Chapter 467 Extra·Time is enough for you to love
He has come a long way.
He saw the fire burning, coming from the rotation of the resurgence, carrying the dust away into the distance, passing over the side of his golden helmet, sweeping over the rustling emerald feathers and golden sculptures The king's name circle softly whispers into the long wind. The ashes rose from the fire, fell from the sky, and landed gently on the crystal road, and pale lotuses bloomed in the water-covered path.
His walking made a crisp sound in the water. Each cluster of water splashes jumped up from the flow of time, and the clear water droplets raised the possibility of reaching thousands of destinations. The traveler blinked gently, and everything in the past transformed into ten thousand unreasonable possibilities in the water drops, or maybe it was just a shadow left by the universe that converged here at the end of time.
He saw how the world began and how it ended, how all things flowed on the great wheel of time, how life turned into wind and shadow, like fireflies lighting up in the water, like stars and the moon falling into the water. Lotus heart, life and death, no trace, ups and downs, no beginning and no end...
who is he? He asked himself blankly, raising his palms in front of him, and the burned dust flowed like sand from his fingertips.
He is a handful of dust and ashes packed in a golden helmet, scattered by the wind and waves, and painstakingly collected by others - the person who packed him into the golden helmet has long since disappeared, and the prodigal son's last echo The echo was the steam and fire that sent him to this path, and the loneliness that enveloped him.
But this place is not silent.
The tide of time fell together, rustling across his outer armor. The long and quiet song is like white gravel and shells washed a hundred times in the water.
The light of the world fell, the ashes floating in the sky turned into the moon, the road lit up the light of the sun, and then wound into a silk rope of reeds, quietly spinning a small boat of light under his feet, the reeds ship.
A small white sail was hung, and the light half filled the sail. It also blew his copper-red hair over the side of his face. The embers at the end of his hair floated upward, fluttering, and melted into the light. in the river.
He stood in the boat. The light boat held up his armor and drifted along the path of light towards the end of the water. Wherever he passed, lotus flowers closed and bloomed to welcome his arrival.
The boat passed through the canyon, and there was a faint sound of weeping in the sound of the water. In the tears in this deep canyon, there were also the melodious tunes of prayer, asking for a piece of time that came from the beginning of time, before the light came. The first review and pity. He looked quietly at the water, and there were invisible flowers swaying under the water.
The light became brighter and brighter. After walking through the Weeping Valley, he stepped off the reed boat and stepped into a sandy plain where the war had burned out. Broken axles and half-broken flags were stuck together in the yellow sand, and the royal emblem of the past could be faintly seen on the flags. The endless yellow sand buried the remaining blood from the past battles in the depths of time. Abandoned armors were scattered everywhere, already buried by the wind and sand, with only a few rusty metal edges exposed.
The light is still there. Light is as constant as time. The light passes through the dust in the sky and shines on the ancient yellow sand, reflecting a blurry yellow.
He walked slowly among the ruins, the fine sand rustling softly. Occasionally, broken spears would be stepped on underfoot, making a clear cracking sound.
Gradually, he seemed to see those former warriors, and their souls seemed to still be wandering on this battlefield. A ghost wearing black armor stood not far away, with firelight shining in the gaps between the armor, his eyes covered by the iron helmet, staring at the far point of time. Maybe it’s the pursuit. Maybe waiting.
His pace slowed, there was no hostility here. Through the hazy light, he sensed a long-lasting sadness.
The dust and sand rose again, trembling in the wind of light, like plucked strings, leaving a slight afterimage, and then flew away until the end of the stream of light.
The soldier saw him, his armored body turned towards him, the bolter in his hand paused, then put it down.
He lowered his head, looked into the soldier's goggles, and saw the fire of light there. Golden fire, incandescent fire, the last fire when the afterglow shadow leaves the ground, is contained in the crystal box-like eyepiece. There is the fire of the end, the pure fire that does not exist at the end of time.
None of them spoke, and the warrior remained silent until the dust began to fall. The black-armored warrior turned around and walked slowly towards the depths of the sandy plain.
He followed the warrior silently. There was some kind of indescribable quiet connection here, which quietly brought them together through some metaphysical brilliance.
They walked past the remnants of the battlefield, past broken power halberds, shattered hammers and claws. The standard-bearer's ancient banner stands among the sword-bush.
He stretched out his dusty hand and gently stroked the lines on the flag. The steel skeleton stared at him, watching him go away in time, or perhaps it had become his connection with the past, like a silent monument, bringing him into the beginning of time.
At the end of the sand plain are towering mountains that reach into the clouds. The backbone of the mountains is made of black jade and ebony wood, creating a silent and cold atmosphere. The warrior stopped, raised his head, looked at the top of the mountain, and then turned to look at him silently, with a complex emotion in his eyes.
He understood that he would cross the mountain alone. His boots stepped on the edge of the mountain. After sliding down for a moment, he found that the mountain under his feet had changed and turned into a tangible glass tube. The joints were interlocked to form a depression. Some light spots fell on the black mountain, flickering and lighting up in series, as coiled electric candle lights.
He followed the guidance of the light upwards, climbed over the corners like the folds of a robe, slowly climbed up along the etched texture along the inscriptions of the sacred axioms, and climbed up on the armrests of the dark throne formed by the mountain ridges. Take a short break. Beside him, a withered hand rested quietly on the edge of the throne, connected to several cruel pipes.
The fingertips of the Colossus were still rubbing it slightly, writing invisible runes and invisible braille in eternity... He climbed onto the palm of the Colossus and looked up at the infinitely tall withered arm. To whom did this arm belong, and why did it let his tears fill his eyes made of ashes?
His face sunk and melted under the moist water vapor. He fell into the inside of the armor that supported his existence, and looked at the witch bone talisman engraved inside, landing on the bottom of the carrier and skin. He was already a handful of ashes, drifting in the cracks of time.
He has burned.
Only at this moment when time has not yet begun to flow, light has not yet moved forward, and the first fire in human history has not yet lit up like a star in the middle of the night, his dust can still follow the path of life. The loop goes back to the undying moment, the only moment.
He fell into the armor, and the armor fell into the palm of the colossus and shattered into pieces. His ashes flew outward and dispersed into the light spots all over the sky, becoming one with the dust and sand...
His armor was lifted up, and the black jade mountains awakened from the eternal stagnation, or it was The shadow of the light awakened.
The skinny palm holding his armor was raised upward. He was getting closer to the origin of light, so his armor was put back together again, going against the flow of time or light, to restore a complete set of brilliant golden colors. Armor, decorated with soft golden and red robes and eagle feathers embellished with lapis lazuli.
His dust also gradually reset, and a thousand dust particles formed a cluster of light. The thousand clusters of light reflected the sun at the source.
His face recovered again, glowing with pearly red luster, and his golden eyes composed of a thousand dots of dust looked straight into the sun he saw. He stood in the center of his palm, facing a skeletal face with a skeleton similar to his own. Deep in the dark void where the eyes once were, the sun's radiance surged like time, like water making waves.
The light fell out along the lower edges of the eye sockets, slid across the bony cheeks, and dried quietly, leaving only a drop of golden water rippling slightly on the edge of the eye sockets.
He opened his mouth and found his voice.
"Father..." he said softly, "I am..."
Withered bones never answered, He lifted him up to the end of the sky, to the only source of light, hanging at the top of the world. In the sun. The light was getting brighter and brighter, but no matter how bright it was and couldn't be looked directly at, he could still look into the depths of the light.
The light is waiting for him, accepting him into the light. He ascended the pillar of cloud in the day and walked on the path of life.
Gradually, he heard more sounds, the sounds of laughter and laughter, like water quietly slipping out of the rock. The cheers rose from a layer of clouds until they resounded throughout the sky where he was.
Some familiar sounds seem to form rhythmic syllables, and the syllables form words. The words float together in the chords at the end of the light, and they become sentences. Sentences bring language, and language generates meaning, taking shape in a slip that cannot be completely captured, quietly shifting and changing, but all transformations are still reassuring and satisfying, without gaps and gaps, enough to locate an existing self. .
"...You can't do this..."
A familiar voice was recognized by him. It was not clear who it belonged to, but this voice also came from the bright light and was accompanied by the slightly swaying crops. In the sound of friction.
"...The rules do not prohibit it, you have to know..."
This was another only voice, tangibly holding his hand and leading him up the stairs, Go through the door. The music became louder, smoothly transitioning from one note upwards, and then falling softly, repeating the outpourings in the singing again and again.
He stepped into the door of light and stepped into a golden field. Some unknown crop swayed in the surging wind of light, and the golden leaves and the awns of the leaf tips swept across his leg armor, like a golden ocean, peacefully and eternally full.
In the wilderness, there are huge wooden boats traveling in the sea of fields, without bending a single ear of crops wherever they pass. There are also towering pillars, or pilot signs, towering in the blue sky and sunlight, and each statue is dozens of times taller than him. There are also living creatures, slowly spreading their four legs and passing slowly in the wilderness. Their bodies cut out backlit shadows in the light, but the shadows themselves are still formed by light.
Right in the middle of the field, he saw twenty pillars surrounding a ring. On each pillar stood a giant statue made of white marble, engraved in time with their respective pure forms. starting place. The final source of light is located in the center of the ring column, reflecting a bright line outward.
"Ah..." A whisper came from his throat, identifying the cloak, sword, white robe and wings in the pillar. He recognized every statue among them, but he hadn't remembered their identities yet. He thought about it and continued to move forward, not feeling very anxious at all. Here, the source of light begins, and time loses its meaning.
He once raced against every second to snatch the last moment owned by a certain race. He once ran non-stop, and once fell into the depths of darkness and silence, not knowing his way out. He had lost time, and now his time was restored a thousandfold. He has all these moments and moments, a thousand unhurried blinks and ten thousand soothing heartbeats.
He owns time.
He walked forward, he was already in the light, and the space surrounded by twenty pillars was also revealed to his eyes. He saw many people, not twenty, but still numerous. He saw them surrounding a broad table, each holding each other's shoulders or backs, pushing and shoving, their bodies filled with light approaching each other, as if they had never been separated.
He walked forward sadly and quietly. He seemed to have lost it all. He was once lonely, struggling in another kind of dark eternity with no one by his side. He had been convinced that he had lost one or more of them, even if he couldn't remember now. He had been silent and had nothing to say. They had been at war with each other and had turned against each other. But here is the end and beginning of time, where light first and finally falls.
He has light.
"If you must do this..." one of the people said, he reached forward and moved something on the table. For this, the man next to him laughed and slapped him hard on the back, which earned him a glare in return. They had played this trick many times, and a casual glance was enough to reveal a hundred thoughts and secrets. But they still enjoy it.
Because there is enough time for them to do so. There's enough time for them to do whatever they want.
They were still discussing something, and sometimes the discussion seemed to interconnect the round table with their own existence, as if they themselves were on the table of the white stone, not just on the edge of the round table. Their eyes sparkled brightly.
Behind them stood some other people, who seemed not to belong to the twenty pillars, but also belonged to this whole.
They clinked glasses with each other, and some ancient and sweet dark drink slightly rippled in the transparent glasses.
Then they drank the drinks with a smile - one smiled generously, the other had seriousness vaguely written on his face, and the other always stared at the people around the round table, his eyes indifferent. Move away.
“I think he didn’t violate my rules. No one stipulates that we can’t choose the shortest model from each group of models with different heights. If we form three teams of 18, they can all hide in the building terrain. "There's nothing wrong with that," said one spectator, "is there anything wrong with it?"
The person who received the approval nodded solemnly, his unsmiling face still as solid as a rock.
"But he is - not to mention that it is rare for me to come here, you... forget it."
The person who was playing chess with him reluctantly swallowed the second half of the sentence and turned around , a smile appeared on his smooth face, and he opened his hand to him.
"You are here at last, Magnus," he said, and then they said.
(End of this chapter)