Tianjin people will never lose SAN

Chapter 370: Millennium Dream
"Lorenzo, Lorenzo..."

In the shabby and low-rise slums, Botticelli rolled over on the bed with his eyes closed. His eyeballs rolled violently under his eyelids. The young painter's hands clenched the dirty sheets, and he fell into a nightmare.

A few days earlier, Botticelli met a hooded man while buying paint for his painting on the street.

The other party first said in Gulashu "The Holy Lady's Compassion Shines on the Earth" and then performed a strange salute. The posture was somewhat similar to the salute of the Holy See, but the movements of the fingers were slightly different.

Botticelli was stunned for a moment, but still stopped cautiously.

In the evening sunset, the orange-yellow light cast a layer of mystery on the hooded man. Botticelli only remembered that he spoke incoherently, with a few words of ancient Spanish mixed in from time to time, which seemed out of place.

It probably costs money. Victoria is the closest to the Holy See, and the poor people in the countryside can often beg for a few copper coins or black bread on the street by complaining about their identity as believers.

Botticelli took out a few coins from his pocket and threw them to the other party, then wanted to turn around and leave.

"Wait a minute."

A hoarse voice sounded from behind. Botticelli turned his head subconsciously and saw that it was the other party who took out a dark crystal from his lapel.

The crystal is large and irregular in shape, and at first glance appears to be a dark, opaque color, but when one's gaze rests on it for a long time, Botticelli seems to be able to see a rainbow of colorful lights from it.

He couldn't help but stare at it in a trance, and his hand slowly reached out to the crystal.

The hooded stranger scoffed and replaced the crystal.

From then on, whenever Botticelli closed his eyes and fell asleep, he would always see some bizarre pictures. There seemed to be some kind of coherence among them, but the end of each picture always gave him a bad feeling.

Botticelli would suddenly sit up in bed, gasping for breath, his whole body covered in cold sweat.

He also told this matter to his adoptive father, Bishop Gione, and his close friend Lorenzo, but the former only asked him to go to the chapel to meditate and pray and confess his sins, while the latter completely took his words as bragging.

Lorenzo went out to inquire about the news of Saint Barabi, while Botticelli, who was extremely tired, fell asleep again.

He was still lying in a shabby house, even dirtier and smellier than Lorenzo's shack. There was no bed under him, but a linen blanket spread on the floor.

"Boyce, come out and help, you damn lazy bastard, look what I caught on the beach today!"

The door was kicked open, and Botticelli lay motionless on the ground. Who was the other party calling? Was he calling himself? When did I become Beuys?
The cold air outside the door, accompanied by the sound of something heavy being dragged, enveloped him. It was so real that it didn't seem like a dream.

"How long are you going to sleep? Come and help me. I have to go home to take care of Castalana later."

The young man who came in from outside kicked Botticelli on the lower back. Only then did his body completely recover from a frozen state, and blood flowed into his limbs. Botticelli barely got up from the ground and moved his neck and limbs first.

The young man in front of him, who was breathing heavily, had his back to him. With the light from the window, Botticelli could see his red hair and the old fisherman's clothes he was wearing. Perhaps he was too poor, he didn't even have a belt, and could only tie a dirty thin rope around his waist.

He looked familiar... Where have I seen him before? He called me Boyce... Saint Boyce's name?
"No one dares to go out to sea recently. I heard that two fishing boats in the village were capsized this morning. Fortunately, Castalana persuaded me not to go fishing on the boat yesterday, otherwise you wouldn't have seen me today."

The young fisherman sniffed, turned around and punched Botticelli. When he saw the fisherman's face, Botticelli couldn't help but screamed:
"Bernus! Saint Bernus!"

There is no mistake about it, the red hair, the long horse face, and the iconic deep cleft chin (ke second tone, commonly known as butt chin), yes, Saint Bernard!

"Are you confused from sleeping, or have you eaten too many fleas?"

Bernus sneered at his friend's surprise, shook his head slightly, raised his hand, took a fish knife from the table next to him and handed it to Botticelli.

Botticelli still stared at the saint in front of him, and then rushed out of the house as if he suddenly thought of something, and almost tripped over something on the way. Outside the broken house was the vast gray sea. He found a puddle, and Botticelli saw his reflection in the puddle and almost fainted.

He was Beuys, there was no way he would make a mistake, Botticelli stroked his cheek with trembling fingers. He had no idea how many portraits of Saints Bernoulli and Beuys he had painted, but there was no way he would make a mistake.

"What's wrong with you? Did you tire yourself out from fishing the other day?"

Bernus leaned against the door frame and scraped the fish knife twice with a torn leather belt.

"Mr. Bernus, who is this Castalana you just mentioned?"

Botticelli trembled all over, and he didn't know whether he was in a dream or reality, but this was a good opportunity after all, giving him a chance to explore the truth of the saints' preaching.

“Your Excellency? Hahahaha… I’m a fucking Excellency too.”

Bernus spat on the ground, rubbed his beard roughly and laughed:

"Castalana, my sister, I think you are so hungry that you are confused. If you don't die after eating this, maybe your mind will become a little clearer."

Sister? Saint Bernard had a sister?
As the adopted son of a church bishop, Botticelli was familiar with various Saint Bernard books since he was a child, including those unofficial histories and fables, after all, he needed to draw materials from them to create religious paintings. The most detailed record of Saint Bernard in the Saint Bernard story is never mentioned that he has a sister.

Bernus squatted down and gestured with the fish-cutting knife twice, as if he was looking for the right place to cut open the belly:

"Boyce, do you recognize this thing?"

Botticelli came to his senses at this time and looked down. It was a huge flat marine creature. He was almost tripped by it when he ran out of the door just now.

Amalfi is a seaside city, and Botticelli grew up there. Ever since he could remember, he had been running barefoot on the pier by the sea, but he swore that he had never seen such a strange fish...or perhaps it was not a fish at all.

The monster under his feet was more than ten feet long and blue-gray in color. Bernus must have dragged it to the shore by its tail. The fish's body was covered with fine sand and there was a cut on the left side, with dark blue blood flowing out.

It was difficult for Botticelli to tell where the fish's head was, and he could only roughly determine that the wider end should be the monster's head.

However, such a flat body has a disproportionately tall dorsal fin, which is three or four feet high. Unlike sharks and other creatures, the dorsal fin of the strange fish under your feet is not streamlined, and looks somewhat abrupt and redundant.

“Why should we eat it…”

Catching unknown creatures in the sea and then rashly eating them is simply playing with one's life. Botticelli did not understand Saint Bernardus's approach.

"If not this, what will I eat? Huh? You know what has been going on in the past few months. Monsters have appeared in the sea, and almost all fishing boats have been overturned. If I don't eat this, will I starve to death?

I will eat first. If I die, you will take care of Castalana. If I am fine, cut a piece of meat and bring it back to her."

Saint Bernus finally put the tip of the knife towards the wound on the side of the strange fish. When the rusty blade approached the skin of the strange fish, the strange fish suddenly made a sound similar to that of a baby crying!
The sound was so sharp and so similar to that of a human, it was so heart-wrenching and pierced the sky, and it frightened both of them to sit on the ground.

"Hold on, Saint Bernus! Hold on, Saint Bernus!"

Botticelli sat up suddenly in bed, reaching forward with both hands, while another warm and soft hand supported his shoulders.

It's Lorenzo.

"I'm back, Lorenzo, I'm back. You'll never guess what I dreamed about. I dreamed of Saint Bernard, and I became Saint Bois. There was a strange fish on the ground. Give me my pen. I have to... I have to draw it quickly."

Seeing his friend's crazy look, Lorenzo had no choice but to do as he was told. He found a pencil and some waste paper from the drawer and handed them to Botticelli.

The painter just sat on the bed, and with the faint light, he quickly copied everything he had dreamed of on the drawing paper. While painting, he also muttered incoherently about everything he had just seen.

“That’s it, that’s it…Lorenzo, in my previous dreams I only saw beasts and splattered blood, but this time is different. This time is obviously different.

Next time I close my eyes, you must stay by my side and watch my every move.

This time I was wrongly accused and Bishop Jone was brutally murdered. This must be some kind of omen, just like the visit of St. Barabi. Something terrible is about to happen. If I don’t do something, I don’t know what the world will become.

By the way, Saint Barlaan, have you seen Saint Barlaan? "

Only when the sheets of white paper were completely filled with lines did Botticelli raise his head and stare at his best friend with bloodshot eyes.

"Oh, by the way, I saw Saint Baran. In addition to the Inquisitor, he also brought a lady and two children."

"Two children! What kind of children? Babies?"

Thinking of the crying baby in the dream, Botticelli suddenly grabbed his friend's shoulders with both hands, and Lorenzo frowned in pain.

"No, just an ordinary 4 or 5-year-old child. I didn't dare to look at him for long."

"Well, did Saint Baran get on the carriage directly, or did he stay in the inn?"

"They walked around the city first, not knowing where to stay."

"Didn't you follow up?"

"No, I was stopped by a patrolling sheriff and questioned for a long time before I was able to get away."

"I must contact Saint Baran. It's not just about Bishop Jone's death, do you understand? And also about the strange dream I just had! Saint Baran must know what happened!
Saint Bernius had a sister who is not mentioned in the books, and there was that strange baby-like fish! "

Botticelli waved the painting in his hand and roared like a madman!

(End of this chapter)