Blade and Poetry

The Magic Basic Theory Competition, half a week later, was used to commemorate the 300th anniversary of Mr. Shell Hoffman's death.This old man was the first to put forward the three major theories of magic foundation, which were condensed in an extremely thick red book—what's more, these theories can stand the test of time, even after years of technological changes It cannot change the foundational position of this book in magic.

I hurried to the public library, intending to find the book on a shelf first.

I did see it among the cramped books; it was about the width of my palm, neatly lined up with the other facsimiles on the top shelf.I climbed up the ladder and opened the title page of one of them, where a kindly smiling old man's head was printed on the yellowed pages.

What followed were some not-so-pleasant fragments of memory I thought I had forgotten: some beautiful woman, pale and furious, tore a book to pieces, and among the falling fragments were An old man with a mutilated head maintained a flickering smile at me.

"It's no use!" she said.The words in the memory were hurried and vague, but one sentence was repeatedly thrown out heavily, with the hysteria of the speaker: "It's useless!"

I almost subconsciously wanted to put the book back, but my hand returned to the control in the next second, tightly gripping the corner of the book.

"Whatever." I said softly, and jumped to the ground with the book in my arms.

I thought I was the only one in this row of bookshelves, but belatedly noticed some noise near the window.The man who had been leaning in the shadows was walking towards the exit on my side.

I glanced at the identical red book in his hand for the first time, and then turned to his face.

"Hi Coleman. Nice to meet you."

He stopped when he heard the greeting and turned to me.

"Vincent Xiao from the west courtyard." He said in a cold tone that seemed to be out of politeness.

"Does anyone in the East Court want to sign up for the Magic Theory Competition?" I didn't think he was going to leave immediately, so I asked curiously. "It seems that the first prize is still quite sought-after."

To my surprise, the words seemed to kindle a small flame deep within him.Part of it brims with contempt and disgust, but it animates his calm exterior, making his eyes look bright.

"No one in the West Academy will win the first prize." He said in a calm voice, "Even if they get the first prize, they will not be recognized by the professor. It doesn't even fit the handle of a knife."

The condition in Karajan's original words is indeed "win the first place and get my approval". It turns out that there is a language trap buried here.I thought.

"Really? For example, in the west courtyard—" I had a premonition that mentioning Lan Duo here would be an effective blow.But I didn't want to use her name on such an occasion, just as stabbing a soldier's sore foot should use a weapon instead of his sweetheart's name, so I changed the subject, "—everyone?"

He looked at me and said, "Like everyone."

I have never watched Coleman so closely, and found that he himself is far from the sense of vicissitudes he gives when he wields a knife skillfully.He is young; in addition to having the pure eyes that belong to dreamers, he probably also has a heart full of blood that is still struggling to beat.

Suddenly I saw in him a long-lost acquaintance of mine.That person was also young and proud, and he used to stare up at me with flushed cheeks and resentful eyes.Before the fuzzy concept took shape, it was firmly implanted in his mind and placed on his every move.

Today is a strange time, I always seem to think back to the long-forgotten past.

I took a step forward, touched his shirt collar with my hand—there is no competition today, he is wearing the college uniform, shirt and casual suit—and smiled at him:

"Children, there are quite a few talented geniuses in the West Academy. They are all people I admire and respect, such as my friends and my mentors. And I, a mediocre person who lives without a job, will not lack Let the words beat your guts. See you next week in the basic theory of magic competition."

He didn't seem used to approaching strangers like this, and his expression was very stiff.After I walked two steps away, I shouted angrily: "Vincent Xiao!"

I laughed and turned to whistle to him: "Wash with water, my friend, so that the lip marks on the neckline will disappear after a day, or ask the sorcerer to use a little spell you don't like. Remember not to Ignore it, and it will misunderstand and break the hearts of so many hopefuls."

Mrs. Franklin, the librarian, followed the sound and looked at us two reproachfully.

"Children, a library is not a place for making noise."

"Sorry, ma'am, the exchange of friendship just got lost for a while, and we are all regretting it."

Coleman probably also knew the name of the administrator's stubbornness, and nodded reluctantly with a stiff face.

Mrs. Franklin made us recite the regulations verbatim before letting us go.

"See you in three days." I heard Coleman's voice behind me.

The lights in the west courtyard library were dim.Or maybe it's just that it's late and the inevitable drowsiness keeps haunting me.Odgo sat next to me.

"I remember you never memorized the basics of magic," he said.

"Well, I have memorized it before, and there was no such rule when I recited it." I replied, "But the old memory is like this, even if it is completely forgotten, it is relatively easy to pick it up again. "

He had something to say about "relaxation" about my tired look.

"Is it because you long for that knife?" He paused after seeing my expression, and then said, "There is nothing to deny."

"Actually, it's because of a bet..." I told him about the quarrel I had with Coleman this morning.

"It's really reckless." His expression was not as severe as his words, and there was a faint smile on the corner of his mouth.

"I can't help it. Since I boasted so casually at that time, I have to explain to myself, right?" I put down the pen and stretched my stiff wrist, "Mr. Odego, please learn from my spirit. One step is to provide a friend with the necessary help to sustain life ... help me to get some chocolates from the side door of the library, if you are going to return the book."

Odgo decided not to spend time on the theoretical competition, so he was holding other magic books at this time.He sorted out a stack of manuscript papers full of writing, and was about to get up to send the book back.

"What does it taste like?"

"Knock twice on the silver star in the upper left corner of the wooden door, and once on the purple star in the middle right. Although the chocolates made at school recently taste almost the same—"

I took advantage of this gap and planted myself on the table, with my face pressed against the cool surface, planning to meet Oneiroi for a while.I had a bitter mouth and a racing heart, but sleep eased that nicely.The drowsiness dragged me like silk, making me keep falling in the dreamland.

I seemed to be in the middle of the earth, surrounded by black rocks, submerged in bubbling, fiery red lava.I could feel the magma gradually closing my lips and covering the top of my head, but it wasn't as hot as it should be at all, instead it brought infinite ironing in this wrapping.

"Calm down, calm down." I murmured to myself in a trance, "You are not in hell yet. But after this journey, you can buy a one-way ticket to hell."

It seems that someone woke me up in this sleep; I remember that he was wearing a leather coat, wrapped in the cold air from outside, and his eyes were full of the light reflected by the table lamp.I answered him a few words, and then there was a sweet taste in my mouth.

It was Odgo who finally woke me up by shaking my shoulders.

Noticing that the richness of the leftover chocolate in my mouth wasn't from the one he was holding, or any of the classic flavors offered at school, I had a thought: "Someone just came for me?"

He glanced around, "It is said that Professor Karajan just passed by."

"Ah, then it's not a dream." I couldn't help smiling, "He still likes to throw me something to eat."

"What did you say to him?" Odgo asked curiously. "The faces of the people at the next table seem a little weird."

I rubbed my hair, trying to remember what had happened in my half-dream, half-awake.

"I seem to have praised him a few words."

"That's not a novelty." Odgo hesitated, "What's the specific content?"

"Seems to be 'You're so cute.'"

The only full sleep in the remaining three days only happened on the eve of my theory competition.

It wasn't until after I handed in that test paper that I realized my back was drenched in a layer of cold sweat.The wind chime tinkled with the opening of the apartment door, and the sound was sweet.

I lay on my back on the bed, facing the empty ceiling above.Probably because of excessive stimulation, I have no desire to close my eyes right now.I thought of the hundred boring and tricky questions on the long scroll: My lengthy replies were squeezed next to these neatly arranged lines, like a colony of ants scrambling to step on a very thin dead branch.

But these are not worth thinking about repeatedly.Tricky as they are, they all belong to the legible letters of the red book; they are rigid.

I thought of the one hundred and one question, which should be regarded as an additional question that has nothing to do with the red book and Mr. Old Man - behind it is another person's smile.

"How do you feel about the meaning of a knife?" it reads.

When my fingers touched that line of words, I seemed to see someone's eyes, he looked straight at me, mercilessly, sharply and cruelly gentle, torturing a person's deepest thoughts.

"What are you thinking?" he asked me.

I lay on the bed and slowly raised one hand to my eyes.Its color was pale, and the lines on its palm were messy, and it was the one holding the pen that wrote a reply.

"It is the yardstick by which defenders measure their hearts.

"It is the cold front that the brave would rather bend than bend.

"It is the noose of the victim stained with glory, bathed in the blood of his heart.

"It cannot be the hope of the decadent, but it is enough to be the flame of the supplicant."

If the first three sentences are to distort the meaning of the saber-wielding ceremony, then the fourth sentence is purely emotional nonsense, which may invite cross-examination.But I have been deeply caught by sleep, and the words I have written are enlarged before my eyes, and finally dragged me down.