Chapter 32 The Seven Deadly Sins
To make getting around easier, you're all dressed in casual sportswear that's perfect for moving around. If you want to eat at a restaurant here, you'll have to shower and change into slightly more formal clothes first.
The wooden floor in the bathroom creaks and groans, giving you the feeling that if you're not careful, you might ruin this historical site by soaking it in water.
Even though this isn't reality, you still carefully pull the shower curtain closed, trying your best not to splash any water out.
There was no ventilation system in the room, so you wrapped yourself in a bath towel and opened the window while drying your hair, feeling the cool breeze carrying the scent of lemon trees under the scorching sun, which swept away the moisture from the room and your body.
The old, round mirror is somewhat dark, so you avoid looking directly at your reflection, and even more so at the angels, ladies, and other figures reflected in the frescoes that surround the entire room.
—From the moment you enter this suite, these characters seem to come alive, constantly winking and making faces at you.
But perhaps because the room is too brightly lit, and the furnishings and color scheme are beautiful and comfortable, they don't seem evil; instead, they exude a kind of benevolent invitation.
If you don't know whether this is a good thing or a bad thing, you might as well stay outside.
Your group walked through the corridor back to the lobby, and then through the garden to the hotel's own restaurant.
The waiter smiled and led you to a table by the window, where you could vaguely see exquisitely manicured garden trees and marble statues hidden among the flowers. You didn't know if these objects were also cultural relics, but you just had to take out your phone and snap away.
After the waiter brought over the sparkling wine, Xiaoming raised his glass: "No matter what, let's enjoy this time together. Whatever difficulties we may encounter, we will definitely overcome them."
The crystal glasses clinked lightly, and the crisp bubbles danced gently in the glass. Taking a sip, one's mouth was filled with a refreshing and sweet sensation.
A basket of freshly baked bread sits in the center of the table, alongside a small dish of golden olive oil and herb butter, making one's mouth water.
"Our appetizer is a beetroot puff pastry with black cherries and almonds. We hope you enjoy it," the waiter said softly, his voice low and steady.
You smiled and nodded, actually eager to taste it—in reality this might seem a bit greedy, but the satisfaction and enjoyment of the meal was one of the few moments when you could forget the perilous situation.
The knife and fork slowly cut into the puff pastry, accompanied by a subtle crisp sound, and a fragrant aroma wafted up.
Put a small piece in your mouth, and the light beetroot blends with the aroma of almonds and the slight tartness of black cherries, creating a refreshing melody on your taste buds.
Wow, you can't help but close your eyes and feel the subtle changes in the layers.
After you finished your appetizers, the waiter immediately brought out the main course—in addition to fish and chips, there was also a delicate risotto made with unique Blue Valley cheese, fresh spinach, and slightly tart lemon zest. You found it brightly colored, pleasing to the eye, and a little bit pungent.
Carefully scoop up a spoonful, savoring the creamy cheese and refreshing lemon flavors spreading across your tongue. This stark contrast in taste is perhaps the unique flavor of "stinky food." You can't help but smile with satisfaction, and everyone else exclaims, "Delicious!"
As you are enjoying your meal, the waiter comes again to apologize for interrupting and quietly asks if you would like a glass of local Cabernet Sauvignon to accompany it.
You accepted everything; it's good that you had the experience. The waiter quickly brought new stemmed glasses, poured a small glass of wine into each, and the deep red liquid swirled, releasing a rich fruity aroma and subtle spiciness.
You take a sip, and the wine is rich and smooth, with a slightly sour taste that perfectly cuts through the greasiness of the meal—truly perfect.
Finally, there was a dessert: a delicate persimmon custard served with crunchy almond cookies. You used the cookies as a spoon to scoop up a small bite of the custard, took a crunchy bite, and savored the sweet flavor.
The waitress then recommended a glass of her homemade Tuscan sweet wine. You might not understand her explanation, but just one sip is enough to feel the wine's smooth and sweet body, which balances the alcohol's intensity and complements the dessert perfectly.
You arrived outside of mealtime, and the number of guests gradually increased only after you finished eating. Amidst the aroma of olive oil and rosemary, you and your companions rested, completely unconcerned about your image, clutching your bellies.
"Let's go for a stroll. It's a rare treat to come to a place like this," Xiao Fang suggested.
"OK."
You then went together to the private garden and enjoyed a peaceful afternoon.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves and fell on the grass. You found a clean spot and lay down.
The fountain flowed quietly not far away, and you chatted idly, which brought out the laziness of the whole day.
As evening fell, you returned to your suite with the hopeful expectation that you would fall asleep the moment your head hit the bed.
The ancient traces that were too conspicuous to be repaired during the day are now completely covered by the afterglow of the setting sun, while the exquisite carvings and tassels of the curtains sway gently in the air, shimmering, as if returning to the most vibrant era of the entire palace.
After saying goodnight to everyone and quickly washing up, you snuggled into the large bed, the sheets beneath you soft to the touch, the air filled with a faint sandalwood scent.
You turn off the bedside lamp and draw the heavy curtains, plunging the room into darkness. The shadows around you seem to wander on the walls, gradually approaching you.
Sleepiness grows as you wish, you close your eyes and imagine yourself sinking into the clouds. Just then, a faint light shines through your eyelids, blurry yet dazzling, its presence telling you with overwhelming force: Stop hiding, accept the progress.
Okay, you frowned, forced to open your eyes to look.
You see the heavenly scene on the ceiling gradually illuminated by holy light, sunlight from multiple heavens, which is not as bright as the incandescent lights of modern civilization inside the room.
But the angels on the ceiling really came to life. Each angel was quietly watching you with a subtle expression on their face, as if welcoming you, or as if scrutinizing you.
A moment later, the entire ceiling began to change. The outlines of the still angels blurred, and under the interplay of light and shadow, the scene of heaven gradually crumbled before your eyes, replaced by a somber landscape.
The holy clouds dissipated, revealing a gray sky, and the faces of the surrounding angels began to turn ferocious, their expressions changing from benevolent to cold and ruthless.
Or perhaps, as a heretic and an outsider, you are simply not the recipient of the gods' mercy here.
Before you could fully comprehend what was happening, a chill ran through you, and you felt as if you were being dragged by an invisible force, your body gradually losing control.
No matter how many times you experience it, your first reaction is always to resist, but that force undeniably pulls you toward the ceiling. The surrounding scenery distorts, and in the instant when light and darkness alternate, you are no longer in a room, but floating in an endless void.
The damp wind carries you to the ground, the sky is dark, and the thorns that greet you are like black iron spikes, growing abruptly from the earth and intertwining into a dense and suffocating jungle.
The spikes gleamed with a cold light, as if silently warning: no one is allowed to approach easily.
You weren't afraid to explore, and strode out. With each step, you could hear the fallen leaves and twigs crunching beneath your feet, the sound particularly loud in the silent environment, as if eager to disturb some unknown creature.
In this dreamlike moment, your senses are exceptionally sharp. Sure enough, you feel a strange gaze upon you.
Instinctively, I looked up, my gaze sweeping across the open space not far away. Three pairs of eyes gleamed faintly in the shadows. They held a cold, piercing light, and I wondered how long they had been waiting for me.
It was a lion, a leopard, and a she-wolf.
They stood before you, exuding a primal and solemn aura. Their figures stood out sharply in the thorny thicket, their fur gleaming faintly in the dim light. The lion's mane swayed gently in the breeze, thick and majestic, its eyes calm and deep. The leopard's fur was mottled with spots, every movement carrying silent agility and power, while the she-wolf stood to the side, her eyes revealing a profound wisdom and vigilance, observing your every subtle move.
You are also gazing at them, and you can't help but feel a strange sense of awe.
Their existence is undoubtedly a symbol of nature, a gaze from some deep-seated inner force meeting yours. Each animal's posture exudes composure and confidence, as if telling you that they are the undisputed masters of their own territory.
They neither rush to approach you nor show hostility; they simply gaze at you with a calm yet focused look, as if waiting for some kind of response from you.
You try to find some kind of clue in the eyes of these animals, but their gaze is deep and dark. You only feel yourself being dissected by these gazes, and every bit of confusion and inevitable fear in your heart, even the slightest self-doubt, is seen through by them.
However, these animals did not attack you because of this; they just watched you quietly, occasionally circling around you.
"What am I looking for here?" you can't help but ask yourself.
You treat these adventures as survival challenges or hurdles, but when the other party is just staring at you and waiting for you, how do you move on to the next step?
"What do they mean?" you wonder, pondering.
The lion's majesty reminds you of courage, the leopard's agility symbolizes decisiveness, and the she-wolf's wisdom reminds you of calmness and patience.
Those religious scenes make you instinctively feel that this is not the real answer, but your answer comes from your experiences that have shaped you, and you feel that this interpretation is acceptable, after all, no one is examining you here.
Even if they do, they have to find out your mistake first.
You stand before them, slowly taking a breath, feeling the tension within you gradually transform into tranquility. It's as if, in that moment, you too become a part of this jungle, merging with them into this mysterious natural world.
The gaze of the three animals remained unchanged, but you could feel your posture in front of them gradually becoming more stable. You were no longer the confused and bewildered intruder you were at the beginning, but a seeker trying to understand the situation and accept the challenge.
Their gaze slowly shifted behind you, a clear indication. You turned around, following their gaze, and saw a faint but determined light appearing at the edge of the thorny thicket. You realized this might be the next step, a path to deeper exploration.
Finally, you took the first step, and a strange light shone from the end.
You hold your breath, your eyes wide open, as if the darkness itself has been torn apart to make way for this sudden burst of light.
The thorns shrank back in the light, as if they were instantly forced to bow their heads by the oppressive force, gradually shrinking into the soil and turning into shattered dust.
As the thorns disappeared, smooth white marble began to emerge from the ground, its jade-like flesh gleaming with a cold light.
You look around and are surprised to find that, from the sky to the ground, in every space, there exists a statue of David, large or small.
Each statue is presented from a different angle and is not exactly the same as the statue in the history of human art, but they all symbolize the same pride and power.
You feel out of place under the gaze of these statues.
David's image is majestic and imposing, full of fearless confidence, standing proudly before you, almost completely obscuring you in their shadow.
You feel a strange sense of oppression in your heart, and an arrogance from the depths of your soul gradually emerges, resonating with these statues. However, there is no pity or tolerance in their eyes, as if they are silently condemning your humility and insignificance in front of them.
However, you soon realize that this sense of arrogance is not in line with your existence.
Without the prompting of a particular scene, you feel neither pride in his majestic appearance nor longing for his power.
Standing among these statues, you realize that this sense of arrogance actually creates a deep sense of alienation—this is not your pride.
Just then, your gaze falls on a corner of the ground, where a hammer lies quietly, gleaming faintly. Its appearance is like a hint, suggesting that the scene is guiding you to use it to destroy these statues that symbolize "pride," forcing you to break free from this complacency.
You pick up the hammer and imagine smashing these arrogant men to pieces, and a sense of satisfaction arises unconsciously.
But you soon feel a sense of resistance.
—You are not acting according to your own thoughts, but are being drawn into becoming a heavy hammer in some kind of primal judgment, even though you haven't figured out what's going on right now.
Destroying them is not the option you want. If you follow the suggestion, aren't you admitting that pride is a sin? Even if the object of your pride isn't "you"?
You think quietly, slowly pick up the hammer, but do not swing it at the statue of David.
You gently place the hammer on a piece of marble, take a deep breath, and begin to slowly tap. Each tap produces a crisp sound, echoing in the silent space, carrying a determination unique to you.
You know your skills are poor and your movements are very clumsy, and every hammer blow makes your hands numb.
Then, you meticulously sculpt every inch. Your hands are not steady, but that does not prevent you from slowly and firmly shaping a kind of pride that belongs to you.
Just as with all the rules that have governed this instance since you entered it, you have complete confidence that you have enough time and energy to create a satisfactory statue.
Although the stone in your hand can only vaguely make out an outline, it is your own figure—the figure of a woman. The face is crooked and uneven, but from the hollows that can barely be called eyes, there is a serene and self-assured confidence, rather than a fearless arrogance.
As you sculpt, your inner unease gradually dissipates, replaced by an unprecedented sense of fulfillment. You don't need to destroy anything to prove or respond to expectations; instead, you can express your understanding and beliefs through creation.
As you finish the last stroke of the sculpture and are about to put down the hammer with satisfaction, the surrounding sculptures begin to emit unsettling low groans.
Cracks gradually appeared on all the marble, the fissures spreading rapidly across its surface like tiny lightning bolts. In an instant, accompanied by a deafening roar, the David statues screamed and crumbled into countless fragments.
Only your ugly, awkward statue survived.
You stand frozen in place, staring at the wreckage scattered on the ground, and watching as some unspeakable force lifts your statue.
You can sense that the force is not satisfied with your choice, but it seems that your resistance is very effective. It can only vent its anger on those David statues, but can't do anything about your clumsy work.
Gradually, a softer light rose from the ruins, and a patch of lush green grass emerged from the fine dust, its verdant plants like awakened creatures, instantly covering the entire space.
In just a few seconds, the world had transformed into something else entirely.
You blink, and the scene before you gradually becomes clearer.
The music, played from an unknown source and by an unknown person, stirred up petals of flowers in rhythm with the wind and waves.
The goddesses slowly appeared, with Venus standing in the center of all the gods, gazing peacefully into the distance.
She raised her hands slightly, her eyes gentle and loving, as if protecting everything around her, or as if ignoring all the unpleasantness.
Beside her stood Flora, the goddess of flowers, dressed in sheer gauze, a garment seemingly drawn from the very fabric of nature's flowers and grasses. Her lowered smile held a hint of pity as her fingers gently touched a blooming flower.
The remaining fairies danced gracefully on the grass, their movements light and elegant, like petals floating in the wind, their laughter like the morning breeze, carrying a touch of natural purity.
You feel a little lost about your own existence, and even ashamed of your ordinariness. You unconsciously step aside, hide in the shadows of the trees, and silently observe the enchanting scene before you.
However, as their dance steps gradually quickened, a strange aura began to spread.
This harmonious scene is not entirely peaceful; you try to find the source of the tension hidden somewhere.
A sudden gust of wind swept in, filling the air with a pungent odor. You saw a dark shadow flash by—it was the West Wind God, his long hair billowing behind him like raging waves, carrying an undeniable and intense intent.
His gaze was fixed on the Flower Goddess, and he reached out his hands towards her with a hint of coercion, wanting to pull her into his arms.
The goddesses' dance was interrupted; a flicker of unease crossed Venus's face, while fear crept into Flora's expression. The aura of the West Wind God was aggressive, as if it would devour this beautiful spring scene. You stood by, witnessing all this, and a surge of resentment welled up within you.
The scene before you reminds you of the word "jealousy." The god of the west wind is not driven by lust, but by a savage impulse, which makes him want to destroy and possess beauty.
You clench your fist, and a strange power gradually rises within you. Unconsciously, you step out of the shadows and move closer to the direction of the West Wind God.
His gaze was momentarily interrupted by your appearance, and he slightly relaxed his grip on the goddess of flowers. Taking this opportunity, you grabbed a pebble from the ground and hurled it at him with all your might. The pebble struck the arm of the god of the west wind, causing him to stagger and turn to you with an angry expression.
However, you did not back down, but looked back at him firmly, as if telling him with silent power: this spring scenery is not something he can plunder at will.
The goddesses seemed to be inspired by you and slowly gathered around.
When they wanted to use their divine power, it was no longer the weak and helpless figure depicted in the paintings, waiting to be plundered and seized, but rather carried the same thunderous force.
The god of the west wind was almost unable to resist and was banished from their world, disappearing into the thick fog in the distance.
The pungent smell in the air gradually dissipated, and tranquility returned to the grassland. The goddesses' laughter rang out again, as if thanking you for your help.
You stand aside, but you don't feel relieved at all.
You pondered, wondering what your motives were for your actions just now. Was it envy of the goddesses' beauty and harmony, a desire to protect their purity, or was it jealousy of the West Wind God's unbridled arrogance?
As mortals, you may experience such emotions at any time when faced with beautiful and powerful things, but these seem to be just natural human feelings towards beautiful things.
You too can desire to protect, rather than destroy.
You feel like you understand why these scenes keep popping up one after another.
This is the judgment of humanity's seven deadly sins, and you have just experienced pride and envy. Whether it is your own mental activity or the behavior of the characters in the scene, you are either the one judging yourself or the one judging others.
You chuckled dismissively. You don't fully understand these things, but you've always scoffed at the doctrine of original sin.
You will have all sorts of negative emotions, those struggles, pains, desires, and needs that are inherent in human beings. You never know when you will turn a person into a "sinner," which is really too unfair.
You don't want to be scrutinized, and you're too lazy to scrutinize yourself or others, thus trapping yourself in a cycle of self-torture. You simply need to assess the current situation and make the most appropriate and comfortable choice.
As if in response to your thoughts, a gust of cold wind whips you hard. But you know that you have overcome this hurdle once again.
Then, the turf was lifted, and as the bells rang, you found yourself in a magnificent and solemn space.
The surrounding walls and floors feature classical geometric lines, the sky-colored dome seems to extend infinitely, and the colonnades in the distance are neatly arranged, exuding a rational and calm aesthetic.
In the center of the hall, philosophical giants such as Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle were conversing in hushed tones, passionately discussing the mysteries of truth, morality, and human nature. Each person's expression shone with focused contemplation, and their words seemed to possess an invisible power, influencing the surrounding space.
You watch all of this from a short distance away, seeing them trying to articulate their views with gestures, expressions, and words, as if the entire space is responding to their reasoning.
As you gaze upon this group of engrossed philosophers, a nameless emotion wells up within you. Everything seems so solemn, so unapproachable, and as a modern person, you certainly cannot fully agree with their views on the world.
You chuckled softly, not to mock these historical giants, but simply to express your disagreement with their views.
Perhaps your opinion is insignificant, but no one can stop you from making your voice heard.
However, your soft laughter, though barely audible, was like an invisible breeze that stirred ripples in the tranquility of the hall.
The philosophers turned around, their gazes sweeping coldly over you. Their eyes held clear condemnation and displeasure, as if you had desecrated this sacred temple.
Plato's brow furrowed slightly, Aristotle's eyes flashed with a hint of incomprehension and anger, while Socrates looked on with a touch of curiosity, as if waiting for your explanation.
You realize that their emotions are no longer rational, but rather carry an almost oppressive anger, as if questioning your contemptuous attitude.
Slightly startled, you realized you had inadvertently offended these wise men. Accustomed to their questioning, you felt a little embarrassed, but quickly regained your composure.
You smile, adopt an humble attitude, and try to join their discussion.
But you soon realize that their reaction is not what you expected. Their gaze is cold and scrutinizing, not because they are annoyed at being questioned, but because they cannot accept your right to stand there as a woman.
You feel a sense of being underestimated, but even more so, a deep sense of resentment. You realize that you are not lacking in rationality because of your gender, yet you are seen as a rational "outsider" in the face of these symbols of ancient wisdom.
They continue to gaze at your emotions with a condescending and inquisitive look, as if everything about you is merely one of the "flaws" in their philosophy.
Aristotle said dismissively, "Being easily provoked is perhaps a common flaw in emotionally driven people like you."
This may be just a common moment in history, but at this moment, you quickly realize that it is a will directly using these wise men to arouse your "original sin," a trap designed specifically for your identity.
However, anger is not just an impulse, but a combination of emotion and reason.
You take a deep breath, speak slowly, and try to explain your attitude in a way that they can accept.
“Anger is not a flaw,” you respond calmly, your voice firm. “I’m not angry just because of emotions, but because I see injustice. Anger breaks my silence; it’s a way of refusing to accept prejudice.”
Socrates frowned slightly, a hint of surprised curiosity in his eyes. Perhaps, in his view, your emotions possessed a complexity worthy of consideration, rather than merely a simple emotional reaction. Plato continued to look at you with disdain, as if the power in your words stemmed nothing more than from "ignorance." Aristotle shook his head, his expression clearly dismissive.
“Your words are full of emotion but lack sufficient rational support,” Aristotle said dismissively. “Anger is a destructive emotion that disrupts reason and order.”
However, you did not back down. You knew you didn't need to use their logic to justify your anger.
“Anger brings the power to act,” you continued, your voice growing firmer. “Anger prevents us from remaining silent in the face of injustice; it drives us to fight for our own voice.”
“Gentlemen,” you said softly, “please forgive my rudeness. It is not that I disrespect the pursuit of truth, but that I believe anger itself is a kind of truth. Anger is not a worthless emotion; it can be a struggle against reality, a weapon to defend one’s beliefs.”
The philosophers' gazes softened slightly, but skepticism remained. Plato shook his head slightly, seemingly not yet fully accepting your viewpoint.
You continued, “Anger can make people bravely face oppression; it is an instinctive reaction driven by a sense of morality. Reason is certainly important, but anger, as part of human emotion, gives us the courage to face injustice.”
Since He uses philosophers to mock and despise you, you should talk to Him directly and tell Him: Save your breath.
"Finding reason in anger, and containing anger within reason, is precisely the most complex trait of humankind," you said.
Socrates nodded slightly, seemingly finding some resonance in your words. He gazed at you, a hint of understanding and appreciation in his eyes. Plato's expression remained indifferent, but a trace of hesitation flickered in his gaze, as if he were pondering your point of view. Aristotle, on the other hand, maintained his arrogant demeanor, but he did not interrupt you, seemingly waiting for you to elaborate further.
You realize that you may never be fully understood by these philosophers, but you don't need their approval.
All you need to do is wait quietly until He realizes He can't sway you, and then, in a fit of frustration, drags you into the next scene.
This time, without any warning, just when you sensed something was wrong, the "Last Judgment" fresco on the dome of the Cathedral of Florida seemed to fall from heaven, smashing these wise men and thinkers from humanity to pieces, just to unfold its full picture before you.
The smoke and dust made you cough for a while before you finally looked up at the huge mural.
The scene is divided into heaven and hell, with the harmony and light of heaven contrasting with the darkness and suffering of hell. Heaven doesn't evoke longing, but the tormented sinners in hell inspire sympathy.
You feel a strong sense of oppression, unlike the gazes you feel in your hotel room. Here, countless eyes seem intent on drawing you into the trial scene.
You bravely step forward to see what it's going to do, but an invisible force pushes you back to where you were, as if warning you not to act rashly.
At the same time, your eyes widen uncontrollably, taking in every single detail.
The greedy are forced to forever grasp at illusory gold and silver treasures, their fingers thin and bony, their eyes vacant, yet they continue their endless scrambling like machines. Those souls cursed by greed stretch out their arms, trying to grasp everything, but ultimately only sink into self-torture in endless thirst.
You can't help but turn your gaze away, feeling an indescribable oppression, but how can greed be called a "sin"? If everyone possessed it, how could one feel such a deep emptiness!
On the other side of the screen are gluttonous souls—forced to eat countless rotten foods, their hands constantly stuffing food into their mouths, their faces contorted in pain.
You see their swollen cheeks, their hands full of food, yet unable to satisfy themselves; all their appetite has become a tool of punishment.
You feel a physical discomfort, as if a sour and bitter taste is rising in your throat. However, you still do not agree that their suffering is justified.
Instead of exploring the reasons for binge eating and healing people's hearts, isn't simply punishing them just intimidation and satisfying an even more wicked sense of superiority and arrogance?
Next, you see the scene of the lazy, those souls kneeling silently on the ground, their eyes empty and lifeless, seemingly having given up all struggle.
They were forced to kneel on the cold earth, their hands hanging limply, their bodies etched with deep weariness. Their lazy souls displayed a hopeless resignation to self-redemption, as if they were forever destined to be forever barred from salvation and progress.
You stare at them, a stronger sense of disdain welling up inside you. Is this seemingly lifeless state merely their way of escaping life? If this is also a sin, then modern society is probably hell in this world.
Looking at these struggling souls, you see only an exaggerated moral judgment.
Every emotion is amplified to an extreme degree, until it becomes a form of punishment.
You ask directly: "Does this so-called evil originate from human nature, or are the instinctual desires of humanity judged as wrong and used as a reason for punishment?"
With no response, you vaguely sense that you have thoroughly angered something.
Suddenly everything goes black, and a new scene unfolds.
The light did not come on as usual, and you realized that you were in a small and suffocating space.
The surrounding air was damp and chilly, as if seeping into your skin, accompanied by a faint smell of the sea. You felt around the edges and discovered that it was a clam shell—a cold, smooth, and pitch-black space that tightly enveloped you.
Your fingertips touch the inner wall of the clam shell, feeling a subtle fragility, as if it would shatter with the slightest push. However, the surrounding darkness does not loosen its grip on you; instead, it intensifies the pressure on your nerves.
Just as you feel suffocated and desperately try to escape, the clam shell seems to sense your struggle and slowly opens. Suddenly, an eerie atmosphere fills the air, a slightly warm yet chilling ambiance spreading out.
Light streamed in, but it wasn't the warm glow of morning sunlight; rather, it was a cold, mocking light.
As the clam shell fully unfolds, you gradually feel countless eyes fixed on you.
These gazes are invisible, yet they surround you invisibly, carrying a sinister desire. These gazes are not like simple observations, but rather like a devouring gaze, as if they want to completely dissect and expose you.
They stare at every inch of your skin, gradually stripping you of your dignity, reducing you to an object of desire. Only then do you realize that you are naked, and you can't help but tremble slightly. These gazes, filled with deep lust, invade your mind, making you feel unprecedented shame and powerlessness.
Your heart is racing; this is clearly a test of the original sin of lust.
He despicably places you in a state of objectification, desire, and scrutiny, while simultaneously judging you.
How ridiculous.
You will not succumb to this intrusive gaze; you will no longer even feel it. It does not exist, it cannot harm you; it is merely evidence of its own depravity.
You recall your own existence—who you are, your thoughts, feelings, and pursuits—and none of it wavers in the slightest because of these gazes. You gradually detach yourself from the external environment, returning to your inner self, and feel a tranquility slowly growing, drowning out those unsettling stares.
When you open your eyes again, you find yourself radiating a soft light, a power that cannot be easily penetrated. Angels drape you in a veil, and birds bring flowers to adorn your hair.
You cast aside these falsehoods; your body itself is your defense. Lust may be eternal, but for you, your heart holds fast to its own dignity. Those gazes can no longer reach you; you have freed yourself from their control.
An incredibly angry voice came from the sky: "Do you also carry these crimes? Can you escape judgment?" These voices seemed to come from all directions, echoing in your ears in a suppressed manner, questioning every inch of your heart.
You can sense His exasperation, which strengthens your resolve and even makes you despise Him: "Am I really guilty? Is it really wrong to desire happiness and pursue fulfillment?"
You stand calmly inside the clam shell, feeling the direct contact between your body and nature, gazing at the unreachable blue sky, laughing mocking it:
"You are such an expert in judgment, isn't it because you yourself are a combination of pride, envy, anger, greed, gluttony, sloth, and lust?"
"blasphemous! Blasphemy!"
At the edge where darkness and light intersect, His supreme image began to tremble slightly. His radiance was no longer pure, as if tinged with an ominous shadow.
As if struck in a deep vulnerability, He roared hysterically, "No! Without me, you will descend into chaos! You need fear, you need these shackles to bind you! Otherwise, you will be lost in your own desires, unable to extricate yourselves!"
The blue sky began to crack, like a shattered mirror riddled with holes, revealing dark shadows within. His voice carried a desperate madness, as if desperately trying to maintain His image, yet powerless to stop the crumbling fissures. Every question, every rebuttal, pierced Him like a sharp blade, making Him appear increasingly weak, His light scattering and scattering, becoming dim and powerless.
And you just stood there, naked, idly pinching your ear.
His last words vanished into the darkness, and His embodiment of original sin completely disintegrated, turning into nothingness. You stand in silence, watching Him turn to dust, and the next moment, you awaken in your room, then enter a truly beautiful dream.
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Author's Note: Good afternoon! Tiger is working hard on the next chapter! Hope this chapter is interesting, hehe.
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