SCP Foundation: I Am a Spawn of the Evil God

Climbing the ancient city wall and stroking the moss-covered stone beams, when I leaned on the railing excitedly and looked into the distance, a trace of sourness suddenly filled my chest. I heard a voice echoing loudly in my ears: Do you remember? Your ancestor's name is Yanhuang. I remember that a long time ago, there was a big fish living in Beiming. It turned into a giant bird and soared between the sky and the earth. The giant bird has a pair of wings that cover the sky, flying thousands of miles and soaring upward. I still remember that there was a strange young man named Ji Kang. On the execution ground, he faced death in the most elegant manner. Under the butcher's knife, a piece of music can't be heard, and the broad robe and belt are flying in the wind. I also dreamed of going back to the Tang Dynasty and traveling around with a poet named Li Bai. He drank wine with three mountains and five mountains, and his lover was the moon in the sky. I once saw him wandering under the moon, singing loudly, with his hairband blown open by the strong wind, and his robes flowing like an immortal. Time came to today in a blink of an eye, and the voice echoed loudly again: Have you forgotten? Your ancestor's name is Yanhuang. I have not forgotten that a group of jackals with brown hair and blue eyes, armed with strong ships and cannons, demolished our temples and destroyed our palaces. So, today, a hundred years later—— We have a musical prodigy, but we don't know how to be a palace merchant; We can build high-rise buildings, but there is no room for a merit arch; We speak fluent English, but cannot write Chinese characters horizontally and vertically; We wear expensive suits, but we have long forgotten our clothes. Where, that land of etiquette? Where is my Chinese son? Why do you say I behave abnormally when I wear the most beautiful clothes? Why do you say that the Han costume that I cherish so much belongs to Fusang? Why do you always treat my sincere confession as a joke? Why can't the tears I shed move your iron heart at all? Where, that land of faith? Where is my Chinese son? I don't want to break my heart for this, I don't want my ancestors' wisdom to be appreciated by anyone, I don't even want my Chinese clothes to be promoted by the Japanese. So, I always have a desire. One day, we will be able to pick up our own culture and support the backbone of our nation. Remember, remember, We have an era called Han and Tang; We have a river called the Yangtze River; We have a pair of totems called dragon and phoenix; We have a feather coat called Nishang! Remember, remember, Our ancestor's name is Yanhuang!

The writing style of Da Da is good, and it is very good so far. There is no harem yet (I love no harem, and I also love no heroine), and Xiao Luo Zi's spiritual essence is also vividly expressed. This is the first time I have seen this type of book, because there are not many chapters yet, so it is not clear what the follow-up will be, but I hope to keep the feeling of the early stage (it is really great) (I hope there will be more chapters! I can't get enough!) In short, this book is worth reading. (I am only stating my own opinions, please don't mind if you have different ideas)

An actor enters painting and spends his whole life. Beauty, white hair, green silk. Play him and her to the fullest, who knows what's in your heart? Destiny gathers and disperses like water, carrying the world on its back, just for a word, waiting for the next meeting. He has a black gauze on his head and holds an ivory letter in his hand. There is a lot of noise in the palace, and flowers are hidden in private. The house is filled with silver and silver, and thousands of families are squeezed out. The thatched cottage is the home, and the bright moon enters the fence. Make tea in the clear spring and gossip about mulberry trees and hemp. Picking reed flowers by the stream, happy spring buds under the willows. A pot of tea and a few gossips. Under the setting sun, tender green shoots appear. After appreciating the prosperity of the world, return home with the breeze on your sleeves. Memory is like water poured into the palm of your hand. No matter you spread it out or hold it tightly, it will eventually flow cleanly from your fingers drop by drop. The valley is long, the butterflies are dancing gracefully, the piano and the harp are harmonious, the fairy music is lingering, and the singing is sweet. It is said that this life will be worthy of the loss. I heard that for her, you gave up all your elegance, drank water without tea, and left your soul in despair, leaving half of the city in smoke and sand. A painting that stains the country with blood, no matter how it compares to a little cinnabar between your brows, covers the world, it will never be more than a prosperous painting. A painting that stains the country with blood, no matter how it defeats the world, no matter how it compares to a little cinnabar between your eyebrows, it will never be anything more than a prosperous scene. The years are fleeting, do you know, the flowers bloom and the snow melts another autumn. The black hair has been replaced by white hair, who knows how many times I will look back in this life? I only hope that after all the hustle and bustle of the world's scenery, between the lines, people and I will be forgotten and relatively speechless. If my hair is gray and my appearance is old, will you still hold my hands and be gentle and gentle like this? That year, when the apricot blossoms were lightly raining, your clothes were flying, as elegant as a fairy; that day, when the swallows were flying together, you played the piano and sighed softly, looking at the blue sky; at that moment, the falling flowers were hovering, and you danced gracefully, laughing drunkenly. Last night there was all singing and dancing in the courtyard, today the garden is filled with fallen flowers, and there are spare poems wrapped around the hanging beams, but the snow falls silently. Looking at the falling flowers from a distance, it is hard to smell the chirping of insects and birds. The falling snow weighs down the cold plums, and I can only smell the fragrance of the remaining flowers. I have also stepped into this rolling world of mortals, with deep rivers and lakes. I was young and ignorant but ended up with scars all over my body. Now that I have given up my thoughts and become empty, I am all alone. The moon is setting and the stars are sinking. I sit in the pavilion and watch all the lies and truths in this world. There is a limit to the degree of trauma that the human heart can endure. Some pain will be remembered for a lifetime. Although it will inevitably hurt when you mention it, it will also warn yourself not to make the same mistake again in the future. However, some pain is better just forgotten. Flowers in the morning and flowers in the evening are always the wishful thinking of dreamers. They cannot eliminate the wind and rain in the world, but can only watch a beautiful flower fall and die, and the beautiful bones remain fragrant. It is too painful to see each other between life and death, and as a spectator, I cannot afford this disappointment. The fate of the world is always like water, and tears are rarely needed. How can we spend a lifetime of love? Turn around, a wisp of cold fragrance is far away, the passing snow is deep, and the smile is shallow. Would you like to save me in the next life? My heart is slightly moved, but my love is far away. Things are not the same, people are not the same, everything is different, and the past cannot be pursued. I have tried my best to live up to this fleeting time. I just want to see you in the snow, moon, wind and flowers. I don't want to miss your life like a summer flower. You enchanted my country, overturned my years, and became my king. This is enough. Seven hundred years ago you said: Meeting is just for separation. Seven hundred years later, you said again: reincarnation is just for waiting. I don't know how many years have passed, but I am finally willing to take away the last peach blossom at the end of the year. The flowers are fragrant and withered, remembering yesterday's red leaves falling on the street. The wind is also clear, the frost is fierce, I hold the moon alone with deep sorrow, and the tears melt into powder like snow. An actor enters painting and spends his whole life. Beauty, white hair, green silk. Play him and her to the fullest, who knows what's in your heart? Destiny gathers and disperses like water, carrying the world on its back, just for a word, waiting for the next meeting. He has a black gauze on his head and holds an ivory letter in his hand. There is a lot of noise in the palace, and flowers are hidden in private. The house is filled with silver and silver, and thousands of families are squeezed out. The thatched cottage is the home, and the bright moon enters the fence. Make tea in the clear spring and gossip about mulberry trees and hemp. Picking reed flowers by the stream, happy spring buds under the willows. A pot of tea and a few gossips. Under the setting sun, tender green shoots appear. After appreciating the prosperity of the world, return home with the breeze on your sleeves. Memory is like water poured into the palm of your hand. No matter you spread it out or hold it tightly, it will eventually flow cleanly from your fingers drop by drop. The valley is long, the butterflies are dancing gracefully, the piano and the harp are harmonious, the fairy music is lingering, and the singing is sweet. It is said that this life will be worthy of the loss. I heard that for her, you gave up all your elegance, drank water without tea, and left your soul in despair, leaving half of the city in smoke and sand. A painting that stains the country with blood, how can it be compared to a little cinnabar between your brows, it does not overwhelm the world, but it is still nothing but a prosperous one.

As a Cthulhu lover, SCP lover, Gotham Joker fan... In short, this book is very suitable for me in all aspects! It's a pity that none of my friends are willing to eat my Amway food.

Well, that's pretty good. Come on! There is really not much written about Scp here. This is pretty good, come on! 😊

Oh my god, I am also quite crazy. I didn't expect that the author's Xiao Luo is more powerful than me. Oh my god, it satisfies my fantasy and makes me completely immersed in it. The writing style is also relatively strong. I love this kind of author. I beg for more.

If the Ancient God and Da Luo Jinxian were compared, the Ancient God did not jump out of the river of fate, did not jump out of the river of time, and could not control his own destiny, while Da Luo Jinxian jumped out of the river of time, was not in the Five Elements, was not within the Three Realms, and had reached a transcendent level. Therefore, even the Golden Immortal could beat the Ancient God, let alone Da Luo, quasi-sage, and saint.

It's nice. I read it before. It was gathering dust on the bookshelf. I recently dug it out. But... Why did it take so long to update this?

Update, I have survived from the fifth grade to the first grade of junior high school. If you don't follow me, you will go to the second grade of junior high school.

I yearn for power, but what I yearn for is eternal domination, not giving up humanity in exchange for temporary power. I yearn for eternal life, but what I yearn for is the power of immortality, rather than giving up dignity in exchange for an immortal life of being given charity by others. That is just a different way of dying. Even if you die, someone will remember you. You will be remembered as an unyielding person. If you give up your dignity, others will only remember you. Giving up your dignity is a courageous thing. Life is short and we cannot make too much contribution, but we must also burn our last life to provide final help to others. People will definitely die, so use this life to let others remember that you are a person who has the courage to contribute. We will eventually turn into ashes, but we will be the ashes that protect the newly grown flowers. That's all I want to say