The church parlor was a mess.
Everything on the table was swept to the floor.
Wolf Flute was lying on the table with his upper body exposed. Under the candlelight, the tragic scars between the waist and abdomen were exposed. The wound was white with excessive blood loss and was as smooth as a mirror, as if it had been cut with a sharp blade. From the waist to the chest, the bones are vaguely exposed.
The priest poured half a bottle of strong liquor onto Wolf Flute's wound, causing him to scream in pain. Then, he heated a curved crochet needle in the candlelight until the tip of the needle turned red, then strung the thread and began to suture the wound.
Gradually, he noticed that Langdi's pupils were blurry: "Have you given yourself medicine?"
"There's nothing I can do, it hurts too much." Lang Di twitched the corner of his mouth: "I took half a mandala, it only relieves the pain, not addictive, don't worry... But don't we have better medical conditions?"
Ben responded indifferently: "There is no gel, no blood transfusion equipment, and no shadowless light here. We can only suture and bandage you."
After another injection, Wolf Flute whined in pain, reminding Ben of the dog that Ye Qingxuan had raised.
Wolf Flute's expression twitched: "Father, don't you have a hymn to heal wounds?"
"I'm just an ordinary clergyman. You have to find a 'singer' who is proficient in 'psalms.'" After saying that, the priest gave another shot, making Lang Di couldn't help but take another breath of air: "You can't Find one for me?"
"The nearest one is two hundred kilometers away." Ben said calmly: "I am the only priest in this small town, so give up."
Langdi's eyes suddenly went dark.
"How is the fighting situation on the front line?" the priest suddenly asked.
"It's still so bad. We're still in a confrontation. Because of the ruins, this war has been going on for a hundred years, and it seems that it will continue to fight..."
He gasped: "People on both sides are currently engaged in an arms race. It is said that the contemporary Mr. Chopin has secretly arrived at the front line, and the contemporary Mr. Brahms is organizing talks between the two parties on behalf of neutral countries... But it is estimated that there is no result yet."
After hearing this, Ben didn't ask any more questions. He just said lightly, "That's right." This made Langdi, who was full of words and wanted to throw them out, feel even more depressed.
Just as he was suturing, Ben's movements suddenly stopped. He used tweezers to pick out a very thin piece of iron from the wound. The iron piece had sharp edges and was as thin as paper. It's stuck in the bone, as if it had grown there originally, and is difficult to pull out.
"what 's wrong?"
"The wanted black musician."
Langdi smiled miserably: "I met him on the way here. He must be a believer of the evil god. I was careless and was attacked by a sneak attack."
"Can you be sure who it is? The followers of the Hundred Eyes all go out in groups."
"He is alone. I only hear the sound of the clarinet, otherwise I would not be able to escape." Wolf Flute gasped: "I remember that piece of music..."
He recalled, closing his eyes. It's like returning to the thick fog where you can't even see your fingers, and there are countless flying water droplets. The water droplets are like heavy rain, flying up amid the sharp music...
"The solo piece based on Cromer's Variations is OP·74."
Langdi gritted his teeth and finally recalled the information in the record:
"—He's the 'Rainmaker'."
…
"Holy, holy, holy! Almighty God, my songs in the morning rise through the clouds to the Supreme..."
Wolf Flute was awakened by the singing of hymns in the church. When he opened his eyes, he felt severe pain from the wound, his eyes were blurry, and he was thirsty and hungry. The situation was so bad that he wanted to die...
"Teacher, you lied to me."
Wolf Flute's voice was choked with sobs: "Who can tell you that you won't regret it!?"
"Sir, are you awake?"
In his dazed vision, a white-haired boy appeared. In his hands he held a plate and water on the floor.
Langdi had no time to pay attention to the boy's white hair with obvious oriental characteristics, his eyes were already attracted by the food.
After a hearty meal of eating and drinking, he was finally satisfied. Recalling the bumpy journey and the high spirits when he set off, Langdi couldn't help but sigh:
“Most people find out too late that the things they never regret are the result of mistakes.”
"Maxwell, Refutation of Independence, Chapter 2."
Beside the bed, the silent young man took over the conversation.
"Um?"
Langdi was stunned for a moment. Only then did he become aware of the young man's presence, and he felt a little embarrassed: "Uh, sorry... have you read that book?"
"There is it in the library. I saw it when I was copying other books." Ye Qingxuan smiled: "I just read it. Many of the principles in the book are very profound and I can't understand them."
Lang Di blushed a little immediately. After all, this was the course he took part in under the teacher's supervision last year, and he hadn't finished it yet...
"The priest said you need to rest here for a while. If you feel bored, I can help you find some books to read."
"No, I get a headache when I read the book."
Langdi rubbed his forehead, a little troubled, and soon his eyes lit up: "You know spelling, right?" He grabbed Ye Qingxuan's hand, with sincere eyes: "Do me a favor! Otherwise I will die. Got it!"
"Uh, please speak. I'll try my best."
Langdi waved his hands excitedly, and the action pulled the wound. He grinned in pain, and forced himself to smile: "As you can see... I feel like dying when I raise my hand now. Can you help me write a few letters?" Woolen cloth?"
Ye Qingxuan nodded. After finding paper and pen, he listened to the wolf flute's dictation.
Wolf Flute coughed twice and then brewed for a while, his expression suddenly softened, and his voice was soft: "Dear Milena, my rose, it has been a month since I left you..."
Ye Qingxuan couldn't help but get goosebumps from the moment Wolf Flute started speaking. A letter that was filled with all the disgusting words in English was three thousand words long, so much so that Ye Qingxuan couldn't help but relax after writing it. Take a breath.
it is finally over!
"Ahem, here comes the second letter."
Langdi blinked and looked at his face turning green: "Dear Ailian, my rose, it has been a month since I left you..."
"Wait! This is exactly the same as the content of the last letter, right? And Ailian and Milena are two girls, right?!" Ye Qingxuan was stunned: "You have two people?"
"No, no, I'm just dating three girls at the same time."
"… You rock!"
After finishing the three letters, Ye Qingxuan found that Lang Flute had no intention of stopping and continued: "Dear Mr. Sebastian, my..."
"...Your rose? You don't even let men go?!"
"my teacher!"
Langdi's face also turned green, he didn't know what he was thinking.
"Ahem, pretend I didn't say that."
Ye Qingxuan buried his head in copying in embarrassment.
The only good thing is that the letter this time was unexpectedly simple, with only a few sentences. However, after so many years of copying, it was the first time that Ye Qingxuan had a sense of relief that "it's finally over."
"Okay, thank you friend."
Langdi nodded with satisfaction and patted his shoulder: "I haven't asked for advice yet. Are you?"
"Ye, Ye Qingxuan."
"Oriental? No wonder." Langdi glanced at his white hair, nodded and said: "No matter who you are, you have helped me a lot. I will put in a good word for you at the priest."
"Good words?" Ye Qingxuan tilted his head and looked at him: "Do you think it is useful?"
"Uh, sure."
Langdi thought of the priest's cold and stern face made of copper and iron, and he felt helpless: "Then I have no way to repay you. You see, the priest helped me pay for the car when I came here." . Now the only person poorer than me is Angelou, who borrowed 60 million in national debt."
Hearing what he said, Ye Qingxuan suddenly laughed:
"You are a musician, I guessed it right?"
Langdi was stunned. He recalled what he had said, but it seemed that he had not revealed his identity.
Ye Qingxuan stretched out his hand and pointed at the leather case on his bedside, and half of the metal flute was exposed from it. Although it looks simple, it has a special dignified texture and is obviously expensive.
"Okay, you guessed it."
Wolf Flute took out the flute, turned it skillfully in his hand to show him, and pressed the hole: "Do you recognize it?"
Ye Qingxuan shook his head: "The shape is not like the Eastern flute, and it is also different from the ones I know."
"This is an instrument from my hometown, and it is not widely circulated."
The wolf flute plays the flute. "It is said that this kind of recorder was first handed down by the ancient Semitic people, called 'Nei'. They lived in the desert, so it makes the sound of wind and sand when played."
He saw some expectation in the eyes of the young man in front of him, and immediately smiled. He raised the recorder to his lips, played a few simple notes with the fingers of his left hand.
Then, a clear and simple voice sounded.
For a moment, all the noisy sounds that Ye Qingxuan was accustomed to disappeared. The sound of wind, water, distant footsteps, and even his own breathing fell silent.
Then the notes sounded, like wind blowing from a deep cave, carrying a desolate atmosphere. Just like dry reed leaves vibrating in the wind and sand, iron pieces rubbing against sand and stones, they vibrate in the room with lingering lingering sounds before disappearing without a trace.
In front of Ye Qingxuan, silver dust emerged out of thin air and vaguely condensed into a vague shadow of a wolf. The wolf's eyes glanced at Ye Qingxuan as if they had spirituality, and then withdrew their gaze. As the notes shook, they turned around and disappeared in the breeze.
In an instant, everything ended, just like an illusion.
Silence returns.
Soon, Wolf Flute coughed in a low voice, and the movement of his heart touched the wound, causing him to take two breaths of cold air.
Next to him, the white-haired young man stretched out his hand to fish in the air, as if trying to find where the silver wolf was hiding. He found nothing, but he couldn't help but smile on his face.
Smiling with longing and satisfaction.
"That's great," he said softly.
"You want to be a musician?"
Wolf Flute suddenly understood and blurted out. But suddenly I felt a little sad. He understood why Ben asked him to take care of him - that bastard priest didn't want him to give him hope, but to expose it.
"That's right."
Ye Qingxuan held out hope: "Do you think it's possible?"
Wolf Flute pondered, and for a long time, he slowly shook his head.
"Sorry, Ye."
Langdi lowered his eyes, not wanting to see the young man's disappointed expression:
"—You have no talent."