Imprisoned Crown of Thorns

"Father, tell me, what is hell?"

In the quiet cathedral, the pale sunlight outside the window shines through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, through the mottled branches, and spills in from the outside, on the cross in the church, on the pain of Jesus Christ being crucified on the cross On the distorted face.

Nietzsche was wearing a short black windbreaker, with white gloves on his hands, folded them politely, put them on his knees, and then looked straight at the priest sitting in front of him. The reason why he sat face to face with the priest was because Nietzsche did not need to repent. The priest in front of him knew everything that happened here, so he never made the so-called confession.

Besides, Nietzsche never regretted it. No matter what he did, Nietzsche never felt regret in his heart, but he talked to the priest almost every week.

Even if Nietzsche was a vicious thug, in the eyes of the priest with deep religious background, Nietzsche, like everyone else, was just a believer.

"Actually, Mr. Nietzsche, do you have your own definitions and opinions?"

The priest, whose eyes were a little dim, took off the reading glasses on the bridge of his nose, slightly raised his eyes and looked at Nietzsche, looking at Nietzsche, the junior, kindly.

The reason why he asked this question was also because he knew that Nietzsche was a person with extremely strong subjective thinking.

Nietzsche nodded, pondered thoughtfully for a while, and then said in a deep voice:

"Actually, I have always had my own definition, but I began to disbelieve in some things. I need you to tell me, because I am very lost."

The priest hummed in a low voice, and began to say in an unhurried manner:

"From a religious point of view, hell is the place where God punishes the most sinful people. There is a fire that will never be extinguished. It is a place that is separated from God forever."

"Eternal fire, eternal punishment, boundless darkness, eternal perdition, and the lake of fire burning with burning flames; devils, wicked men, fallen angels, and those who are deliberately pushed down, are in hell, and their bodies are tormented , the soul is burned by the flames, and everything becomes irreparable."

Nietzsche's face gradually turned pale, he blinked, and was silent for a while, then continued to ask: "Then, the person who will go to hell, will he remember those things?"

The priest nodded and said noncommittally:

"Because it's eternal perdition, that person can't forget what happened in his lifetime, surrounded by horrible wailing and wailing, and can't escape the unforgettable face in his heart."

"A face that cannot be escaped?"

Nietzsche looked at the priest,

"What is the face that cannot be escaped."

"Naturally it is the person in his heart, no matter whether he loves him or hates him. His face will always linger in his mind, wandering, eternal life will never disappear."

Nietzsche fell into deep thought, and fell silent again.

The priest knew Nietzsche's character very well. When Nietzsche came over, he was basically talking to himself, or both of them were relatively silent, sitting quietly in the empty church. Compared with before, Nietzsche Now it seems much milder.

In fact, it is difficult for the priest to forget Nietzsche's cold face before.

It was a face that could not be lost to any angel known for its beauty, a marvelous masterpiece of human genes.

The priest looked at Nietzsche, stretched out his hand to hold the cross necklace on his chest, and said very slowly: "Actually, there are many ways of redemption. The main thing is that we need love. We need to use infinite love to redeem, to tolerate, to go Probation, in order to avoid falling into the dark abyss."

Nietzsche suddenly became confused:

"Love, tolerance?"

what is love?

What is inclusion?

What is probation?

Nietzsche didn't know, and Nietzsche didn't know that Nietzsche was real.

The priest looked at Nietzsche's puzzled look, so he asked softly:

"Mr. Nietzsche, do you have a lover?"

Nietzsche nodded:

"I have a husband."

Then Nietzsche looked up at the priest and said with a blank expression:

"I've killed him, though."

With a sound of "crash...", the cross in the priest's hand broke, and the fine beads on it fell to the ground, bouncing non-stop, making a crisp sound.

"Hey……"

The priest sighed deeply, the corners of his eyes were red, he lowered his head and kissed the cross he was holding, and then said to Nietzsche: "God so loves the world."

Nietzsche was wearing a light gray knitted sweater with a low collar, and sat quietly in the hall of the villa, then turned his gaze and looked straight at the scene outside the French windows.

Nietzsche stayed there for several hours, like an old man who had forgotten the world, with a sad expression and a cold temperament that made it impossible to approach.

But Carlo was still sitting on the sofa next to Nietzsche in an orderly manner, waiting for him.

Because during this period of time, Carlo really followed Nietzsche wholeheartedly, and his personality was not disliked by Lili and the others. Lili thought to herself that her master was in a better state except when he was working, and he was actually no different from a dead person at ordinary times. It is indeed a good thing for a living person to accompany him, at least let him understand that he is a living person, not a working machine.

For Nietzsche, Lili has always been very caring.

And Nietzsche himself doesn't care about these things at all. Even if there is a polar bear or a big talking stone sitting beside him, he can completely ignore it.

Nietzsche stared straight at the outside, looking at the leaves that suddenly fell from under the big trees on the street. The fluttering leaves were all over the street, and no one went back to take the initiative to clean them up.

Nietzsche recalled the first time it snowed in the Roman prison six years ago, Han Sen, who was only 19 years old, played with a group of Chinese in the snow.

At that time, Han Sen's character had become very introverted. He showed a mature and steady personality that didn't match his age, and even had a heavy taste, like an inner beauty who had gone through vicissitudes.

However, given his physical age, Han Sen still showed the disposition of a big boy sometimes.

That day, the group of intoxicated Chinese men who liked to join in the fun and booing all gathered on the playground to start a snowball fight.

Nietzsche was in the activity room at the time. He was bored reading a book. When he stood up and went to the window to smoke a cigarette, his eyes habitually scanned the playground, and finally settled on Han Sen.

Not far away, Nietzsche saw Han Sen squatting silently in a corner of the playground, building a snowman half the height of a person, then raised the boy's slender fingers, and drew a curved line on Cher's face When drawing a smiling face, Han Sen didn't have any expression on his face, but he looked very serious.

The first snow that year was particularly heavy, and it fell profusely for several days, and the prison guards did not clean it up in time, so the snow looked particularly white and thick.

Nietzsche looked directly at Han Sen's face from a distance. Han Sen was actually not yet a serious 19-year-old at that time. The white snow light reflected on his face, and there was also black and black hair. It became more and more that his lips were red and his teeth were white.

Nietzsche stood there like that, looking at Han Sen motionless, his thoughts stopped at that moment.

Although his body had been molested by Nietzsche all the time, Han Sen at that time was like a world covered in silver, with white wild rice like snow.

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Sitting in the hall gloomyly for a long time, Nietzsche got up and walked towards the bedroom until it was too late to see anyone, as if he had no intention of having dinner.

Carlo watched Nietzsche walking towards the bedroom, stood up, looked straight at Nietzsche, "Mr. Nietzsche."

Carlo firmly believes that there is nothing impossible in the world, and there is no man who cannot be seduced, as long as he persists, as long as he is bold, careful and thick-skinned.

However, generally speaking, this is really the first time that Kahlo recommended himself to Nietzsche. Previously, Kahlo was mostly entangled with Nietzsche, but Nietzsche seemed to have been ignoring his existence.

Nietzsche turned his head, glanced at Carlo, and finally opened his mouth to say something:

"what's up."

Carlo looked straight at Nietzsche with a pair of beautiful black eyes, almost full of tedious affection and obsession, but before speaking, even though he had made various psychological preparations, Carlo still couldn't hold back, Blushing: "Mr. Nietzsche, do you want me to take care of you tonight..."

Carlo looked at Nietzsche expectantly.

Nietzsche took a look at Carlo:

"why."

Carlo pulled his lips and smiled, as long as Nietzsche is willing to talk to himself, it is always good, "Since you met me for the first time last year, you haven't..."

"Do you like it very much?"

Before Carlo finished speaking, Nietzsche asked straightforwardly.

Carlo nodded shyly.

Nietzsche stepped forward, stretched out his hand to pinch Carlo's chin, and looked straight into Carlo's dark eyes, "Why, is it so fun to be fucked, can you also be addicted to it?"

Carlo smiled softly, and his long eyelashes fluttered a few times:

"The main reason is that I am with you, Mr. Nietzsche, so I feel very satisfied and happy."

Nietzsche nodded.

"That's right."

"follow me."

After speaking, Nietzsche turned and walked towards the bedroom.

Carlo followed excitedly.

He never thought that he would have such a lowly day, but all of this happened, and it happened naturally, not abruptly at all.

Is it wishful thinking?

Carlo thought so, and followed Nietzsche into the bedroom.

Nietzsche sat on the edge of the bed in the bedroom with his legs apart, looking straight at Carlo, wondering what he was thinking. After a long time, he said: "Indeed, physical pleasure can indeed make people forget things , a painful thing, a sad thing.”

Suddenly, Nietzsche smiled softly, patted his knee, and said to Carlo: "Kneel here."

Carlo nodded, quickly knelt down, knelt at Nietzsche's feet, and surrendered willingly.

"You know what to do, don't you?"

Carlo nodded, and stretched out his hand to untie Nietzsche's clothes. Nietzsche lowered his head, looked at Carlo's slender chin, ruddy lips, and beautiful red hair, and raised his fingers to gently smooth his hair When Carlo's fingers were about to approach his body, Nietzsche pushed Carlo away abruptly, and then said in a deep voice with no expression on his face, "You can go."

Carlo looked at Nietzsche in surprise,

"But, we haven't started yet."

Nietzsche looked at Carlo sullenly, and said in a harsh voice:

"If you don't want to die, just get out of here."

Carlo covered his mouth, tears fell down suddenly, and said while sobbing: "Mr. Nietzsche, what type do you like? Don't I really have no chance at all? I can serve you very well, I have everything can do..."

Nietzsche's bright red lips were tightly pressed together, his face was frosty,

"Worthy of me? Hmph, there is no one in this world who is worthy of me."

Carlo took a step back with a pale face, looked at Nietzsche's expressionless face like a jade statue, turned around and ran out suddenly, his cheeks were full of tears.

This time, Carlo really saw Nietzsche's cold face, heartlessness, and ruthlessness.

In the past, almost everyone told Carlo that Nietzsche was a devil and had no feelings. He never believed it. Now that the matter really fell on his head, he realized it painfully.

Probably liking someone will dull the feeling.

At that moment, he felt Nietzssen's cold murderous intent.

Nietzsche must have hated him.

Carlo was heartbroken and terrified. He didn't dare to go to Nietzsche for a full two months. Instead, he hid at home to heal his injuries secretly, or hung out with Ivy to pass the time.

The snowy nights in Brazil came very quickly that year, but the snowfall was surprisingly heavy, overwhelming and brilliant.

When Han Sen got off the car on the street in Brazil, he stepped on the thick snow and looked straight at the small villa at the end of the street. This villa is considered the most luxurious house here.

"Is it cold, Xiu?"

Han Sen held a little baby in his arms. It was a boy, about two years old. The little baby was wearing a red plaid down jacket with a bigger windbreaker on top of the down jacket. The small leather gloves rested his chin on Han Sen's shoulder. Although he had been driving for a long time, he looked energetic and showed no signs of fatigue. He seemed to be looking forward to something.

Han Xiu shook his head, looked up at Han Sen, and said in a childish voice:

"Dad, I'm not cold at all. Let's go find Mom quickly, shall we?"

Han Sen stretched out his hand to straighten Han Xiu's hair, and said in a deep voice:

"Okay, but when you don't see your mother for a while, don't talk, or you will scare your mother."

"Father, is Mom the Queen of Ice and Snow? Why doesn't it snow where we live, but it snows where Mom lives? Mom must be the Queen of Ice and Snow, right? It's like the story that Uncle Feng Bai read to me. The queen always lives in the snow and ice."

Han Sen looked straight at Han Xiu's face, which was immature but familiar, and smiled softly, "Yes, Mom is the Ice Queen."

Han Xiu burst into tears, pursed his lips, and said while sobbing: "Dad, Mom is the Ice Queen. If you come home with us, Mom will melt. As soon as the sun comes out, the Ice Queen will be with the little snowman." Melted together. Papa, why do we live in the sun and Mama in the snow..."

"Hey, don't cry, mom won't melt."

Han Sen comforted Han Xiu in a low voice, and kept comforting Han Xiu who was already out of breath with his palms.

Han Xiu put his arms around Han Sen's neck and whispered:

"Dad, you swear, Mom won't melt."

Han Sen nodded,

"I swear."

Hearing Han Sen's promise, Han Xiu finally giggled.

"Brother Han, Akino and the others are here, let's go first."

Feng Bai, who was standing behind Han Sen, turned his head and saw several limousines parked behind Han Sen's car one after another. It was Qiu Ye's car, and Qiu Ye's people seemed to have come over, so he reminded in a low voice Han Sen.

Han Sen nodded, and walked towards the villa with Han Xiu lying on his shoulders.

Han Xiu's hat was pulled up to cover his eyes, so he didn't see behind Han Sen, who silently followed a large group of strong men with guns.