The remaining thoughts and spirit of resistance were obliterated and replaced by ignorant and ignorant beliefs. People's independent spirit has disappeared and was replaced by group fanaticism. The gods ruled them with beliefs and erased their past history.

These books are like the cemetery of people from the old days, buried here along with their idealism and spirit of struggle. Only the originators can stand here and gaze at the names on the spines of these books, as if they are nostalgic for the stories of their lives.

"[I don't know how to steer the boat's rudder.]" The spirit recited the verse in a low voice:

"[But if you were on a distant seaside, I would brave the storm to look for this treasure of yours]."

He stood quietly for a moment and walked toward the door.

"Lord God." A woman wearing a golden ring around her neck was waiting at the door. Her expression was respectful, as if she was also dominated by some kind of fanatical emotion.

"Mizushima Kawakora." The spirit said her name gently: "How is my guest?"

He has brought the guests back and placed them in a room that was prepared in advance. There is a piano and several cats in it, which the guests should like.

"He passed out and is still asleep." Mizushima Kawakora clenched his fists and whispered.

The spirit passed over her and walked towards the corridor.

This is the residence of gods in the human world and a place of pilgrimage for people. Every weekend, people will kneel down outside the building and sing songs of praise. Nowadays, it is still quiet here, with only the sound of leather boots hitting the ground.

In the scarlet corridor, an oil painting is hung at intervals, and the golden frame is like melted wax. Under the flickering lights, there is a palpable sense of unreality.

"I heard someone say that he likes roses and lilies, and he is also interested in young people with gray hair. Unfortunately, I don't have anyone else here." The god murmured to himself: "Maybe I should add some fresh roses to the room.

"

Mizushima Kawakora watched the god's fading figure, and suddenly said loudly: "Lord God, what do you want to do by leaving him? There are still two hours left, the first ruins will begin, and he will be too late...

…”

The spirit said: "I heard that you are enemies, are you worried about him?"

Mizushima Kawa Sora said: "I...is not."

She clenched her fists.

The spirit ignored her. He walked to the end of the corridor and opened the door.

Under the night, the curtains were not drawn up, and the night outside the window seemed to be separated by a hazy gauze. There were flowers in the room, and there was a piano. The black-haired young man leaned on the bed, tilting his head slightly, with his eyes closed.

, his expression looked very peaceful, as if he had finally gotten a long sleep.

If he keeps sleeping, it might be more like relief for him.

The spirit stood quietly at the door, with the faint starlight shining on his hair, caressing his jade-like face inch by inch. He did not harm Su Ming'an, nor did he wake him up.

"...Changge, Su Mingan is asleep, you should be awake." Until the god slowly spoke, like a whisper.

The black-haired young man still had his eyes closed and did not respond.

Suddenly, his eyelashes trembled, and then he slowly opened his eyes.

The spirit confirmed his eyes and quickly recognized that this was Su Ming'an and not Chang Ge. He thought he would sleep longer, but he woke up when there was the slightest movement.

Su Mingan opened his eyes, saw this strange room, and realized that he had been caught by the gods. He looked at the clock on the wall, and raised his wrist slightly, as if he just wanted to lift his hair.

But the spirit came to him and whispered in his ear:

"You are my most distinguished guest. It is quiet and safe here. You don't have to worry about danger."

"No one can hurt you."

Su Mingan's eyes moved slightly, but he still hadn't realized what the god meant -

Until the god slowly put his arm on his shoulder, his voice as light as a feather.

"Suicide is prohibited here..."

Thank you all for your birthday wishes and messages. Thank you very much.

Idealists are the most ardent romance, the most moving hymns, and the warmest dawns. I will always love them.

I love these worlds. The fresh and blazing life, the free and independent will, the brilliant and unyielding soul, the fleeting and dazzling dawn. I will tell them slowly, and I don’t have to let myself rot because of being stuck in the mud.

There is no need to not long for the dawn just because you are in the dark night.

Born out of love, written for love. Abandon suffering and criticism and remain determined.

It is not a delusion or a dream, but a record, a reflection of another world. I am just the recorder of "Su Mingan". I think he really exists in another civilization.

To use a term I like - our minds and souls contain a vast amount of content from our own experiences and emotions, and the consciousness of each of us is a collection of memories that we have cataloged and stored in our hearts -

These are living private libraries. They cannot be fully shared with others and will gradually burn out after we die.

But if you can select something from the collection of your inner library—and share it with someone or with the larger world—in writing or telling, then those things take on a life of their own.

…

——I hope to share my life with you.

…

【2023.6.23】
Chapter completed!