Blade and Poetry

The gate on the Dark Gold Palace is tightly closed, and there is a sixteen-square pattern on it.Fifteen squares can slide up and down between the tracks, reversing positions through unique spaces until they form a coherent image.

The pattern on each square piece is only chains twisted into different angles, and after splicing together, it will probably form an irregular three-dimensional internal connection.I made a few attempts in my mind, and then started to move the blocks in sequence, but suddenly I found that the outer wall of the palace changed accordingly—the gold plating peeled off, and the luster of the entire wall was gradually dimming, revealing the brown-gray inside .The inner core of the wood used for support seemed to be rotting, creaking and making the sound of shaking the foundation.Some soil dust fell from the original golden roof and mixed with the soil below.

I had to speed up for this.However, about halfway through my fight, something happened on the surface of the palace, as if going back in time.Soil debris floated upward one by one, and the rough interior of the wall seemed to be gradually polished to a new level, with bright gold oozing from one corner until it permeated the entire plane.

After I put together the whole picture, the appearance of the palace seemed to have never changed, like a daydream that jumped into my mind and quickly slipped away.

I shook my head and walked into the door that had opened in front of me.

The interior of this palace is composed of a huge three-dimensional labyrinth, and the road just when entering the door is divided into three forks.The circling stairs, slides, and sidewalks are staggered up and down, with different materials and designs, which is quite brilliant.They feel spatially disorganized, yet miraculously don't seem crowded.

My original guess was that I should go to the very top of the palace.But when I inexplicably walked back to the original point for the third time, I finally realized that the problem I was facing was not just a sense of direction.

I stood at the gate, looking at the winding roads upwards, feeling a sense of intimacy in my heart.It seems that those roads are turning into unmodified lines, making some graphics overlap the scene in front of me

"Yeah," I thought, "it's the puzzle piece on the gate."

It's a pity that the door has been completely locked behind me, so I have to search my memory hard and try my best to piece together the details of the figure.I remember that the space in the sixteen grids is in the upper left corner, and only a chain can connect to it in the painting.

I embarked on the journey again with my scrapped memories.I carefully reviewed the images in my mind over and over again to make sure that my route was not deviated.Sometimes I feel that my steps are going down, but I often find that I am actually going up by comparing the surroundings.I went higher and more carefully; some roads were unguarded and very slippery.

It was getting darker and darker around me, and I was in the shadow of the golden dome.

Here is the last way.There are no other branches near it, only it is still sloping upwards.And my feet stuck in place, and I didn't move for a long time.

There is a gap of about one step between this road and where I am now, and it is a part that never appears in the puzzle.It looks like a crystal plate, and the other end hidden in the upper shadow seems to be broken in the middle, and it seems that there is nowhere to go.If the person who jumps over cannot rely on it to rush to the destination in one breath, they will probably face a situation of not going up or going down—vertically falling.

"But the structure of the maze has brought many visual errors," I thought, "Isn't the phenomenon of the road cut off a deliberate visual trap?"

I stepped over there holding my breath.

I probably took three steps up. According to the original calculation, the next step should be to cross the gap.I bit the bullet and looked down, only to see that the stubble was still neatly planted there, and it didn't restore to a broad road in my sight.It was too late to retreat now, so I could only move my center of gravity back as much as possible in an attempt to make amends; but then I felt that the front foot of my fall had stepped on the ground.

Inertia made me continue to stagger a few steps upwards.The road seemed to take my body around, pouring a lot of light into my eyes.The front of me suddenly became flat and wide within this turn, and the winding road under my feet disappeared at some point.I found that I was standing on a solid floor in a small pointed cabin.

The house is almost the size of an attic, and there are no furnishings inside.Although the only door in the room was ajar and the only window was in darkness, the room was still filled with a strange and soft yellow light, and fine dust could be seen floating.

I coughed twice, and stretched out my hand to hold the latch of the wooden door, my five fingers were immediately covered with a layer of dust.

"What I have on my hands must be the dust of history."

I was thinking about it for my own amusement, but I inadvertently realized that there was something else behind the dust—a carved eye on the door latch was exposed after the dust was wiped away.The pattern is a leaf-shaped outline enclosing a circle, which is concise and clear in meaning.

"As long as you find the 'eye', that's the exit." I murmured the words in my mouth again, looking at the wooden door that had been pulled out, the door leaf opened, and the lively daytime scene outside, my heart pounded Thumping, "So fast?"

I suddenly felt extremely tired, and the feeling of hunger and thirst surged up even more intensely at this moment.I even felt dizzy, and the only remaining energy was pulling me towards the door.I saw that it was bright outside, and there were crowds of brightly-coloured people below, the whining of horns, and the parade of carts of fruit.I felt like my heart had flown into it, but my sore-dulled hind foot tripped me slightly on the threshold, and my heart was pulled back from the height.

"Is there something I overlooked." I slowly retracted my foot, but fortunately my body was still between the door and the wooden door did not close again.I looked at the bright sky outside the door, and then turned suddenly to look at the window inside the house.The window was opened by me; it was dark night outside, and it was not good to look at.There seemed to be something hanging under the window.

I reached out to wipe the window frame, and an eye peeked out of one of the places I'd been gripping.It is almost exactly the same as the eye on the previous door, except that there is a shallow hole in the middle of the circle.

"Two eyes. Two exits," I thought, "but must the exits all lead the right way?"

I decided to search here again.I thought that there was nothing to pay attention to in this empty room, but I didn't expect that the most straightforward reminder was always lying under my feet.

I wiped the dust off the floor, which revealed some rough carvings of small letters stretching from one end of the room to the other.

The line closest to me that begins reads:

"Death": Goya

I was shocked to see that the single piece, which is no longer in most libraries, reappeared in this test.

"What is the process of death?

If you turn the balance with your own hands

Instead of sitting in the long dry?

No bird watching it fall to one side

life is disturbed by ecstasy and sorrow

After breaking away from the bondage of the initial layer

Fresh scenery, fresh interest

After all, rigid in struggling to think

Weary fighting spirit, dejected eyes

Crooked old pedestrian

still to blame for extending the hand

Add the weight of desire to the shoulders and spine

A cold-eyed bystander asked:

If you were born to stumble to survive

What meaning is given to life?

Someone confessed:

He has seen mountains and seas

brightest night sky

stream of stars

He has smelled the fragrance of grass and trees

Traversing the long road without a foundation

Heel lingering summer silk

Has he read all the old books of ancient philosophy?

Satisfied with the warmth and bitterness contained in the book

Have long been friends with the dead

He may be lucky enough to meet the true meaning of three or two

Relatives and friends, loved ones?

halfway

I feel like I'm in an absurd dream

A cold-eyed bystander asked:

To absurdly attribute life to a dream

When not moving, not thinking, not feeling, not in the unknown

Could it be the most sober place?

Someone confessed:

He ends up in deep sleep, letting himself go

The abundant soul dissociates from the withered body

Chasing the unsearchable Utopia in the dreamland

There's no way forward and no way back

wandering soul

Indulge in each other

Those who have read this poem,

if you have made up your mind

But I want to give you these superfluous words:

There are so many jokes in this world

and rare bystander

If you don't want to be a part of this generation

Just bury this poem in gray silence"

I felt emotional when I saw it, and couldn't help but wiped my hands on the last sentence.

There is a strong will to die in this poem, so that the unknown death has turned into some ordinary and ethereal form.It confidently guides readers not to wait, but to seek their own death-to "turn the balance".

I try to put aside its original meaning and relate it to what happened to me.I think I did come across a lot of life and death metaphors here; I'll list them all.

The black and white balance on the "Death" card.

The pointer of that root is engraved with "birth", but it points to the place where the setting sun falls.

The scorched human bones in the seawater grew new textures.

The giant tower collapsed, just to get through the path behind.

I was led to a cliff, surrounded by Jedi; I was pointed to a broken plank high in the sky.But there is life hidden behind them-the cliff will level itself, and the broken board will bring the location of the exit.

When I opened the palace, I saw it go from new life to decay, and then from decay to new life in an instant.

If the wooden house is full of the color of the setting sun, it is undoubtedly the connection point between the day outside the door and the night outside the window.The question now is, which end is correct?

"Life leads to death, and death is life," I thought. "That's right in the poem: I've got to 'seek my own death.' I've got to go where the sun goes down."

I ran my hand over the sculpted eye with the pupil, and groped out the window for what I had just glimpsed.A rope was tied under the window, and I shook it, vaguely seeing a canoe tied to it, and the canoe was hanging vertically in mid-air.I pulled the window frame and tentatively stepped on the boat; but the feeling of landing was a bit strange, not like I was precariously stepping on a sharp corner, but was flatly stepping on a wide plank.

I stuffed myself whole into the boat.It felt so mysterious—I couldn't even tell whether I was in it horizontally or vertically.The top of my head is facing a rope for maintaining balance, and the soles of my feet are facing the boundless darkness.I know I have to make a choice between the two.

I took out Charon and cut along the upper rope.