The cold sunshine falls on Lake Patzcuaro, reflecting the shallow surface of the lake in the dry season and the reflection of reeds in the water. Along the lake area, the villages of the Tarasco people are lonely and desolate, and the fields are full of weeds. Even though it has already
It's the beginning of the New Year, but there are no celebrating crowds in sight, and there is no smell of rosy prayers. Only in the morning and evening, the faint smoke rising from cooking fires, accompanied by the occasional barking of dogs, reveals a rare bit of vitality.
Chihuaco, an old militiaman, stood blankly in front of a mud-brick hut, his body motionless and his eyes empty and dull.
It has been half a year since he was drafted and left his warm little home. During these six months, he participated in flaming water battles and experienced sieges with arrows and arrows. He saw many nobles, like corn stalks.
It breaks easily; we also see tens of thousands of warriors, stepping into the mud like leaves; and countless civilians, just like weeds burned in the wasteland, turned into ashes in the flames of war, scattered all over the sky without traces.
He escaped from the battlefield and was used to the blood and tears of the world. After experiencing the hardships of life and death, he finally returned to the village. However, he never thought, and never wanted to imagine, that in this cold little home, there were only simple mud huts.
still.
He built the mud house with a handful of mud and bricks. He saved the materials for several years and spent a year. It can be called decent in the village. And these fired mud bricks were made during the off-farm time.
The result of hard work day and night after he and his wife finished their hard work. In this mud house, there used to be the busyness of his wife, the noise of his son, the laughter of his daughter, and everything he cherished.
At this moment, in front of the mud house, the wooden door is wide open, seeming to welcome the long-lost owner. Outside the house, the turkeys raised in the pen, the hairless domestic dogs in front of the house, and the peppers hanging from the eaves are all...
Disappeared. In the house, not many belongings were scattered around, seeming to tell the story of past experiences. The clay pot for cooking was smashed on the ground, and the clay pot for water was completely overturned. Only the hard-built straw bed remained.
The thatch on the ground and the corner where the grain was piled were already empty.
The mind of the old militiaman was also blank. He looked at everything in front of him with trembling eyes. The figures he was familiar with, the figures he expected, and the figures he loved were all left in his memories, as if his soul had been taken away.
Leaving behind a lonely body.
Not far behind the old militiaman, Weziti looked at the empty thatched hut, his face full of confusion and bewilderment. A group of seven militiamen poured into this desolate and dilapidated village, and the home in their memory was suddenly shattered. In this
In a familiar yet strange place, they seem to be the only life.
Militiaman Yauli glanced at the trembling crowd, scratched his head, and continued to lower his body and dig hard in the soil. After returning to the village, he simply glanced at the empty thatched hut and didn't care.
Get busy.
Yayuli is the youngest among the group and has just grown up. Although he usually follows the crowd and talks about women and children, he is actually just a bachelor. His parents died early and he was not married, so he is alone in the family.
He was also poor and didn't even have a dagger. He didn't have much feelings about death and separation. This time when he went out to join the army, he was handed a spear, took off his clothes, and later touched a dagger, all covered in tears.
came back.
After a while, Yayuli finally threw out a torn sack from the soil, which contained a pile of thoroughly dried old corn. He grinned, went to other deserted houses to get a clay pot, and then took it from the neighboring house.
A tank of water was scooped out of the lake. While scooping out the water, Yayuli glanced at the lake. There seemed to be some small boats in the distance, with the light of bronze spears shining on them.
Yayuli ignored it. He got a pile of thatch from the dilapidated house, and then set up a bonfire at the cold fire pit in the center of the village. Then, he used the copper spears of his companions to set up a clay pot and cooked old corn.
I continued to search in other houses to see if there was anything useful.
The smoke from cooking smoke rose, and the aroma of corn began to spread in the village. Yayuli found a bag of coarse salt and tasted it. The salt was a bit bitter. He didn't know what was mixed in it. Maybe that's what salt should be.
Taste. Then, he walked to the pot, poked the corn with a dagger, and nodded with satisfaction.
"Uncle, you idiots are all here to eat corn!"
Yayuli shouted happily to the other militiamen, but no one paid him any attention. He scratched his head again, then took a piece of corn by himself, and gnawed it hard without burning his mouth. The old corn was really hard to chew.
From time to time, he would lick the salt grains poured into the palm of his hand. This was the most economical way to eat it. During the six months of the expedition, he saw that the samurai gentlemen could eat soft corn tortillas and smoked dried meat, and the noble gentlemen could eat it.
There was also pure yellow honey and dark cocoa. He was really envious of it, but he couldn't imagine what it felt like.
The aroma of food spread far away, and suddenly there was some movement in the village. An old man poked his head out of the dilapidated house, carefully looked at the copper spear holding the pot, and then looked at the corn eaters.
, and suddenly breathed a sigh of relief. The old man walked out quietly, looked around at the other people who were in a daze, and suddenly grabbed the corn in the pot, regardless of the hot water in the pot.
Hearing the noise, Yayuli who was eating corn suddenly stopped. He turned his head and saw the old man stealing the corn. He recognized it for a moment and became very angry.
"Old Yitong, how dare you steal my corn!"
After saying that, Yayuli stretched out his hand to snatch the food from the old man's hand.
Lao Yitong hunched over to dodge, stuffing corn into his mouth hurriedly, and shouted hesitantly.
"Little Yayuli, did you steal enough corn from me? Give me one back, I haven't eaten for a long time! ... By the way, is the war over? Are you the only ones back? My family's
Where is Xiao Yitong?"
Hearing this, Yayuli suddenly stopped in his hands. He scratched his head, sighed, took two steps back, squatted in front of the pot, and didn't know what to say.
This chapter is not over yet, please click on the next page to continue reading! Seeing this scene, Lao Yitong also stopped eating corn. He looked at Yauli and asked tremblingly.
"My little Yitong?...he..."
Yayuli remained silent for a while and then nodded.
Old Yitong took two steps back in disbelief. At this moment, it seemed that all his strength had been drained from him. The next moment, he suddenly looked at Chihuaco, the dull old militiaman, and staggered towards him. He
He was still holding the half-eaten corn tightly in his hands, as if he was holding on to the last hope.
"Chihuaco, where is my little Yitong? You are all back, where are the others?!"
Hearing the loud questioning, the old militiaman slowly turned around, as if he had been awakened from a deep sleep. He opened his eyes and looked at the running old man, his expression gradually became distorted, and he suddenly burst out.
"Old Yitong, why are you still here, you old immortal! Where is my mother-in-law? Where is my son? Where is my daughter?! Where are they!"
Lao Yitong ignored him. He approached the old militiaman and just asked loudly.
"Where is my son?!"
"Your son has died a long time ago! He was shot to death with an arrow and fell into the lake. Nothing was left behind. Even his body was fed to the crocodiles!"
Lao Yitong felt as if he had been struck by lightning. He stood there blankly, muttering to himself.
"Crocodile...crocodile..."
Chihuaco rushed forward with a strange light in his eyes. He grabbed Lao Yitong by the collar, shook his skinny body vigorously, and shouted ferociously.
"Old man, where are my family members? Where is my son? Where is my daughter? Where is my mother-in-law?!"
Lao Yitong was awakened by the violent shaking. He glanced at Chihuaco with a gloomy face and said gloomily.
"Chihuaco, your family is gone! Your son was taken away by the second batch of conscripts! Your daughter was sacrificed by the village chief to the samurai master! Your mother-in-law couldn't bear to think about it and drowned to death two months ago. The body is
I haven't found it yet, I don't know where it is, and no one is looking for it."
Upon hearing this, Chihuaco's eyes widened, his body froze instantly, and two lines of tears silently flowed from the corners of his eyes. Then, he gasped violently, trembled violently, and then roared violently.
"My mother-in-law is gone, she is gone, gone... Damn it! My son is only fifteen years old, and my daughter is only thirteen years old! I want to kill them!"
Then, the old militiaman's eyes flashed with murderous intent. He strangled Old Yitong's neck and asked sternly.
"You old man, where is the village chief?...I'm going to kill him! Kill him!!"
Lao Yitong looked at Chihuaco with fear, who had never seen him before. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Seeing this, Chihuaco slightly released his palm and continued to stare fiercely.
"The village chief... he was taken away by the third batch of conscripts... Who knows where he is now, he might be dead."
The old militiaman stopped again. There was confusion in his eyes and he lost strength in his hands. After a while, he muttered to himself.
"They are all dead...Why don't you die? Why don't you die?..."
Old Yitong twisted his neck hard and struggled out of Chihuaco's loosened palm. He took a few deep breaths, and when he heard the old militiaman's question, he thought he was talking about himself.
"The old man didn't like my old bones, so he spared my life. Besides, you won't necessarily die if you are taken away. Your son and daughter might still be alive somewhere in the capital."
"How can they survive in this world if they don't understand anything!...No, no, you are right, they are not dead yet, I have to find them and bring them back!"
Having said this, the old militiaman's gray eyes once again became bright. He looked towards the capital city across the lake, which was his only hope and new goal. Then, he lowered his head, wiped the corners of his eyes with his sleeves, and wiped the old man's eyes.
Yitong left it aside and went to the fire pit where the militiamen gathered. He wanted to discuss it with his friends who would live and die together.
Lao Yitong stood alone in the corner. He slowly finished eating the corn, slowly squatted on the ground, and slowly lay down in the mud, like an old yellow croaker out of the water. Then, he turned over with difficulty
He buried his head in the soil and cried softly.
The old militiaman Chihuaco summoned six comrades. He said something loudly with fire in his eyes. Then, Weziti was the first to nod. The other militiamen stood blankly for a moment, and then some nodded in agreement.
Some shook their heads and refused, and everyone fell into an argument. Little Yayuli didn't care where he was going. He looked at the lake not far away and suddenly discovered something.
"Look! Two boats are coming over there."
Two common canoes were leaning against the lake, with shields erected on them. They were obviously warships. A dozen Tarasco warriors jumped out of the warships, holding shining bronze spears and solid wooden shields, and headed toward them.
The smoke from the village comes with indifferent strides.
"Where are you militiamen from?"
The leading warrior was wearing the emblem of the Hummingbird family. After returning from the battlefield, the militiamen had learned a lot. They were obviously warriors from a noble family.
Everyone looked at Chihuaco. The old militiaman lowered his head and was silent for a moment, rubbed his face with his hands, then raised his head with a smile on his face. Then, he spoke respectfully with the accent he learned in the north.
"Sir, we are militiamen from the northern Akambaro state! The Mexicans came too fast, and the northern gentlemen did not have time to resist, so many people fled in all directions... We were originally following a turkey family tattoo
The great master went to the capital to guard the city. But the great master walked too fast, and we couldn’t catch up, so we scattered here, looking for traces of him everywhere..."
The Hummingbird Warrior thought about Turkey's family crest, and it seemed that the fiefdom was indeed in the north. He looked at the bronze spears of the militiamen, then looked at the ages of these people, and nodded slowly.
"Don't go looking for your master! Now, on behalf of the chief minister, I announce that you have been recruited by Qin Cong Can City to serve the three sacred gods and the supreme royal family! Pack up, don't bring any sundries, and follow me now
Get on the road!”
This chapter is not over yet, please click on the next page to continue reading! The old militiamen looked at the well-equipped warriors in front of them, and then at the other militiamen. At this moment, everyone nodded obediently. Everyone picked up their spears.
, as the warriors boarded the boat, and then headed to the "Land of Hummingbirds" by the lake, the capital Qin Congcan. Before leaving, Yayuli took one last look at the bag of corn he left behind, and then looked at it again.
The figure in the corner scratched his head again and left with everyone.
The desolate village became quiet again, with the bonfires flickering on and off, and only the faint sound of crying in the wind. After a while, the crying gradually stopped, and the unnoticed Lao Yitong got up from the ground. He wiped the tears on his face.
Mud and tears, he bent over and swayed to pick up the remaining bag of corn. He grabbed the heavy corn bag tightly, then slowly came to the campfire, squatted down, and picked up the remaining bag of corn that the militiamen had just discarded.
Corn on the cob. Then, he gnawed at the corn residue covered with soil, as if gnawing away at the remaining hope, until nothing was left.
Chihuaco followed the hummingbird warrior and rowed across the lonely lake. He looked at the blurry corpses floating in the water, but could not find the face that had been with him all his life. He looked at the deserted island in the lake, passing by
Memories came to mind. During the dozens of New Years he spent, the lake would be dotted with boats. Villagers came from all directions to trade local products on the small islands in the lake, singing and dancing. Priests from the towns would occasionally come.
Here, he presided over a grand prayer ceremony to praise the three gods who protected the Tarasco people.
These rare joys of hard work, he had shared with his family, turned into a trance at this moment. The vague laughter came from the memory, floating in the wind today, as if they were still beside him...
The breeze blew away the laughter and took away the figures, leaving only the desolation of the wind. Only sparse patrol warships were left on the lake. The warriors and militiamen clenched their weapons and stared nervously at the north. Mexica scouts crossed
Huayamo Fortress appeared on the edge of the lake area, and the terrifying army was not far away.
After only half a day's sailing, everyone arrived at the lake. Chihuaco woke up from his trance, and in front of him was the bustling capital of the kingdom, Qincongcan City.
He looked at the magnificent city, which is the center of the mythical world. He looked at the towering city walls, which were twice as strong as the river mouth fortress. He looked at the sacred "House of Winds", which is a group of pyramids that have stood for hundreds of years.
, the sanctuary where the priests lived. Finally, he looked at the majestic "Palace of Winds", which was the supreme palace of the king and the core of the kingdom's rule.
The magnificent Copper City stands beside the lake, unchanged for hundreds of years. This is the most prosperous place in the world in Chihuaco's heart, and it is also the last pursuit in his life.
