Perturabo poked his head out.
"Private business, please do not disturb."
Sent the boy away, Morse continued to deal with his unfamiliar pen.
He raised his face with one hand and looked away, taking in the thousands of emotions in the city.
People work under the sun, the sun rises and sets, coming and going again from the source, shining on the land.
The night goes, the night comes again, the day passes, and the day comes again.
He saw that the river flowed wherever it went, but the place where it went was not filled. The rain clouds rise into the sky, the wind blows upwards and downwards, the shadows of the clouds cover the dry land, and the water falls from the sky to the origin of the rivers.
He saw people repairing houses, making gardens, digging pools, and planting flowers and fruit trees outside and inside the city. Those laid out layouts came from both the future and the past, and were finalized by Perturabo after discussion.
He saw that there were cattle and sheep in the village, and there were growing trees and creatures and all things. When the builder went to the village, he saw that houses had been built, water conservancy projects had been repaired, roads were open, and people had made feasible roads in the mountains.
“The boy holds the hammer and the ax and opens up new places. His joy also makes the people he likes happy. His labor gives wisdom, joy and conscience, and his work makes things happen. , and what he gathers and heaps will gradually pass into the hands of those who work with him.”
“He cuts off the sharp edges in the furnace, and takes the plow out of the furnace.”
"He brought more farming and cattle and sheep to this land, and placed joy in the hearts of the citizens. People will remember his name, just like the rising of the sun and the setting of the rain, and he will also remember his own. He It is his duty to rejoice in his work.” He became a citizen."
"His stature increased, and from eating and drinking he left his low body. I saw him grow like the rising of the sun and the setting of the rain."< br>
Morse put the pen on the wooden stand for the time being and held the new paper up to the light to dry.
The sun and moon rotate endlessly in the river, and the shadow of the sundial moves over and over again on the disk. The tabletop where he was writing was cracked, the result of the sun and wind.
On some rare years, the Olympian snow and ice rolled down from the highest mountains and blew into the house from the diamond of the window in front of him. At such a time, Perturabo, if he were in the capital, might come to him.
Morse didn't care about the cold. He just lit some firewood for Perturabo. The fire flickered bright red, and Perturabo told him about his new job recently.
He especially likes to show off his newly built theater. From the sound transmission effect, the arrangement of the seats, to the structure of the backstage, and the overall shape, Perturabo wants to explain it to him one by one. , he refuted them one by one, trying his best to be critical, which made the tall young man's cheeks heat up as he competed with him.
Perturabo's hair was cut short and then long, and later settled on a shape of neither long nor short. His black hair swelled like algae, setting off his increasingly dark ice-blue irises.
"Morse?" Perturabo opened the door and came in, followed by Andos. This was not very common, but it happened occasionally. "Andos and I are going to do a new test and demonstrate it with the craftsmen. Do you want to ask your question?"
The prince smiled simply and said hello to Morse.
Time has made him grow older, and since he is not deeply worried, he does not look too old.
The one who is getting old is Harkon. As the eldest prince fails to accept the iron crown of the tyrant, his wrinkles will increase day by day.
"What competition?" Morse asked.
“You should know more about the outside world.” Perturabo said, “The Royal Palace of Lokos is about to be renovated, and the craftsmen of Lokos are invited to come. Andos and I are going to give a demonstration for them. So we’ll do another comparison.”
"Are you still thinking about defeating the prince?" Morse arranged the papers on the desk. Some scrolls were new and some were old. Perturabo had said that he wanted to remake the electronic data pad once used by humans, and Moers Erls expressed sincere doubts about his ability to solder chips with his bare hands.
Perturabo said frankly: "Of course it is. The speed of Andos' progress is amazing."
Morse's hand stopped for a brief moment in surprise. He looked at Andos, his attitude softening: "Have you agreed to compete with my apprentice again?"
Andos nodded, "My sister has already begun to prepare for our competition... I never thought I have never made such rapid progress before."
Morse waved his hand and asked the two people to leave his room. "I'll come up with questions for you later. Anyone can take them." He felt a little headache because the endless competition between the two people had almost exhausted the propositions he felt were suitable.
Morse exhaled gently and held the pen in his hand again.
Even if Perturabo really made the data tablet with his bare hands, he would not use it: he did not trust the tools Perturabo made, and the information would not be transmitted to the young man's terminal in the end.
As time goes by, the simplest pen and his hand have become familiar with each other.
In the old days, he used carbon black to make ink, or applied wax to a wooden board, used the hard tip of the engraving stylus to carve characters on the wax board, and used the flat side to smooth out the mistakes. Wax cover, rewritten.
Later he used parchment paper, wooden paper, quill pens, and roller ball pens. Now he records the story and goes back to the time when the old method was first practiced.
His pen crossed the paper, and the sun and moon rolled forward again.
“He will let the righteous be righteous and the upright be upright. He will not allow the righteous to perish by doing righteousness, and he will not allow the wicked to do evil and live long years.”
“He has established a new decree. The law, his words are words that citizens want to hear.”
“He occasionally curses people, and often tries to snare the guilty; only I hear his curses, and those words ring in my ears. Make my heart happy.”
"I told him that I don't see anyone who always does good and never sins, and I don't see anyone who is always upright and never foolish. Don't do anything according to his temporary will, or he will bury himself together."
"Their temple was built, but the citizens passed by without heeding their steps. They let their footsteps ring and spoke freely in the grand downstairs. I saw the goods in the city increased, the gold and silver increased, the men and women working in the city increased, and Foreign men were added, and foreign rich men were added.”
“When they heard about the gift of the young man, they came to see his power. So wise men came from foreign countries, and princes came from foreign countries. The priests come from foreign countries.”
“Wisdom is better than strength, and strength is indispensable.”
“He will let the foreign nations eat and rejoice in the same labor. , He wanted to go to foreign lands with peace and truth, and to make things right, so he built strongholds, chariots, and weapons. "
Morse pinched his fingers. He was not satisfied with the current manuscript and might have to rewrite it in the future. Fortunately, he did not lack such a little time.
The water in the water clock is falling drop by drop, and it is walking endlessly with the sand in the hourglass. The hands of the sundial had long been broken, and the dial was chipped and blackened. He had long told Perturabo not to test the musket in his room.
The rhombus windows have been replaced with grid windows, and the blinds can be closed to block light by pulling the string. In recent days, pulling louvers has been popular in Locos, and countless citizens have repeatedly played with the structure until it broke.
Peturabo is about to promote new glass. Although the double-layer structure is unnecessary, it is indeed novel.
Someone came knocking on his door again, and Morse couldn't figure out why they always had to communicate with him while he was writing scrolls.
The first person to enter the door was Callifon, followed by the taller Perturabo, the young man was half a forehead taller than his sister. The food of Lokos made him grow quickly, like wheat in the ground and seedlings in the field.
His hair is long and paired with a suit of light armor and a crown on his forehead, which makes him more similar to the descendants of the gods in many Olympian myths. Morse would not speak directly to him, otherwise the big young man would be secretly annoyed for several days and nights.
"My army is training." Perturabo got straight to the point, "Although it is based on ancient books and my deductions, are you willing to come and watch?"
Morse will write Throw it down, and the slender cylinder rolls quietly on the table, and finally gets stuck in a corner not far away.
He leaned back in his wicker chair: "Want me to give you some advice?"
"Exactly," said Perturabo.
"I am a craftsman, child. I am not omnipotent. When have you ever seen me holding a weapon stained with blood? I don't remember the principles of soldiers and horses."
Perturabo also Not insisting: "Then come and see my theater, Morse. I built it beautifully."
"Your theater is renovated every year, and Lokos doesn't think you are too nosy. Morse smiled, picked up the pen from the table again, and rolled it between his fingers. "Why should I go to your theater? You want to see me sing a song on stage with a high pitched voice?"
Carifon joined the conversation at the right time, her eyes still peaceful and clean: "It will be held next year The naming ceremony of Perturabo, Morse. This is the traditional coming of age ceremony of Lokos. Since he is the master of our Legion, he will belong to Lokos together with us."
"Naming ceremony?" Morse chewed on this word. Since Perturabo came to him, the young man must have agreed to participate in it. As for the venue, of course it will be the Perturabo Grand Theater next year.
He turned his pen with great interest, "Do you want to rename yourself?"
"No, I will officially choose my name. It is Perturabo." The young man explain.
Morse looked at him intently. Many years ago, the young man declared in the main hall that he wanted his name to have meaning. Will he do it?
He moved his head slightly, and his movements were blurred between shaking his head and nodding. "I will go see the ceremony named after the goddess Herphony next year. For now, let me keep it fresh. I have seen your grand theater a thousand times."
Then he suddenly thought of something, "Who will carve the statue of the goddess? Or Andos?"
Califon nodded, "Brother is very willing to re-gift his blessing."
Perturabo continued: "I will also send my troops at that time." He announced.
“A naming, a military parade?” Morse murmured, “By the way, isn’t Harkon going to succeed yet?”
“Dameix said haha Erkon wants to make military exploits under my banner." Perturabo raised his head, the iron ornament on his forehead shining brightly. He then showed a little disdain and said, "I won't let him die."
"That's okay, it's a good thing."
Morse looked out the window, knowing that the sound of cannons would echo in the mountains. His pen landed on the scroll, and the dark ink left an imprint.
“Those who are wise may not necessarily reap the fruits, those who are sensible may not necessarily be victorious, and those who lead the army may not necessarily enjoy the joy.”
“However, kingdoms will rise, just as the wind carries wheat seeds, The clouds will carry the raindrops. The light is good, the night is good, and the wishes are good, so he will forget his sorrows, overcome evil, and do good things."
"I see time walking again, Everything turned around. I saw birds, swords, and the earth again. ”
Morse stopped writing. Outside the window, the ritual music celebrating Perturabo's coming of age and naming ceremony were ringing from all directions.
He listened to the flute, harp, and reed, and waited for Perturabo to knock at his door. His long hair and black clothes were automatically clean.
As he flipped through the book, he saw that time was passing by.
(End of this chapter)