"Newton..." I whispered, "He sent someone..."
"Damn it!" The stranger rushed over, slamming his clenched fist on his palm. "That old confused pee scientist! Who does he think he is?"
His spear was pulled from my neck, leaving a painful dent. I tried to sit up, but my covered body fell heavily on the stone.
"Do you dare to bleed on my floor?" The man cried exaggeratedly. "How dare you get your fuck on my floor!"
The man then bent over and gave me a good look, and I pulled him over. He was ragged, unkempt, a dirty man.
"Look at you," he said with a smirk, "all broke down. How? What is your name? Tell me! I will try to be as interested as possible."
"Fu... Fox."
"Fox?" he said, his face twisted. "Pest! I hate it!"
I grumbled a few staggeringly, and the sturdy man sighed. "My name is Brekin... If you hate my name, I don't care. Understand? He paused, smelling something he didn't like.
"Is the shit on your boots doing it? That's how you grace my kingdom? Your legs are covered with shit? Is this your benevolent way of showing respect?"
I couldn't speak, but the tall man, who was catching the lice on his greasy beard, didn't. "From your look, it seems that you are going to stay...at least for now. Don't touch anything damn...come here!"
My vision began to blur, and I could still recognize the man trotting on a four-legged horse. He is the centaur, from the seal upstairs: the stick—a centaur—a king—I came to see him.
On the first day on the mountain, I had never seen a centaur. I passed out at the foot of those spiral staircases and woke up here—a small room with no natural light. The light there came from a beating torch on the wall. My bed is a thin cloth on a stone, and my only exit is a locked solid wooden door. There is no sound behind the door, nor is there any sneaking sound. This is my cave, my cell.
I looked at the bronze doorknob, and it felt like I had watched an era. Wait, wait for it to turn open, but it never did. Somehow, I have the craziest idea, a deep feeling, I am not going to open the door, but waiting for it to be opened. If I turn that doorknob, everything will be lost. This rule is so vague in its creation, but so clear in my mind. Don't open the door! Don't open the door!
Once, I was trembling for twenty hours in that dilapidated **, weakened by blood loss, hunger, and thirst. I was affected by the strong hallucinations and screams coming in and out of the room, as well as my imagination. Tortured. Sometimes these hallucinations become too real, and living phantoms live in the same room with me. I heard Casey calling her dad, and saw her hand stretched out from a place far away from me. Missy also came and went, her cartoon face showed an unhealthy smirk, and at the same time reminded me of some of the sadder details in my life-the people I deceived and hurt; how many sè love magazines I have spoken to.
Once, I hit the old wizard Scarfel back, and he pressed his foot on my chest. This may be an illusion-indeed it is-but this illusion is still real enough to make me faint. Kate is here too, his destroyed body torn apart in the corner. There, he would meditate for several hours under his own pool of clotting blood. He had no skin, an exposed brain and two bulbous, unblinking eyes.
"Get out!" I cried. "Get out! Get out!"
I can't tell you how many days I have endured such torture, but my clothes were soaked with sweat and tears, urine and feces, and my head was submerged with delirium. I had enough. When I crawled towards the door, this rule rang the Jǐng bell in my mind-don't open the door! do not want! do not want!
When I stood up, my legs could barely support my weight. I stretched out my trembling hand to take the bronze handle. I didn’t have the strength to turn it, but I didn’t need it either—the door opened suddenly, like a shuttle hatch blown into space, and the centaur stood there, filling up. frame.
"97 hours, 4 minutes and 6 seconds!" he exclaimed cheerfully. ""Tell me, have you been imprisoned before? You stayed in a cage, didn't you? I guess so. The damn scientist sent a prisoner to my house! A criminal and a strong criminal know my luck!"
His haggard face, quite satisfied, fell as low as mine. "You won't force me when I sleep? Are you a boy? How?"
"What, what is this?" I asked, my voice trembling.
"Of course it is training! First and foremost, self-discipline is my requirement, self-discipline! If I let you stay in that room, you fucking stay in that room! Discipline is the key! What I want to say is , You have had a full start. In less than fifty hours I will throw your legs to the edge of the mountain and let your torso collect them. I have done this before."
"Have you been here all the time?" I asked, bewildered.
"Yes."
"But I almost died!"
"Sagging ball!" he said with a smirk. "You are dead, brat! Now you are a mote! Discipline, understand? Well, answer me, Spike!"
"I... I understand."
"Very good. Come on then!"
The centaur came out from the door and walked to the right along a suffocating corridor. I followed, but when Bühler really smoked in the dark in the distance, I found that I couldn't keep up. I tried to run, but my body did not allow it; even with a snail-like pace, my arm fell off the uneven wall. This is a very dense place, the wet stables are stinking, and piles of horse dung are piled up.
The smell and depression are not important, the most important thing is that I went out and left the room. However, my mind is still teasing me, trying to convince me that this is my imagination; another illusion, and how the truth will see me still wasting on that sheet.
"Spike!" shouted the impatient centaur. "Come on, come on, I say!"
I speeded up my staggering pace, groaning at the growing light. I felt a little pain in my left foot, thinking I had a fracture when I fell down the stairs, and the same elsewhere; thankfully, an eye-opening change erased my pain from my mind. The cave seemed to explode in height and width, suppressing all feelings of claustrophobia. The magnificent geode crystals have thousands of years of history. They hang down from the ceiling like carved fingers. Their anti-shè light is surrounded by countless torches, making the whole room shimmer and glow like fireflies. There are more than a dozen other corridors and passages dotted between the torches. These tunnels are like a maze of caves under the macro instruction.
"Wow," I said, staring blankly.
The crystal above points their glass-like fingers to a luxurious dining table. The dining table Zhung Yāng is a lacquered chair with a lonely chair at one end.
"Sit down," Buhler said from the hallway, his shaggy body bulging, biceps and shaggy hair hanging down. He is an impressive and intimidating character.
I sat down, and Bühler was still sitting at the far end of the table with two steaming bowls, kicking his hoofs, and licking his machine's eyeballs. Then, he patted with his wrist, scraped the wood, and pushed a bowl from the end of the table onto my table; like the best bartender in the world, the bowl stopped under my chin .
"Eat shit! Eat!"
This is some kind of broth, hot when I get into my throat. Although the saliva ran out, the taste was nauseating. Only a layer of cigarette butts remained on the tongue. I knew that this layer of cigarette butts would stay there for several days. I do not care. I drank this kind of meat, then gobbled up the leftover meat and vegetables. I now think of the way Kate gobbled up at Mrs. B's table, and I think how funny it is that he is lacking politeness. Not anymore.
After eating, I heard the sound of a piece of wood again and watched Bühler really stop in front of my empty bowl of uneaten broth. I looked up and found that he was no longer at the table or even in the room.
Two weeks later, I still could only catch a glimpse of Bregen, and found that most of his cave was restricted by locked doors or crowded dead ends. I will hear him calling my name at the table and cursing my name, but when I reach his gleaming hall, he has already left and my meal for today is ready. Most of the time, there was no taste of meat and dirty water, but I at least recovered my strength.
The sound of the stream in the rock is a constant stimulus, like an endless static electricity. Worse is the feeling of being observed all the time; even though I can see nothing in the dark, I can always feel the eternal eye of the king's club. I am a yo-yo and his fingers are tightly wrapped around my rope.
During my exploration, I came across a corridor that was neatly carved and wider than usual, and then I remembered that I had been here. At the end of the corridor is a set of spiral steps, with hundreds of steps spiraling upwards, blowing a small torch in the breeze. Why did I forget so quickly? Seal-bird-trap-samurai.
"Kate?" I shouted, echoing. "Can you hear me, Kate? It's Fox!"
no respond. I grabbed the handrail of the stairs and asked, "Where are you going, boy?"
The stick was standing where I saw him for the first time, and a star shining on his hunched shoulders.
"Where is he?" I asked. (To be continued) (End of this chapter)