Chapter 65: Group Photo in Hell
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…
I visited the writer's wife and daughter.
When he found me, I was taking a nap next to his wife.
"Do you have a habit of sleeping next to graves?" He pushed his wheelchair over and hit my calf with his cane.
"I can't believe you have a wife. I'm going to say bad things about you to her," I said.
"Whatever you want, but that's my spot." He hit my calf again.
"Okay, then I'll go find your daughter." I said this and turned over.
"She's only eight years old, that's even worse. Get up quickly." His face darkened and he hit me even harder.
What strength did he have? He was so weak that only bones were left. Just by looking at his sunken cheeks, I was sure that his weight was far below the standard value. He couldn't even leave a bruise on me, but I sat up anyway out of politeness.
I've always been very polite.
"How did she die?"
"Died of illness."
"Both of them?"
"Um."
"Then why are you still alive?"
"If you leave here, I'll tell you."
As I wished, I stood up, patted the dirt off my body, and said to the two graves:
"Then I'll leave first. Thank you for your care."
The writer was so angry that he couldn't speak. After a long silence, he said:
"ill."
It was a really funny scene. Missiles flew overhead, and their sharp screech drowned out all the noise. The noise turned into dead silence, and the dead silence turned into noise. The roar of artillery fire covered up the hysterical laughter.
He didn't look at me, but just stared at the two graves for a long, silent moment.
At a certain moment, the mechanical wheelchair behind him transformed into the shape of a tombstone.
…
During the war between the rebels and the government, the old writer's father, who was a government employee, died in the riots. The old writer, who inherited a rich fortune, met his lover, who was twelve years younger than him, at the age of thirty-two.
People cannot progress and social classes will always remain fixed. A person's position in this world depends on the bed he is born in.
The old writer who lost his father also lost his rightful social status and naturally became an unemployed vagrant. He started reading and writing, partly as a hobby, but more because he didn't know what to do or how to feel alive.
Until he met that optimistic and gentle woman.
A patient thinker, a romanticist, a traveler, his own personal god.
She was a good woman, kind, gentle, caring for orphans, with a broad spiritual world and deep thoughts. Although her physical illness prevented her from continuing her adventure, she still looked forward to the distant forest and galaxy.
As he spoke, his eyes were filled with a hint of love and sadness, and his old, sunken cheeks were squeezed by his muscles, revealing an ugly smile.
If everyone's life is a movie, then his life is a third-rate romance film. No one will pay attention to the love, hate and vengeance of the little people. In the eyes of the big people, such delicate feelings are as weird as an alien falling in love with a flower. I watched his life with relish, and gave him flowers and applause at the appropriate time.
——Until I became an actor in the movie too.
"She's always been paying attention to you," he said.
Since I was a teenager, I have been officially put into use. My fame was so great that at my peak I was even as famous as the country. Flyers praising me were as overwhelming as my wanted posters. People respect me or hate me simply because they wish me to die or because they wish me to help them.
But he said:
"She wants you to be healthy, safe, and have a future."
"Before she died, she hoped you would have a peaceful life."
I feel incredible.
"I don't even know her!"
The old writer shook his head:
"Before she died, she was worried about you."
It could be an autumn with continuous drizzle, or a cold winter with heavy snow. When the thin woman looked up, she saw a photo of a young man. After stripping away all the honors and constraints given to him by the outside world, she saw through his essence and suddenly felt sad. So she paid close attention and prayed quietly. In her miserable life, she sincerely hoped that the child she had never met and was forced to do something for herself could have a better future.
Don't want war, don't want plunder, don't hang in the air, don't be fooled by the stars.
Healthy, happy, free, independent, and have a normal life.
Her life was in chaos and her thoughts were never in her control. She was tortured by acquired traumatic mental illness, crying and self-harming, and her five senses were disordered. She knew that she was powerless and could only offer her heartfelt blessings from afar with meaningless voice.
…
We have never met, we don't know each other.
But she wants me to be free and happy, and to have peace in my life.
"I don't understand," I said. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
I have value, I have everything, and no one will try to have such expectations of me. My mother, whom I had never met, abandoned me on the 'right' path when I had no memories.
She abandoned me on this road, and I am moving forward on this road. Every step on this road foreshadows destruction. I faced each right and wrong choice calmly, and thus got what I have today.
This unreasonable feeling is so ridiculous that I should sneer at it as always. But an inexplicable emptiness and anger rose from the void in my chest, and even I didn’t know where this anger came from.
He laughed tremblingly, his breaths coming out in a continuous gasp, with a hint of sob in his madness.
"Boring," I said.
"Then why did you step back?" he asked.
"This is meaningless. I am willing to pay the price for victory."
"Ha! Why are you backing off!" The old writer raised his head and his laughter shook the dust in the air.
"I'm leaving now, take care of yourself," I said.
"Coward! Take a good look at yourself!"
Myself?
I lowered my head and all I could see was the black military jacket that always accompanied me. The cold and thick fabric could keep out the cold and the heat, and it was the combat uniform preferred by people in the other world. When my fingertips touched the metal button, I felt the sticky touch of blood, as if an electric current was passing through me, which made me shiver violently.
He was out of breath, and he leaned back in a chair in the shadows and panted softly:
"You don't even know what kind of person you are, do you?"
…
What kind of person am I?
I have no idea.
There is no meaning, just searching, searching for some reason to live.
With an empty stomach that cannot be filled, they feed on the meaning of other people's lives until they are full or die.
So the question is endless: Why are you alive? What do you want to do in life? Will you succeed or die? Will all the past be transformed into foam like death and shattered on the sunlit sea surface?
He planned to wander towards his death and was seriously injured many times when he attempted suicide. He is arrogant by nature, is complacent about all reputations, good or bad, and is clinging to all his past victories. They harbor malice and misunderstanding towards other people's happiness, and on the road to finding meaning, they cruelly destroy other people's happiness.
Then the evil force came back to him, and that terrifying pure wish fell upon him like some kind of curse and punishment. The sound of the counterattack was so weak that even I could hear it clearly, and the self-righteous victory disappeared in the disappointed eyes of others. The loss of realizing it belatedly is so small yet so disturbing. After realizing this, a surge of emptiness came over me, as if another self was strangling my throat.
I was silent for a long time, and then spoke in subtle resistance:
"A man who has killed someone cannot write a book."
Blood on buttons, wanted notice on white paper, and hallucinations of corpses in ordinary times. The child you are looking at is not worth expecting, normality is contrary to him, and the so-called freedom and happiness are incomprehensible dreams in the clouds. He only felt that those beautiful existences were absurd and strange.
"As long as you want, there will always be someone to teach you."
He said:
"As long as you live, as long as you want."
He handed me a thin volume containing notes and maps from his late wife's travels.
The map spans forty-three regions, meticulously marking the customs and habits of each location. Judging from the length of time, it seems to span several years.
"Look around the world for me, record what you encounter, and die when you get tired of it, how about that?"
I hate him.
I really, really hate him.
But I went anyway.
My life has no meaning, but now that I have a destination, I am not doing nothing.
——"Meaningless Literature" Part 1. Part 2
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**
In addition to cherry blossoms, Tsurumaru Kuninaga's light effect also had white feathers floating in the air. Amid the noise, the young man with short white hair looked around, his bright golden eyes fell on the Shinsengumi, and he smiled thoughtfully.
"Ahhh, I look a lot like the Shinsengumi!"
Indeed, today Qian Jianmu was wearing all white, and they both had white hair and golden eyes. Judging from the color combination alone, the two of them looked like a family.
"Tsurumaru-dono!" Although the mood was delicate, the swords were still courteous and showed three parts of excitement, three parts of tears, three parts of trust and one part of uneasy anticipation. This complex expression of emotions was so colorful that Tsurumaru was stunned for a moment, but soon realized something and burst into laughter. He suppressed his eagerness to try.
"Then I won't bother you anymore. Let me show you how I can scare the guys who come after me!"
This guy is super lively.
It's obvious that these swords have never experienced the combined critical hits of Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya. No matter how capable they are of causing trouble, can they be as capable as the 15-year-old Dazai Osamu? Less experience, definitely less experience.
Feel relieved and turn around, Qianjianmaku picked up a short knife and woke them up in order. After the familiar cherry blossoms fell——
The black-haired, purple-eyed boy looked around with a confused look in his eyes.
“…”
——He didn’t even say the opening words!
Although this starting word is just a programmed setting, it would be strange if it was suddenly not said. The group of people were stunned for a minute, and the black-haired, purple-eyed boy came to his senses and lowered his head:
"General, I'm Yagen Toushirou... Thank you."
…
Although he is a 1.5-meter-tall boy, his voice is very adult-like, even more steady and magnetic than the other swords.
If you don't see him in person, no one would know that he is only 1.5 meters tall.
So weird, take another look.
As the most reliable short sword, Yagen Toushirou is the pillar that carried the mainstay of many Honmaru in the early days when resources were scarce, because the short sword was relatively easy to obtain. He is steady in nature, and over time he is more reliable than most adult blades. The short sword's super high maneuverability (speed) makes him invincible on the battlefield. He can go to the battlefield or the pharmacy. Many Shinsengumi even give him certain authorization to manually operate the sword on behalf of busy Shinsengumi. Therefore, he has seen many original forms of the same sex at a young age (? ), making him the perfect choice for sword fighting!
Then, without a moment's hesitation, the dagger of the young man with the adult voice was awakened.
"Yamaubakiri Kunihiro... uh... what's that look in your eyes... do you mind that I'm a replica... huh?"
It was a sword that looked fierce, but when one looked at the blade, the first thing one saw was a torn white cloth.
A young man with blond hair and blue eyes could be vaguely seen under the white cloth. He realized that something was wrong and in the blink of an eye he wrapped himself in the white cloth and looked at him cautiously.
"You...are a judge?"
The young man has a handsome face, and his clothing is not Japanese style, but more like the adventurer suit commonly seen in European adventurer stories. It feels like he can cosplay as a warrior who bravely enters the devil's dungeon anytime and anywhere. But due to her inferiority complex that she was a "copycat" and thought she was not worthy of showing off her brilliance, she covered her face with a white cloth all year round. Over time, others will see you as listless and introverted.
However, as one of the initial swords that guides the Shinsengumi to adapt to the Honmaru and has undergone special training, his qualities in all aspects are not bad, and his abilities are even better than many similar swords. Instability is actually very stable when it is placed in a clear place. Yamaubakiri seems to be very concerned about the imitation, but not to the point of wanting to die if he touches it. Apart from that, he is calm and gentle, and is very kind to the Tsukumogami. Being able to become a starter despite having clear character flaws often means that he is more reliable in his professional field.
After being stared at for a long time, the young man lowered his head deeply, and the impolite temperament that he deliberately created at the beginning suddenly disappeared:
"…What are you expecting…"
He opened his mouth but never uttered the next sentence.
Sengenmaku was waiting for him to say something, but Yamaubakiri Kunihiro pulled the white cloth tightly and wrapped himself tightly. His eyes under the white cloth looked around panically, and when he saw Tsurumaru greeting him not far away, his eyes lit up as if he was saved.
"You have to say thank you yourself!" said Tsurumaru.
"I don't think you should repair me first...but thank you..." Yamaubakiri Kunihiro whispered.
He stood there, like a big mushroom with a white umbrella-cap.
"——Master, this will give us more blades, and we can do our internal work (such as washing clothes, farming, and cooking) as normal. We still have some seeds left, which can sustain us for a while. But after one period, we must go to Wanwu to buy new seeds..."
Seeing the new blade being awakened, Yakiri Hasebe breathed a sigh of relief and reported in a low voice:
"Also, if you feel unwell, you can consult Yagen Toushirou. For official information related to the government, you can consult Yamaubakiri Kunihiro. These two are good at this... Great, it seems that everything is running normally again..."
"Phase 1? When is the crop mature?"
"About a week. The cultivated land is not large. After all, it has to supply food to all the swords, so the growth rate is very short."
"Um……"
Seeing that the Shinsengumi and Yakiri Hasebe suddenly started discussing the internal affairs of the Honmaru as if no one was around, Yamaubakiri Kunihiro, who was thrown aside, realized belatedly that now was the time to exchange information. He looked around and saw Yagen Toushirou, who sighed, grabbing the corner of the white cloth and leading him to Mikazuki and Kogumimaru.
Before they could say a few words, Tsurumaru, who had been invisible all the time, suddenly raised the Polaroid camera that had come into his hands at some point, and spoke excitedly.
"I see, I learned it! How about we take a group photo?"
"Group photo?" Mikazuki blinked in bewilderment: "But we're not all here yet."
"Haha, normally we can't take a group photo because there are too many blades and they can't fit in." Tsurumaru's eyes sparkled, "But now is the perfect time! It's the perfect time to take a group photo. Don't miss this opportunity!"
"......?" The blades looked at him blankly. Sengenmaku vaguely understood something. He slowly looked at Mikazuki. Together with Mikazuki who also seemed to have realized something, he slowly looked at Tsuchiya Ichi, and then slowly looked back at Tsurumaru Kuninaga.
"……?"
"That's right! Aren't we all here? You can't normally take photos like this!"
Tsurumaru gave a purely terrifying smile.
ah?
"Tsuru... Tsurumaru-dono... Teirichi... huh? A group photo?"
Yakiri Hasebe and Yamaubakiri Kunihiro were caught in a brainstorming session, with confused looks of incomprehension on their faces.
I didn't quite get it at first, but then I realized that if the sword is the real body... the hand entering the pool is a mass grave... taking a photo with the mass grave or something...
Although it is indeed a 'group photo'...
But it turned out to be a group photo from hell! ! !
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