City of Burning Snow

When they finally go through the formalities of enlisting in the army.Among the strange mercenaries, they were wearing the same style of mercenary uniforms, and Gogol sat wobbly on the opposite side of the truck, staring at him without saying a word.It was as if he was going to be shot and killed at any moment.Dostoevsky was made a little bit amused by the other party's inexplicable sense of drama with a certain rigid thinking. He turned his eyes, and he could vaguely hear the gunshot in the distance.

After a long turbulence that almost emptied everyone's stomachs, the trucks of the mercenary regiment finally arrived at the Nordic battlefield.Just in time for Christmas Eve, the traces of the war are much older than usual. No one thanked God for this. After all, this has been a customary culture for centuries. There are soldiers of all backgrounds in the regiment, and they never ask each other. identity of.A century ago, Russian soldiers killed several German soldiers on Christmas Eve. A mercenary chatted about it half-drunk, and soon stopped laughing under Dostoevsky's observation. Doyevsky waved his hand and told them not to mind, it was getting late, they simply counted the number of people with the local superiors, and Gogol helped him to serve dinner.

He watched his figure across the campfire, mingled in the dark blue mist.Gogol's brisk steps, his frightened and carefree demeanor are in stark contrast to the well-trained soldiers around him.Dostoevsky held a bottle of spirits in his hand. This was a brand he didn't drink very often. It was very popular in the regiment. It was cheap and had a lot of alcohol. He drank it, and the fire crackled and snapped. The primitive warmth of the branches melted the snow around the campfire, and dyed the pine forest behind him with a very light, very lovely warm halo.

One soldier danced and sang the national anthem loudly, then the soldier woke up and punched the guide who misled him to play tricks.The crowd laughed, watching the two wrestle, Dostoevsky also smiled faintly, he saw that the beating sentry was angry at first, and then he was pushed and bullied by everyone.

A 40-year-old soldier danced the ridiculous war dance again, this time the cheers were far louder than the curses.The young sentinels followed suit, and the youngest looked less than 20 years old, laughing loudly, and the projections of dancing figures were like ghosts.Gogol squeezed through these messy drunks, hopped over and handed over sausages and cans of heated potato soup. He gave Dostoyevsky a share, and stood shoulder to shoulder with him on top of the fallen pine tree.

"I thought I went back to the last century," Gogol flicked his braids in a fuss, "Isn't this a scene that only appears in old movies! Ha, I mean—"

He glanced awkwardly at the guide beside him.He was aware of an inexplicable childishness in his words, and Dostoevsky must have been accustomed to this atmosphere.He changed his mind.

"I mean, now that I'm so close to the enemy, I can feel the sight of the scouts on the other side, ahem..."

Dostoyevsky shook his head with a smile, and handed Gogol the liquor he had just drank, his pale cheeks stained a little crimson.

"Drink."

It was the first time that Gogol saw the other party drunk.

Gogol took the bottle of wine and carefully sniffed the pungent smell inside.Shaking up the remaining wine in the bottle: this man actually drank four-fifths of it in a few breaths.

After he lost the assistance of "Punishment", although it had nothing to do with it, he became extremely cautious about anything that would affect his nerves.Dostoevsky stared dazedly at the sausage like a wriggling slug, and noticing the change in Gogol's expression, he poked the tip of his nose with a fork.

Although the force was not great, Gogol fell to the back of the tree trunk seat with a "wow", and broke free from the thick snow for a long time. His hands were entangled by the hooked scarf. The red scarf As he fell, he rustled away from the collar of Dostoevsky's military uniform.

"Feja!"

Gogol held on to his hat, turned around and returned to Dostoyevsky. The wine almost spilled all over him, and now he was holding him in his arms.Wet clothes in this weather, and not even a bonfire can save this hell on earth.He couldn't laugh or cry looking at the guide who was a little messed up.

"Didn't you say that you drink well? What's going on?"

"Heh... Nikolai," Dostoyevsky chewed the sausage, his voice sounded particularly dull and serious, "Sentinels all have excellent reflexes, you can't even dodge a fork. Don't you think you should reflect on it? ?”

"...???"

The fog was so steaming that Gogol couldn't take his eyes off it.

Dostoevsky's lips were shiny and slightly stained with wine.As he spoke, he shook his knee slightly.He seemed to want to say something, and finally turned into an inaudible sigh. He chewed his dinner and leaned his head sleepily after drinking the hot soup. He leaned on Gogol's shoulder, which made the Ukrainian Hold your breath.Like an easily disturbed butterfly falling on his shoulders, Gogol didn't dare to move at first, he pointed his fingers together with empty palms, and he looked nervously at the end of the pine tree.

"...Don't be like this. You are drunk, Fedya, go back to your tent and rest."

The other party's slender eyelashes were covered with fine snow and ice crystals, and the light was broken under the dark purple pupils, and the stream of light was fleeting.

"Is that so?" Dostoevsky raised his eyes and looked at him, his eyes slightly blurred. "How is this, Mr. Nikolai Gogol. Please be more precise in your wording."

The Ukrainian sentry coughed and felt his ears burn.

"It's, it's..."

Before Gogol could find a sufficient reason for his blushing, Dostoevsky raised his face and kissed him lightly, the moist lips had the pure pungent smell of alcohol.

The initiative was quickly taken back by the sentinel. He bent down and kissed the person until his breath trembled slightly.He forgot for a moment that he should be all on guard against Dostoevsky, but when the guide's thought tentacles were stimulated by his control, it really didn't pry into his heart.They are just helping to comb Gogol's carelessly suppressed love, just like the guide's fingers gently combing the long hair behind Gogol's ears.

Under the night sky, they huddled together, their figures were as small as dust, and the Alps stretched to the side. The bonfire lit by the soldiers was like a small seed that fell into the boundless snow. Gogol kissed Watching Dostoevsky, their breaths gradually became one in a deepening synaesthesia.

Dostoevsky missed him, and Nikolai Gogol knew from the time they were united, perhaps even earlier, that he was that special sentinel.

He is the only person in this guide's life who has the right to sit on an equal footing with him, and who is not counted about gains and losses.He felt these thoughts in the synaesthesia with nostalgia, and picked up the subtle frankness that shone in the spiritual system.

"I only do this to you..."

From the synaesthesia, an idea that I don't know who it belongs to.Dostoevsky gave a drunken glance.The look in those eyes is so clear, there is no softness of drunkenness at all.

In the blizzard at the Moscow Dam, Nikolai Gogol was like a lost child.He followed Dostoyevsky all the way, and at that time, if he hadn't taken Gogol into his warm residence, he would have walked to the nearby deep mountains and old forests.Going all the way, it is estimated that Nikolai will follow him without hesitation.The light of the fire spread quietly to the surrounding ice, and Gogol suddenly understood. He pushed the other party away in the momentary trance of his synaesthesia. He panted lightly, and found that the other party's drunkenness was all faking——

Dostoevsky looked at him calmly.Afterwards, the sentinel understood from the passing thoughts, why today, only in this strange ice and snow land close to Northern Europe, the always cautious guide got himself drunk.He wanted to pretend he didn't hear the sentence in the synaesthesia, but Dostoevsky said the words steadily again.On the other side of the bonfire, the mercenaries laughed and sang almost roaringly. Triumphs of victory were mixed with hymns, nostalgic ditties mixed with the national anthem of an unknown country, and the flames floated on the faces of the two of them.

"——Nikolai, you can go as long as you want."

Dostoyevsky was just trying to follow along the web of his mind what it was that Gogol was hiding these days.The refusal of the sentinel cuts off this exploration, and Dostoevsky could still see if he persisted in prying.This is actually easy for him, just push open the half-hidden door.But he didn't.

"I just want to see if I can break through your thinking defenses before you plan to leave. Obviously, although I can, you still don't want to...well, I give up." Dostoevsky laughed After a moment, he returned to his plain eyes, closed his eyes, and raised his hands in front of his chest. "Okay, okay, I surrender, Nikolai."

He only surrendered to one person.

"Mr. Nikolai Gogol, for the time being, you have won."

Dostoevsky puts something into his hands.

What was handed to him was the bunch of keys that Dostoevsky had taken out from the garden as if he were digging some treasure when he left the Hanging Garden that day.He forgot to have this thing.It did not occur to Gogol that Dostoevsky had thought about this day so long ago... that he would insist on leaving here.

Dostoevsky looked softly at the fire.His voice, his emotions, drifted into Gogol's synaesthesia at this moment like snow falling in the firelight, and then disappeared.It was as if he had never blown the edge of his thinking, and didn't mind his decision and departure.

"Tomorrow there is a Christmas market in Waldplatz, and the dry mountain air will freeze its cold rain," said Dostoevsky. "Tomorrow it will be covered with orange lights much more beautiful than this bonfire, Nikolai, go and see for me."

"I……"

Gogol lowered his head, a bitterness in his throat.But he laughed, and soon he laughed heartlessly.

"Yeah!" He shook the key, pretending it was the first Christmas present he'd gotten this year that he was reasonably happy with.Gogol held the bunch of keys, and the brass rings hurt his fingers.

"Is it near this house?"

Dostoevsky nodded, his pursed lips disappearing behind his fingers.He sat by the campfire with his hands folded, his elbows on his knees, as he was used to doing when he was relaxing.Bending over, as if in some prayer.

Gogol was nostalgic for the silence along the way, and was reluctant to leave now.He has too many things to ask.

——When did you know about it?

Dostoevsky shook his head.

"I don't know what exactly you want to do."

The white mist blurred his drooping eyes, he paused, and then slowly added. "I just had some guesses."

His guesses are usually pretty good.

"Then what's the guesswork?"

"It doesn't matter, Nikolai."

There are many directions between guessing and being implemented, and language itself has the ability to create the future.

"Let me put it this way, I just feel that you want to get out of here, that you don't want to go on."

The emotion is all too obvious.

"Even if I try to respect your privacy and not pry into your thoughts, you can't hide the desire hidden in your sleep, I can always feel it."

You are not suitable to act with me next, do what you want to do.If you don't want to tell me, don't say it.

"I've been to that city once, and the spring flowers hadn't bloomed at that time. It also didn't have the continuous rain in winter. If you like, you can live in that city. Although it's quiet, there are many lively street scenes."

Gogol listened quietly, unable to speak.

He did not know what Dostoevsky saw in his dream.For some considerations, he didn't dare to think about it.

He was afraid that the other party would hear his thoughts from the spiritual surface, and seemed to have sensed his heartache, and Dostoevsky gradually turned off his synaesthesia when he spoke.

Gogol's right gaze returned to the darkness.

"Next, I will lurk for a while longer, and then I will consider selecting a few worthy of use from these soldiers, and let them replace me to sneak into the British army."

"I won't do anything dangerous. If you don't want me to find it, you can continue to wear this coat. As long as you cover it alone and are more than two hundred yards away from me, my synaesthesia is helpless. You completely free to act."

Dostoevsky said calmly, he finally stopped embarrassing him.

Dostoyevsky's surrender did not make Gogol feel the joy of victory at all.He was a little at a loss, because he originally planned to grab some kind of initiative from the other party.

Holding this key now, he hoped that the stupid soldier on the other side could sing longer, so that he would not have to hear the lonely sound of snow falling at this moment.The mercenaries were making noise in the distance, hugging each other and yelling "Hallelujah!" to each other. The officer who couldn't stand the noise threw a military boot from the tent and was put on the head by the soldiers. , The velvet fell into the fire with a "snap", and the bonfire isolated them from the bustle on the opposite side.

Dostoevsky closed his eyes, and wrapped his neck and shoulders in a thick layer of warm woolen fabric.He opened his eyes, and it was Gogol's own Christmas red scarf.The sentry smiled softly, squinting his eyes, and helped him tie his scarf.

"Then...don't catch a cold when I'm not around you."

Dostoevsky nodded.

The sentry picked up another scarf that had fallen to the ground, and he dusted it to shake off the dirty snow.As with Dostoyevsky himself, Gogol folded it carefully in the crook of his arm, grinning again, leaned over and kissed his guide, helping him brush the falling snow from his hair gently. shoot off.

"I'm going, Fedya."

Dostoevsky nodded again.

He buried his breath into the scarf and didn't say goodbye.

Gogol left the place where the mercenaries were temporarily stationed, took a night flight from Stockholm, and arrived in Bolzano overnight.Here is the free air he longed for, as well as the ancient city walls and the warm wind of Western Europe, but Gogol is like a lonely ghost, walking silently on the brick roads of Europe.He sat down next to the golden statue in Wald Square. The four statues stretched their necks and stared blankly at his feet.While guarding against movement around, patiently waiting for dawn.He was slightly sorry that he was sitting here alone now, and Dostoevsky had shut down his synaesthesia.He regretted that he didn't coax the other party again...

Kiss his forehead and tell him that he will be back soon.Even if things don't work out, let that guy smile again.

He pulled a section of his overly long cloak from under his feet.Holding his head, he curled up in his knees without any sleepiness.When he left Dostoevsky's side, he finally had to face the sharp and cold hatred that had been lurking in his heart these days.He went from being confused and uneasy at the beginning to being unbearably guilty later.Now that I have been thinking and figuring out the ins and outs of things over and over again, all the arrows point to the same place:

that note.

Without that note.If it wasn't for that note that tempted him to stop taking medicine in panic...

He waited with the utmost calm for the next dawn.Saying goodbye to his own weakness, Gogol, like a cunning hunter, chose the most obvious place in the square to sit down. He held his breath and searched the surrounding movement. If he guessed right, then the writer of the name entry Or some of his subordinates should have followed Gogol from the beginning, monitoring every move of the senior guide and the sentinel.

Gogol smiled coldly with his left eye, and stared blankly at the darkness with his right eye.He no longer has to think about Dostoyevsky and cover up, which is too exhausting.He is here to kill people, if someone wants to take advantage of it, it is best to take advantage of it now——

The morning mist slowly brought the dry temperature of the sun to him.Gogol waited quietly, and he began to drop coins thrown by passers-by into the white hat he put aside.He is sitting, sitting under the statue.A drop of sweat trickled down his forehead, and he took off his coat.

The crowd gradually appeared in the square in the morning.Vendors set up red and white canvas canopies, fruits, smoked fish, carvings, and snacks.He sat hours before the festival began, like a street clown who had rushed to wait for the show to start only to realize he had misremembered the time.

He began to wonder if he was overthinking it. After all, he hadn't noticed any sentinels or guides around him since the night.Some people began to mistake him for a beggar, while others thought he was performing silent performance art, another coin, and then another coin, passers-by gave others alms, he looked up, angry and laughing in his heart.

He came here in such a hurry, but he didn't have any plan in mind.Has he, Gogol, grown up? ?

He counted the number of coins, and planned to get thirty, and he would end this unexpected and funny business.The lady in a long fur coat handed the No.20 nine coins into his hat, and he grinned professionally and thanked her briefly in Italian.Anyway, these days he has a place to live, and now he can still eat well.He is obsessive-compulsive.Well...wait for another one.Waiting for another coin, he will go to the opposite side to buy a bunch of sunflowers, and then go with the delicious sausage or hot dog from the food stand.The lady handing the money was wearing a pair of violet high-heeled short boots, the toes of which were small and hidden under the dark olive long skirt. The color matching was quite aristocratic. He was always squinting and landed on him, and he was startled. Although he had never met him, he recognized the short isolation coat on the other's upper body at a glance.

——The cloth with the same texture as his.

Covering the powerful aura of a special group, at first glance she felt no different from ordinary people.The woman's red lips opened and closed to reveal her four white teeth. She bent down and gracefully blocked the side sun with a folding fan.As she leaned forward, Gogol caught a faint scent of rose fragrance from her.Gogol raised the saber in his hand, drew out the saber at his waist and slashed at it, but was gently blocked by the woman raising her folding fan.

"I guess it's me you're expecting, Mr. Sentinel—what's your name."

Not minding the opponent's hostile attack at all, she stretched out her hand and touched the coat that had slipped from Gogol's side.It seemed that it was because he took off the clothes just now that she could find him so smoothly.

"Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol Yanovsky... oh. What a beautiful coincidence. I'm looking for you too, and I'm here to get what we agreed on. Maybe you want it too Yours, but until then—"

Her slender fingertips drew a signal in the air, signaling the lurking soldiers to stand still for a while—until then.The Countess of England, with elegant makeup and no smile, glanced down haughtily.

Now that you have nowhere to hide, just drink a cup of tea with me.

tbc.