Volume 10 Bugs Chapter 75 Look, this world!
When my fellow space travelers left, the world fell silent. Although it was still early, the figures of people were already very sparse. There were fewer and fewer free space travelers, and the few I occasionally met on the road were listless and weak. The only ones left were the natives who seemed to never know what fatigue and boredom were, retaining a faint vitality for this sleeping world.
Whenever this happens, I can't help but fall into a panic. I used to spend the whole day frantically completing various tasks, filling the time alone with running around and fighting; I also used profound alchemy to dispel this loneliness and spend this time in a simple laboratory; but more often, I prefer to find a quiet place - a lush lawn, a huge rock, or a soft haystack - feel the breeze passing over my body, gaze at the sun, moon and stars rising and setting again and again, let the awake soul sleep with the world, until my friends wake me up again.
I never knew what tiredness and sleepiness were like as my friends said. I could run all night and fight all day. I used to think that I didn’t need to rest—I even didn’t understand the meaning of the word “rest” at one point—but I soon realized that maybe my body didn’t need rest, but my soul did.
When I owned the small room above the guild, I used it as a place for my soul to rest. In fact, it helped me through many lonely days and nights. But now, I can't find peace of mind here. An unrelieved turmoil is growing deep in my heart, making me confused and upset. I always feel that there is something important that needs to be done, but I can't remember what it is...
...Or maybe I don't want to remember? I don't dare to remember?
I opened the window and saw that it was just past dusk. The holy city of Freschitte was bathed in the warm twilight, as if covered with a golden veil. Looking far into the distance, the woods outside the city were vaguely visible, stretching into the distance until the edge of the horizon.
Suddenly I felt unsatisfied, and I stood on tiptoe, wanting to look further away, wanting to see the other side of the horizon. There seemed to be something there that I was silently longing for. Even though I didn't know what it was, I still couldn't help but miss it.
What is there beyond? There are a few mountains, a river, a vast plain, and a few small and leisurely villages.
No, it's more than that. I suddenly remembered that in that faraway place that I couldn't see, there was a small town called Campanavia, with its moss-covered walls, its gray roofs, its not-so-big but always-bustling central square, its sculpture fountain that never sprayed water but always had clear water...
On one side of the city, there is a bright path, and the flower beds beside the path are full of roses of various colors. The sunset at this moment should also be rippling on the path. I imagine it is like a stream full of light, flowing quietly along the bluestone. Standing in the middle of the road, it seems that you can reach out and scoop up a handful of bright sunshine. If you can drink it, you will feel warm all over.
Oh, no, none of this is important. What is important is that there is a small but exquisite bakery on the side of this road. The bakery's oven is always burning hot, and the red fire is always dancing happily, making people's faces blush. The shelves of the bakery are filled with various kinds of bread: blueberry jam, chocolate flavor, baguettes, large hand-torn buns... Even the bread on the shelves always feels hot to the touch, because there is a kind and hardworking girl who always replaces the cold bread with hot bread fresh from the oven.
Among all the breads, I like the vanilla flavor the most. That soft and sweet smell always reminds me of the girl's soft and white hands. Oh, yes, I have such a vanilla bread in my backpack. I took it out and held it in my hand. The bread was cold, but the light and soft smell was still there. I put it under my nose and sniffed it, and the face of the lively girl with freckles and always smiling appeared in my mind.
Suddenly, a strong feeling of missing hit me, and I suddenly remembered the reason for the troubles that had always troubled me. Marianne, the beautiful girl like a rose, I haven't seen her for a long time since she fled in a hurry last time. I was once afraid to face the strong emotion that was destined to have no result, so I forced myself to forget all this.
But what about now? Since I have decided to face my life calmly and treasure all this as the best memory in my life, can't I muster up the courage to see her again?
I couldn't sit still any longer, so I immediately opened the door and rushed out, and rode as fast as I could to find the nearest stagecoach station. I arrived just in time, and the carriage to Campnavia was parked there. As soon as I jumped into the carriage, the carriage shook and set off.
I had long suspected that these stagecoaches traveling between distant cities possessed some mysterious magical power, and that they could reach their destinations at a speed far beyond common sense, even the fastest mounts I knew could not compare with them. However, now, no matter how fast the dwarf coachman sitting in front of me whipped the horse, it was still so slow for me. My body was sitting in the carriage, but my heart had already flown out front.
Do you know that "missing" is the most amazing magic. No matter where you are, in the vast sea of people, or even in the midst of death, it can instantly pull your heart to the person you miss, and let you clearly see the person's voice and appearance in your mind. Compared with it, the speed of light and electricity may not be that fast; compared with it, your vision and hearing are so blurry.
A few minutes later - it seemed like centuries - I rode to the intersection of Rose Street. Everything was as peaceful and quiet as I imagined: the setting sun sprinkled on the cobblestone road, the fragrance of flowers diffused in the wind, lovely cottages stood on both sides, and the sound of wind chimes could be heard from time to time in the air. The entire road was empty, and there was no pedestrian in sight; but it was so full, filled with something called "tenderness".
Along the way, I had imagined this reunion with Marianne countless times. I had imagined myself in tears, saying goodbye to the most beautiful love of my life with a cry; I had also imagined myself forcing myself to smile, even though my heart was in pain like a knife stabbing a needle, but I still smiled and talked to her; I imagined myself like a fool, my mind went blank as soon as I saw her, and I stood there staring blankly... I even imagined myself as a coward, a coward, an escapist who was defeated by my own feelings, and didn't even have the courage to step onto this street, and I didn't even dare to look at the shadow of the bakery, let alone see the beautiful girl who made me dream and think about her day and night.
But I never thought it would be like this:
I rode my beloved horse and walked slowly on the right side of the path, watching the cute sign of "Santa Bakery" getting bigger and clearer, and then the beautiful door and bright window. The night was gradually getting dark, but it was not yet to the point where candles were needed. The fire flickered in the house, shaking out a bright light and shadow.
Just outside the window I saw Marian Santa, the girl whom I was destined to love but who was also destined not to love me.
She was lying on the counter at that time, just as I remembered, supporting her cheeks with her hands, staring intently at the sky outside the window. She did not see me standing outside the window, with a faint smile of happiness and longing on her face.
There is no sadness, no excitement, no tears, no cowardice. It is neither as complicated as a novel nor as carefully crafted as a poem. It is more like a simple essay. She is inside the window and I am outside the window. Everything happens naturally, as if it should be this way.
I suddenly remembered an ancient question that no one has answered and cannot be answered: What exactly is "love"?
It is a strong emotion that can only be described with extremely strong words such as pain and sweetness, life and death, loyalty and betrayal. It uses that irresistible surging emotion to hit the deepest part of your nerves again and again, leaving you with the most thrilling spiritual feelings. Only heart-wrenching, only ice and fire, only life and death, only eternity, is that what is called "love"?
Or maybe it is a kind of private, obscure emotion that can never be expressed in words but is always hidden in the heart, delicate and fragile, unable to withstand the slightest touch, time will wear it out, words will hurt it, desire will burn it, and only the most beautiful and purest thoughts can blend with it. This kind of pure spiritual care and nurturing, is this "love"?
No, no, no, that is not love, at least not all of love. It should be like breathing, hearing, sitting, lying, walking, thinking, a part of our life, a part of our being. It should be something calm and ordinary. When you have it, it is so natural, but when you savor it carefully, you will feel so incredible and incomprehensible. You don't know why you can drive the index finger of your right hand to accurately press a tiny button in less than three square millimeters, but you do it without difficulty; similarly, you don't know why every time you see that familiar figure passing by you, your heart beats faster and your breathing becomes short, but you just love it, and you will continue to love it.
It is not so mysterious, not so strong, not so fragile. I have truly loved before, and that is the mark of my life. I used to be confused and anxious, and I collapsed and escaped, but now I know that what I was afraid of was not love itself, but only the failure of love.
Would you be burned by the warmth you radiate? Would you be pricked by the skin of your own palm? If not, then there is no doubt that you will not be hurt by the love in your heart. That is the warmest and softest emotion in your heart. What can be hurt by it?
Maria Santa stood up briskly, bent down to take out the freshly baked bread from the oven, and then replaced the bread on the shelf and in the window one by one. The fire was swaying, and her slender figure was reflected in the window, as if she was within reach, so real and clear.
I couldn't help but slowly reach out my hand, wanting to touch that beautiful light and shadow. No, not just touch, I wanted to integrate myself into it - I don't mean my body, but my emotions - all reflected in this graceful figure, letting her carry all my tenderness and all my thoughts.
At this moment, my heart was suddenly touched, and everything around me lost its color. The sky and the earth were shrouded in black, filled with endless and ever-changing green "0" and "1". I stretched out my hands in amazement, wanting to see what I had become, but I did not expect that countless "0" and "1" would change hundreds and thousands of times, and then rolled up a huge green wave, rushing quickly into the distance.
I succeeded?! I was surprised and excited—even my surprise and excitement were transmitted by the endless green characters—I successfully saw through the origin of this world, and restored all this splendor to an endless wilderness with only a black background and green characters.
I suddenly looked curiously in the direction of the bakery girl Marian - even just the action of "looking" would make the surrounding characters tumble endlessly - she also became a part of this symbolic world, even so, the characters representing her looked brighter and more beautiful. Those characters danced joyfully like waves, and although I had no idea how she did it, I still knew clearly that she was putting bread into the window.
It’s really interesting. Even the aroma of the bread was restored into the shape of numbers, constantly spreading to the world around me - this was the first time in my life that I "saw" what taste looked like.
Although it was my first time to come to this strange digital origin world by myself, I was not too panicked. Although the old troll witch doctor Carlson did not teach me how to do this at the time, he did not stop to instill relevant things in my mind. He told me that if I wanted to return to the concrete world under such circumstances, I could start with a simple object, stare at it, and sketch its appearance in my mind - the more detailed you imagine it, the better - until it is transformed from a number into a certain shape. And if even a needle or a stone-sized object has an image, then the whole world will immediately have an image.
Of course, when you are familiar with all this, it won't be so troublesome. It only takes a thought to shuttle between these two worlds.
Instead of choosing something that looked simpler, I looked at Maria Santa. I knew it was not a good choice, because a face with two eyes, two ears, a nose, a mouth and lots of brown hair would be as easy to imagine as a brick or a rod. But at this moment, in front of her, it was hard for me to imagine anything else.
The whole process was not as difficult as I had worried. Perhaps it was because Marianne’s face was too clear in my mind, and even every detail could not be forgotten. In just a moment, the pretty face of the bakery girl reappeared in front of me, and the world immediately became bright again. The sunset filled the sky, casting a layer of shy red on the city.
I just thought all this was so interesting, and I immediately focused my mind, recalling the various methods that Carls had taught me, trying to see through the wall of this illusory world and try to return to the original world composed of two basic digital structures.
But I failed. No matter how hard I tried, whether I imagined my consciousness as a blade, a spear, or a heavy hammer, I couldn't make the world open up.
There must be something wrong, I thought, since I succeeded just now but not now, the problem must be that the two attempts were different. I immediately stopped this useless attempt and recalled the consciousness in my mind just now.
At that time, I didn't want to break anything - I thought - I didn't want to expose the falsehood of this world, but I realized the truth in my heart. My consciousness is not a sword or a hammer. In fact, I didn't want to condense my consciousness into a powerful, sharp and strong image. Instead, I made it more gentle and tried to integrate it into Marianne's figure...
I see!
The key is here: integration, not destruction.
All along, I have completely accepted old Carlson's understanding: he said that this gorgeous surface world is a kind of falsehood, and only the source world piled up by digital numbers is the only reality. Therefore, I always imagine that there is a huge wall in front of me that conceals the truth, and only by breaking it can I see the truth behind it.
However, I have always overlooked one point: Is Carlsen’s understanding necessarily correct?
You know, this lonely old troll has never stepped out of the Stone Fortress. The magic vortex created by the copy magic at the fortress gate blocked his steps, blocked his sight, and also locked his mind. Indeed, after he woke up, he gained the magical power that I have always found difficult to master, but as he said when he taught me, he could not explain to me the natural and instinctive power of speaking with the mouth and hearing with the ears. Similarly, he himself knew it but did not know why - he could only use it.
All his explanations and teachings to me came from his own one-sided understanding of all of this. For him, it didn't matter whether this understanding was right or wrong, he could still use this power freely; but for me, this fundamental deviation in understanding meant a completely ineffective method.
There is no "surface world", and similarly, there is no "source world". There is only one world, and the existence of this world itself is real. What he calls the "surface world" and the "source world" are actually just two different ways of expressing the same real world. This is like the "energy" mentioned in alchemy. It can calmly solidify in an object, can be steadily output and consumed, and can burst out with great destructive power in an instant. You can only say that it is released in different ways, but you cannot say which energy is "real" and which energy is "fake".
If we must make a distinction between these two worlds, I think that perhaps the "source world" is the direct embodiment of the basic laws when the gods created the world, while the "surface world" is the specific representation of these laws. Although both of them are real, the "source world" is more basic. Therefore, only by "integrating" one's consciousness into the "surface world" can one touch the power of the origin of this world. As for imagining consciousness as a sword, a spear, a halberd, an axe, a hook, or something like that, in fact, it is fundamentally repelling entry into this world, and of course one cannot get in.
Realizing this, I slowly closed my eyes and let my consciousness dissipate into the endless void, without touching anything. Instead, I tried to mix and stir it thoroughly like brewing coffee, and scatter it out aimlessly.
I opened my eyes again, the night was endless, the green waves were like the sea, look, this endless world of symbols was so clear and bright!
