The Modern Age of the Mysterious Chapter 779

The latest website: The wind blows the treetops in the distance, the nearby pond is crystal clear, and the sky and the earth are clear and clean. In a small room, an old man in white was sitting quietly with his eyes closed.

The Lord of Sunset looked around at everything around him. Is this in the soul of that person?

"Who the **** are you?" she asked from a distance.

The old man opened his eyes, with a smile on his face because he was relaxed: "To be honest, I don't know who I am."

Teresa was furious, the eight-year-old girl's appearance could no longer be maintained, and the sunset yellow that contained all kinds of nightmare remnants roared around her body.

"Let me go!" The lord of Xihuang knew that she was imprisoned in a closed world, and she didn't want to be collected by someone like this.

Amidst the high-pressure roar, various grotesque scenes scorched the air, leaving shocking patterns in the space. The lord of sunset crazily released his pure pain in this world. Those pains come from the soul dregs of the barren station, from the endless lost years, from the resentment of being deceived and framed, from the anxiety of losing oneself...

She's in that man's soul now, and she's going to blast that soul, and then the little world that's imprisoning her...

Everything around her was destroyed because of her rage, the trees fell, the grass was scorched, the lake boiled, and the house where the old man lived was bombarded to pieces. The old man in white just sat with his eyes closed, as if blowing a breeze.

"Death!" Teresa's eyes seemed to be staring out of their sockets, which distorted her entire face, and Xihuang's thunder turned into a dragon, roaring and engulfing the old man.

After the roar, the old man was still sitting there with his clothes intact, as if he was just a phantom in time and space.

Teresa stared at him, panting.

"You are really angry." The old man opened his eyes.

She wanted to keep going, but she found herself tired. Not physical tiredness, but another kind of tiredness: a tiredness that doesn't want to raise your hands anymore. One is too tiring to say one more sentence.

"I want to ask you a question, and I hope you can answer it," said the old man.

Teresa turned her back on him. She could get in here, but found she couldn't get out of her own volition. She just stood there.

I don't know how long it took, and the burned vegetation grew again, the ponds that were burnt dry had water again, and the destroyed houses were rebuilt. It is rainy in spring, snow covers my shoulders in winter, and fallen leaves bury my shoes in autumn. She just stood there.

The time in the soul can be stretched infinitely. Into the gap of a second, only to find that there seems to be a whole world hidden in it.

When, again, a fallen leaf hit her on the head, Teresa felt the last drop of water hit the ground, so she turned around.

"May I ask a question?" He put down his teacup, it turned out that he had been waiting.

Teresa didn't answer.

He said, "You seem to understand pain very well. The question I want to ask you is: What is pain?"

She was silent for a while, but she didn't expect that she would answer his question: "What else? Of course it's the last thing you want. It's to keep forcing all the things you don't want.

"It's losing what you want most, that is, as long as you think about it, what you want will leave you."

"It's loneliness! It's the heart that can't find an outlet after repeated torment. It's the constant fear, and there's no way to seek death. It's anger. I don't even bother to be angry anymore!"

"Very well, you answered my question. You also proved one thing, you do understand pain.

"But I have more questions in my mind, I hope you can answer them for me."

"Is there a soul in this world that has never suffered? Is there a soul that can always keep what you want and stay away from people you don't want?"

"Are there people who are not born and die alone? Are there people who understand everything from birth? Are there things that never die?"

After listening to this series of questions, Teresa did not answer.

"Silence is also an answer. Your answer is very good." He nodded, "I still want to ask the same question: What is pain?

What? "

Sitting in front of the old man, Teresa fell into a long silence. The sun is setting, everything is dyed red, and the birds returning to their nests are singing. She wasn't thinking, because all thinking was like an arrow shot into nothingness, without a target, and she couldn't even know where the arrow would end up. She even felt that her identity could no longer be maintained. The 70,000 soul scum, the betrayed six secret explorers, and pure hatred, these things condensed into one personality: the Lord of the Evening Yellow. Teresa. But now the ironclad evidence seems to be flimsy. Sit and forget. Lose me. Something is dissolving. She felt her own image melting, and she (he?) almost forgot who she was.

Does it really matter who you are?

He suddenly understood a little bit what he meant before: "To be honest, I don't know who I am."

Pain is like a sword poking at a target. If you want pain, you must have a target.

If there is no target, the sword is just a piece of iron.

Sit and forget. Lose me. Pain is...?

"Pain is called 'painful me.'" She didn't know who was speaking, the words just came out. "Pain doesn't exist, it's a sum. It's the sum of 'I don't want to accept it. It's a good 'reason to resent everything.'"

Xiao En was a little surprised, he stared at the Lord of Sunset. He knew that the more pain he suffered, the stronger his ability to transform his mind, but he didn't expect the existence in front of him, UU Reading www. uukanshu.com actually realized this level just by himself.

Every pain is a whipping, and every whipping not only produces emotions and memories, but also a kind of sobriety. This sobriety is so vast and vast, yet so silent and transparent. Like a space full of flammable gas, only a little spark can shake the ground.

"Pain can also be sober: knowing clearly that 'I am judging and distinguishing what I want and what I don't want. Knowing soberly that 'I am actually the joy, anger, sorrow and joy at this moment. Knowing clearly that there is no pain in this world—there is no pain when a supernova explodes, there is no pain when a meteor burns across the sky, and neither does a black hole.

"Pain is the great motivator for waking up from this dream called 'Teresa. It's another kind of happiness." ..

The fog clears, and the grotto looms in the background. They used to sit opposite each other in Shambhala. Put your hands together, as if bowing to yourself in the mirror.

The nightmare in the evening yellow is gone, the colors around her are actually the same as the sky when the tired bird returns to its nest. It is the color of the sunset, the color of forgiveness, and the tenderness that covers everything.

When she opened her eyes again, she had already returned to the Palace of Evening Yellow.

Chapter end