Welcome to Rewind World Game-Chapter 1592: Final - · Guardian Shore Line · "OE: Death from the Sea (14)
Under the vast and boundless azure dome, the expansive mountains stand silent as if eternal.
"Pa, pa."
A teenage shepherd boy, wrapped in coarse burlap, listlessly drives the few lazy sheep at his feet. As the sun’s shadow stretches long, and amidst the boredom, his gaze happens to sweep across the distant cliff face.
Suddenly, a glaring crimson seizes his view.
The shepherd boy’s heart skips a beat. Hesitantly, he approaches the foot of the cliff, only to find a corpse lying there.
The corpse’s tendons and bones had shattered long since grown cold, with large patches of dark brown blood scabs splattered on the bluish-gray rocks. The internal organs had turned into a slurry of rot, appearing to have died from a fall.
"Oh my God!" The shepherd boy gasps, holding his breath, and stretches out his finger to lightly poke. The person is dressed in ordinary cloth, perhaps a city dweller at the end of his rope, seeking suicide.
"Alas..." The shepherd boy sighs, crouching down, shaking his head, his youthful voice carrying deep regret and confusion:
"I say, city dweller, why go to such lengths? It’s hard to journey through life, but what obstacle can’t you overcome? If only you had met me earlier, I’d have brought you home to taste the oil tea my mom brews by hand, and then take you to the market outside the mountain, where they sell antiques from before the Battle of the Lighthouse, with colorful flags fluttering in the sky. That’s a sight worth seeing..."
"..."
The shepherd boy sighs, while the "corpse," which should have remained completely silent, trembles!
Then, amidst a chilling sound of bone dislocation, the corpse, dragging its body covered in gruesome wounds, crawls up!
"Waaah——!!!" The shepherd boy’s scream tears through the silence, eyes almost popping out of their sockets. The guts were shattered like that! How can this person still move? How can he...come back to life?!
The young man, with disheveled white hair, gets up hobbling and heads toward the cliff.
"Are...are you okay? Hold on, hold on!" The shepherd boy frantically unwraps the wool belt from his waist, rushes forward heedlessly, and tightly wraps it around the young man’s battered leg.
But he is surprised to find that the bleeding has stopped.
"Hey, where are you going! Are you going to jump again, city dweller? I’ll treat you to mom’s oil tea, don’t seek death again!" the shepherd boy shouts.
The white-haired young man pauses, his long hair matted with blood and grime, his voice hoarse like a wanderer: "I am the most stubborn bug in this world."
"How can you speak of yourself so!" The shepherd boy catches up to him, pulling him back: "Come, come, come, your eyes are already unfocused. If you keep on like this, you might forget who you are. If you’re going to jump off a cliff, at least do it clear-headed."
This seemingly twisted logic seems to persuade the young man, and he doesn’t say anything as the shepherd boy leads him down the mountain.
Mom is kneading barley dough in the tent and is startled when she sees her son bringing back a person covered in blood. Without many words, she immediately pours warm water and sun-dried herbs into a wooden bowl, letting the medicinal aroma permeate the air.
The white-haired young man sits dully, as if his spirit has dispersed, sitting like a wooden person on the bed. Mom pries open the young man’s icy lips and feeds him the warm medicinal paste, wiping his mouth with her sleeve.
Pulling the shepherd boy aside, Mom whispers outside the tent: "What happened? Why’d you bring a madman back?"
"A city dweller here to jump off a cliff!"
"Oh dear, in these times, how can someone not go on living? I’ve heard big things have happened recently, many people died, but when there’s food and clothing, how can one not get by?"
"Mom, help him, please!" The shepherd boy tugs at the woman’s sleeve.
"Of course we have to help, he’s still so young! Let him rest easy, and when he’s better, let’s take him to the market with us!"
Inside the tent, the white-haired young man lies on the bed, changed into clean clothes, quietly staring at the tent’s top.
He seems to have lost desire and the strength to speak.
He has tried many, many times.
Walking into the sea on foot, waiting for suffocation to take him away.
Standing on the cliff, calmly leaping off.
Stabbing a blade or sword into his heart, watching the blood drain.
Rushing unguarded into the cosmos, allowing the extreme cold to turn him into a statue.
However, until his lungs filled with seawater, until the suffocation brought him to the brink of death; until he was shattered to pieces, internal organs turned into mush; until the blade or sword turned him into a rag doll, and blood flowed faster than a river; until he became an ice statue and crashed to the ground, shattering to pieces...
He still lives.
He longed to drown in the ocean.
But didn’t know, the word "world" had become the chain binding him.
"Ha, hahaha..." He covers his cheeks, a hoarse voice squeezing out from his throat.
He thought of giving the World Tree seed to Yamada Machiichi so that he could trigger death rebound and start anew, but it was a delusion. Even if he died, he would still be a form, and the real him could still revive under the World Tree until he eternally lost his soul.
High Dimension Noel did kill him in the cafe, but in the end, Lü Shu arrived, burned Divinity for a moment, and his soul was reborn under the World Tree. After Pink Hair died, the small world quickly left Zhai XIng.
Perhaps with the secret help of Yuanyuan and Starfire, no one caught up. Some days had passed since that day, and he had attempted suicide time and again, trying to correct it all.
He was indeed a mad, pathological, incurable perfectionist, seeing Lü Shu’s burning and leaving Divinity, seeing Lu die in his arms, seeing the 256th floor of the High Tower collapse, seeing corpses sprawled on the road, wanting to restart, stubbornly change it all. Imperfections were unacceptable, deviations were unacceptable, tormenting himself like a complete madman. It seemed the world should not continue if things were not as he wished.
If he really harbors such stubborn thoughts, what difference is there between him and some idealistic madmen.
He got up and walked to a deserted loess hillside, with nothing flammable nearby, he extended his index finger and set himself on fire.
"Hoo hoo..."
The flames climbed up from his legs, he no longer felt any pain, the flames slowly engulfed his body, and when his brain was scorched, consciousness suddenly cut off.
When he woke up, he found himself still lying on the hillside, the white light of day had turned into a vast expanse of sunset glow, and his hands and feet were intact, even his hair and clothes were neat as new. He picked up the scorched ashes beside him, put it in his mouth, with only bitterness lingering on the tongue. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦
...Even something external like clothes, have also gained eternity with him.
He tried drowning in the sea, tried self-immolation, tried jumping off cliffs, tried bloodletting... apart from exhausting his spirit further, nothing had changed. Yet, the dopamine in his brain happily secretes, viewing pain as nourishment, transforming him into a ridiculous statue craving pain and conclusion.
Unknowingly, he had become Xiao Ying.
"Hey! City guy, why are you here!" A shout came from the bottom of the hill, a shepherd boy climbed up concernedly, seeing Su Ming’an’s intact skin, exclaimed: "You are that ’Player’ mentioned on TV, right! Indeed different from ordinary people, you healed so fast, amazing!"
...Player.
Su Ming’an hung his head, after a moment said: "Do you hate players?"
"How could I?" The shepherd boy looked at him inexplicably: "If not for them, we would all be dead. I don’t understand what those people causing trouble are thinking, with the effort of causing trouble, wouldn’t it be better to drink some tea oil? Since you’re a player, then you must have fought for us, and my Ama and I taking care of you is only right! Hmm...is this what’s called post-traumatic stress disorder? Don’t worry, it’s all over!"
He pulled Su Ming’an’s hand: "Come on, let’s go downhill!"
Under the blood-red sunset sprawling across the land, one big and one small figure descended the slope, leaving behind a ground of ashes.
"Have I seen you before?"
"I used to be a little monk in the temple, grew up a couple of years, needed at home, so I came out to herd sheep. My mom has over a hundred children, but she disappeared, so I stayed with my Ama."
"I see..."
"Eh? Listening to you, you seem familiar, I don’t often watch those big screens in the city, have we met?"
"I’m just an ordinary person."
"Oh, but you’re amazing!"
"I’m not amazing, I can’t do anything."
"Who says that, who says you have to accomplish big things to prove you’re amazing? I can herd the sheep well, adults all say I’m the best little shepherd on this grassland!"
Su Ming’an extended his hand, quietly gazing.
These hands once grasped sword edges, dismantled mechanics, concocted potions, caressed away snow and wind, climbed spider silk, brushed god statues, they are too weathered, and their owner is slowly weary.
By his ear, the shepherd boy keeps chattering on, the wind blows across the grasslands, making the horses whinny and gallop, the herders with colorful ribbons on their waists drive the horses, the knots on their wrists like networks, swaying and swaying.
The High Tower collapsed, yet nothing seems to have changed here, tea is brewed, sheep are herded, and markets are held. The little shepherd boy picked a flower, his rosy face like a monkey’s bottom, smiling as he placed it in Su Ming’an’s palm.
That night, Su Ming’an originally wanted to leave, but his senses were already extremely blurred, so he could only stay to rest.
Beside the bonfire, a plain Ama brought over fine wine, the spicy taste surged into his throat, the fiery burn made him feel as if he soared to the clouds, transforming into a carefree cloud. The bonfire danced in his eyes, the herders circled around, dancing again and again. What they sang of was not the World Master, but their ancient faith, the hymns exuding layers of centuries’ weight, like densely engraved ancient murals on the wall. Su Ming’an drunkenly laid amongst the firelight, watched as Xiao Gesang danced enthusiastically barefoot, observed the rosy highland faces, and sensed a hint of life’s brightness—he vaguely saw one silhouette after another standing beneath flower trees, reaching out smilingly, telling him, it’s alright.
"Cough...cough cough cough!"
Such spicy wine, such cool wine, rolling into his stomach, it felt like Lu’s icy embrace back then.
If the whole world was like this wine, without scheming and tangled ideals, wouldn’t it be as candid, as beautiful as this prairie?
"City guy, why are you upset, why seek to end your life?"
"Want to go home, want to save people."
"Then you should look forward, walk ahead! Steps forward, then you can walk back home!"
"Not going back."
"Ah, you have a good rest, your eyes are unfocused...drinking can make people relax, get drunk once, maybe you’ll recover..."
After the drunkenness, Su Ming’an fell softly to the ground. The little shepherd boy Xiao Gesang wrapped the young man tight with thick woolen felt, leaving only a pale face exposed, helping him onto the back of his family’s most gentle old yak. The yak stepped slowly, the man on its back gently swaying with the bumps.
"Go! City guy, I’ll take you home! To my Ama’s house!"
Child leads the cow, the cow carries the youth.
The stars hang above wide plains, the moon surges along the long flowing stream.
Loud, penetrating voice through stars and moon, illuminating the road of return:
"Yi—ya—le—
"The barley head bows down,
"The wind pushes the clouds along.
"The sparks in the hearth are dancing,
"The eyes of yaks are like stars...
"Yee—ya—leh—
"City guests, do not worry,
"The meadows are wider than your brows.
"Gold and silver fall from the sky,
"It’s not as good as a bowl of hot tea foam.
"Cold wine warms the guts less than,
"Tattered boots wrapped around the warm kang mat...
"Yee—ya—leh—
"Curved horns carry the sun along,
"Hoof prints deeply imprint on the snow water river.
"Sleep, sleep, your eyelids grow heavy,
"The prayer flags sing in the wind..."
Years of relentless human experiments and the detached high vision seemed to momentarily dissipate. The vast night sky, the coarse and intense aroma of the liquor, the inverted vast starry field, and the humble masses rushed into his eyes.
Su Ming’an had a good dream.
It was the one in ten thousand good dreams Yuanyuan left for him.
In the dream, he saw himself sitting under a flowering tree; no one left, no one would suffer. They built a tall tower with love, fearing nothing inside, the world was serene, and they passed one happy spring, summer, autumn, and winter after another...
When he woke up, he was still on the back of the cow.
The morning light was faint, and everything made sound.
Xiao Gesang was leading the cow, walking on the street.
"You’re awake, we are at the market, almost home!" The herdsman boy looked back with a smile, excitedly pointing at the colorful flags flying in the distance: "See those colorful flags? They hang all over the slopes! When the wind blows, they rustle like singing!... And those, they are items from the World Game! They used to glow, brighter than the moon! It’s said to have some ’Player equipment glowing effect’, I don’t understand, but they don’t glow now anyway."
The colorful stalls stretched across the meadow, and people shuttled among them.
The herdsmen were selling the players’ trinkets as fresh novelties, like red bottles that healed with one sip, long skirts that could store several boxes of goods, and supposedly white tentacles left by the World Master...
Su Ming’an quietly watched all this, looking at these simple people treating the players’ trash as treasures.
"We are particularly interested in the players. Although I didn’t catch the World Game, I want to record their deeds, especially that World Master, from a herdsman’s perspective... that’s what I want to do when I grow up!" Xiao Gesang said excitedly: "When I grow a little older, I’ll go to the city to learn words... It’s said that the World Master is only ten years older than me..."
He squatted down, picked up a wooden bowl, and handed it to Su Ming’an.
"Quick, taste it, the best tea soup at the market, it’s my treat, dedicated to you! Thank you, Player brother!"
The young man hesitated, slightly parted his lips, and took a small sip. Scalding, salty, fresh, slightly sweet, with the unique richness of butter and the charred aroma of barley, and a strange tingling sensation on the tongue... The complex flavor spread in his mouth, sliding down his throat, bringing a slight warmth along the way into his icy numb limbs.
As he drank, he suddenly said hoarsely:
"It’s indeed tasty."
"Much better than that guy’s tea..."
This is the taste of hardworking simple people’s labor.
This is the voice of the people of fields and plains.
This world is really big, really far.
Just at this moment, a fierce wind suddenly poured out from deep within the valley.
"Whoosh—whoosh—"
In an instant, countless colorful prayer flags hanging on the flags and tent ropes were abruptly straightened by this force, flapping wildly.
The young man instinctively looked up, the wind was getting stronger, pulling those prayer flags to dance frantically. He saw countless cloth strips printed with scriptures and totems, fluttering restlessly under the sky. They were thrown high into the sky by the wind, then struggled to fall again and again, like countless tireless butterflies, like the cries of countless souls.
He stared for a long time, his eyes stung by the intense colors, unknowingly filled with tears, blurring his vision.
—Life and death once clashed at the edges of this body, like prayer flags fighting and tearing in the wind.
At this moment, the cracks within him seemed no longer numb under the gaze of the plateau, in the coarse rim of the bowl and the warm tea, under the wind’s chanting prayer flags, transmitting a fresh pain.
Standing independently where clouds part, the mountains are as tough as ten thousand ropes.
Stars sink on twin shoulders at night, what kindles spring from the wilderness embers?
...
"City person, are you leaving? You only stayed a while."
"The wound’s healed, I should leave soon."
"Heh, then be careful on the road."
"Mm."
"City person, what are you going to do next? Don’t find a place to jump again."
"Going back."
"Going back? Back home? Didn’t you say you couldn’t go back?"
"I made a resolution, maybe I can return this time."
"I don’t understand, you city folks are so complicated. Anyway, have a good trip, come visit us next time! When I learn to write, I’ll put you in my record book too, haha!"
Before leaving, Su Ming’an picked up the gift from Xiao Gesang.
A piece of unrefined, warm white stone, with a small piece of yak horn stuck in it.
Xiao Gesang’s parting words still echoed in his ears:
...
["Our old yaks here have lived through the coldest winters and seen the most sunrises. The tip of their horns holds the light of the sun! Doctor Angela said this thing is a child of the sun; carrying it is like holding tomorrow’s sun, no matter how cold the snowy mountains or how long the night, the sun will always leap from the tip of its horn! Mom also let me place a little bit of barley from the temple at the base of the horn piece; the barley will sprout, and people will regain spirit under the sun!"]
...
Su Ming’an returned to the Punishment Tower, heading toward the final layer.
In the cell, Atlanda looked at him.
"You’ve returned from hell, seems you’ve rested well, even got your humanity back. Did something happen?" Atlanda smiled.
"Who was involved in this attack?" Su Ming’an sat down.
"What are you talking about?"
"The defenses of the small world wouldn’t be so weak, who was involved, you’ve experienced it so many times, you should know." Su Ming’an leaned forward, the colorful knots on his wrist clattering.
"Do you want to save those who have passed?"
"I will save them."
"But you can’t do it now, what way do you have to change it?"
"I know." Su Ming’an touched the "Faith" authority mark on his collarbone, his voice calm:
"This world is too big, I want to become the dawn."
...
Atlanda listened, a look of surprise bursting from his eyes.
He gazed deeply at Su Ming’an, his eyes carrying a trace of vividness and expectation: "This is something... I have never seen in my memory."
"Maybe it was there, just that your memory is not complete."
"Of course, but indeed, you make me feel a fresh possibility..." Atlanda clasped his hands together: "As for who was involved in this attack, I do have some guesses."
"Who is it?" Su Ming’an looked up, he had suspected Zhao Yuan, suspected Lin Jiang, even suspected Eni. But who exactly was it?
Atlanda lowered his head for a moment, then looked up and said:
"Have you heard... of Agatha’s Murder on the Orient Express?"
Su Ming’an was momentarily shocked.
At that moment, he did not think of Lu’s smile, not of Lü Shu’s blazing eyes, not of Yamada Machiichi’s regrettable expression, but rather of Su Mianbao at the time of his passing, clutching his sleeve and saying—
...
["I want to ask you."]
["No matter when, no matter what happens."]
["Always give this civilization at least one chance to reform."]
["Please— for the selfishness rooted in humanity, spare the human flaws."]
...
