To My Frozen Homeland

A squeak that chased me all the way from the poor (≧∇≦)/

I drew a Yanagihara fanart, but it's not very very nice. I'll try my best next time.

My originally dusty heart was beating because of this book. It was a kind of loneliness accompanying the primitive wilderness and wasteland. There was a burst of vitality and a throbbing of hope. In the wasteland and ice fields, we are all lonely ferocious beasts, creeping and sneaking, fighting desperately, always looking for a place to prove that we belong. This is not the sadness of a fox dying in Shouqiu, but a kind of sustenance called "hometown".

Since then, in the two thousand years of history, there has been one poor man missing, there has been one missing thief in the world of entangled grievances and hatreds, there has been one missing messenger in the cruel and indifferent wasteland, there has been one missing boxer in the ring full of dreams and faith, and there has been one missing returnee on the frozen and cold road to my hometown. Since then, we have lost one of you in our lives, but we are still grateful to you. At least the shadow of these books still gives us a place to rest and cool down. I wish you a speedy recovery, from a reader who has been silently cheating on you for two years.

I have three years left, I hope you can recover.

*Yagihara Center *There are a lot of fantasies and fabrications When she held Deroso's wrist, the cold and delicate touch of skin stung her. Ranagihara pulled the young painter out of the camp. At this time, the starlight was dim and the sky showed a unique black-blue color, a gentle blend of darkness and light. The horn of dawn glows with a faint white light, and the night is slowly fading from the earth. The cold wind of the ice field passed through her blood-stained black hair. Liuyuan touched his face randomly and waved to the boy. "Let's go." She said. The painter's figure is particularly blurry and thin in the night, like a pile of burning ashes. He staggeredly picked up the brush and paint bucket, and walked towards Liuyuan with difficulty. "Tsk." Liuyuan glanced, stretched out his hand to take all the paints, and hung them on his arms. "Thank you, Ms. Yuan." Droso wiped the sweat from his forehead tremblingly and showed a bright smile. They stepped onto the ice field in silence, and the loud noise of the car engine broke the silent night. The car drove farther and farther and disappeared on the edge of the ice rock. But Yanagihara didn't know that when the sky was dim, the friends in the camp were opening their eyes, listening to the roar of the car slowly dissipating. Jester opened his eyes and clenched his hands tightly into fists. This is not the first time he has faced such a separation. To exaggerate, he has experienced it many times. After Anna died, the stench of that worm kept echoing in his mind. He pinched the stiff and cold quilt cover and blinked. At this moment, he recalled all his young and beautiful friends. They were running to the stars one by one, hand in hand in front of him, but before they left, they told him: Jester, you have to stay. Jester thought he was used to this unreasonable separation, but on this night, the ice field was extremely cold. One side of his tent was not covered, and the pale and cold moonlight poured in from the gap, like a roaring silver river, squeezing the darkness inside the tent. Jester felt it was hard to breathe. He huddled in the dark corner, watching the white light slowly crawling on the dark blue cloth. There were vague sounds of conversation outside, more like a vague and soft whisper mixed in the wind. Deroso is going to die, he thought endlessly. He is not sad, or even sad. This is a story that is played out every moment on this tragic land, and it is also one of the tragedies interspersed in his short life. Jester turned over, wrapped himself in a thin quilt, and looked at the low and shrunken ceiling of the tent. Kent, Macca, these two must be awake too. He thought. People who are running around on the ice sheet to survive will always be extremely sensitive to death. There is a smell when people are about to dissipate, and that smell will accompany the dying person until the end of his life. And every footprint of Droso's feet was filled with gray breath, as if the god of death was holding him while walking. The mercenaries were vaguely aware before Droso confessed that they were not blind. Kent and Macca came to him earlier and asked him what his plans were. Kent smoked a cigarette at that time. Orange sparks were swaying in the wind, and the smell of inferior tobacco filled the cold, dark blue night sky. The wrinkles on the middle-aged man's face were criss-crossed with ravines, and his face showed a strange yellowish color under the light of the fire. He took a gentle breath, took the small white smoke into his mouth bit by bit, and then slowly exhaled it reluctantly. "What do you think his disease is?" He said. "It's not like heart swelling anyway." Maika sat on the ground and looked at a withered grass in the snow. "Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to walk that far." Jester scratched his head and smiled: "I have a bad feeling." Maika raised his hand and threw a stone at him: "You are stupid." Then they talked about how shitty the weather in the ice field was and how difficult business was. This topic is like a spark falling from a cigarette, extinguishing quickly when it hits the ground. But now, Jester's unreliable mouth succeeded once with great accuracy, at the cost of the death of his friend. He sat up, the tent was twisting and swaying in the strong wind, and Jester was surrounded by a wave made of cloth. He stretched out his hand, preparing to make the open gap disappear completely. He grabbed the zipper that collapsed. As the action progressed, the light source in the tent gradually dimmed. The darkness first lay dormant on his waist, and then rose to his neck, driving away the bright moonlight fiercely like a beast. The movement of the hand stopped. The struggle between light and darkness also ceased at this moment. Jester felt very incredible about his thoughts at this time. He wants to go out. Go outside, go out now, and see the direction Liuyuan and the others left. Sitting in a windy spot, or building a fire, whatever, he wanted to get out. He stood still in shock and doubt, holding on to the edge of the tent. You are crazy. You have to do things tomorrow. You have to maintain your strength. Besides, doing inexplicable outdoor activities late at night in this weather is no less than courting death. He is just one of your employers, an ordinary painter, a poor man who is dying. Jester froze in place, fiercely pulled his hand off the tent, and was about to lie down and fall asleep again. He forced himself to bend over and fall backwards, tugging at the sleeping bag. But the moment he closed his eyes, he felt an indescribable pain that made him unable to breathe. So Jester jumped up, grabbed the protective gear around him, wrapped himself in a mess, and then rushed out of the tent almost rolling. When he came to his senses, he was already running dozens of steps away from the tent, panting, for fear that he would regret it. Jester stood under the huge sky, with the bright moonlight in front of him, and the cold wind stung his face like tiny needles. He stood in a daze, stepping on the soft snow with his feet, and his ears were filled with the noise of the wind pouring into his brain. He looked at the endless white earth. The ice and snow on the ground spread infinitely, reflecting little silver lights in the moonlight. Jester felt like an idiot, but he still didn't want to go back to the tent. My brain is broken. He thought. "What are you doing there?" A small stone hit his back. Jester jumped up and turned around subconsciously in a fighting posture. The warm firelight and the figures of his companions came into his eyes, and he was stunned again. McKay looked at him like he was an idiot: "What are you doing." Kent looked helplessly at Jester, beckoning him to sit over with his left hand, and cooking his signature broth with his right hand. Jester walked over with his dazed head and sat beside the blazing bonfire, letting the fire roast his body. The flames brought a sleepy warmth. Only then did he realize that he had rushed out in too much haste and didn't even see the two living people here. The hot steam of the broth penetrated into his nasal cavity, and he took a deep breath involuntarily. Kent placed a box of fragrant broth on the snow in front of him. Maika had already started eating, and he glanced at Jester; "Aren't you stupid?" Jester took a big mouthful of broth and felt warm all over. He had never thought that Kent's soup tasted as good as tonight. He didn't answer, but asked instead; "You guys woke up a long time ago?" Kent stopped stirring, wiped it on the snow, and said: "No, I woke up when they left." "Me too." Maika lowered his head and thought for a while: "Kent and I came out at the same time." "Oh." Jester responded. They fell into a brief silence, and then looked at the direction Yanagihara and the others left in unison. At this time, a large white light crawled out on the horizon, blending with the receding night, and the skylight turned into a gentle and hazy turquoise. A faint mist rose up and quickly dissipated under the strong wind. Jester could almost feel the mist flying past his ears. The sun has not yet officially appeared, but their vision has already brightened. The entire land is blurry, with a little green of the morning light, making this cruel land look gentle and full of vitality, making people think of the lush and prosperous Mother Nature before the disaster. Jester suddenly felt that under the embrace of this tolerant and benevolent green vitality, he could go wherever he wanted to go against the wind, just like he had imagined when he was a child. Kent's voice brought him back to reality. The middle-aged men stared at their distant friends: "Do you think they have finished painting?" They tacitly avoided the true meaning of "finished", as if the breath of death had never lingered on the young painter, and their friends really just went to paint and would come back to joke with them soon. Maika took out a pack of firewood cigarettes, lit it, and took a long puff without feeling distressed: "Who knows." He also looked into the distance with a complicated and stoic expression, not knowing what he was thinking. An extremely shining light appeared in the sky, breaking through the darkness and light, breaking through the darkness and pain, and traveling across the sky with an unstoppable momentum. The sky burned with white flames, the darkness retreated steadily, and white fireballs fell from the sky, burning the earth together. The dull black and gray colors fled quickly, running like a tide towards the edge of the earth. The panic-stricken darkness crashed into them, and then they were swallowed up by endless light. They looked up as if they had a premonition. I saw that painting that can illuminate the entire era. The ice wall appeared in the darkness, just like the goddess in the ancient epic. At the beginning of the new life of the world, when mankind was still confused, she passed through the filthy darkness and pulled her young creation up the golden ladder. From then on, mankind was no longer ignorant, and civilization took root on the vast land. A stretch of mountains and rivers stands on the ice sheet. It looks like a small piece of space from the past has been cut out and stuck into this time and space, creating a dizzying sense of time and space, but it is more beautiful than anything they have ever seen in their lives. The ice wall is quiet and silent. It's still cold, dangerous and impersonal. But the young painter turned this hard giant into a gentle exhibition board. The precious, exquisite and beautiful hope it carries can give countless people the courage to survive. Jester opened his mouth wide and spoke intently: "Drosso..." "Very powerful." Kent took the words and sighed. Maika's cigarette fell to the ground, and the butt created a small cloud of mist. He ignored it until his eyes got sore, then he lowered his head and said: "He is outstanding." Jester wanted to say something else, but couldn't. His throat was dry and clogged, as if he had swallowed hot yellow sand. No one broke the silence, no one moved, they thought of Dresso, their young and beautiful painter friend. Everyone knows that Droso may be disappearing at this time, and the free soul may have burned out and slept in the wind. They experienced the passage of time in silence, and the cold wind blew across their faces, as if they were attending an unarranged mourning meeting. Sorrow and regret were cleverly buried in the wind and snow, leaving only their calm and frozen expressions. After a while, Kent stood up and said firmly: "Let's go and find..." He paused hesitantly, leaving a heart-wrenching silence, "Go and find Liuyuan." Jester was startled, but quickly got ready, as did Mika. They are going to find Liuyuan and the others. Jester, Kent and Micah will face Droso's departure together with Yanagihara, like a qualified friend. They climbed into the car quietly and quickly, heading for a meeting whose outcome they already knew. The outline of the car gradually melted into the cold skylight, and it kept running towards the land of hope full of life without hesitation. Ranagihara squatted next to the young man's body that was twisted in pain. She blinked and said nothing. He just gently put his hand on the enlarged and ferocious eye sockets, and slowly closed Deroso's eyes with an almost gentle and firm force. The moment his eyelids closed, Droso's expression softened and his muscles were no longer stiff and tense. As if a sleeping child was disturbed, he turned over in a mumble, and his frown relaxed peacefully. Liu Yuan looked at the body of the young painter, which was pale and thin. She suddenly wanted to have a cigarette. The death of her friend made her numb, and her own powerlessness made her sad. But facing the death of a friend alone has happened too many times, and Yanagihara has rich experience in this. She took out her cigarette case, took out one, and sat down next to Droso. Tobacco burns slowly, and the red color with infinite vitality jumps in the black ashes. This has almost become a metaphor for life. But Yanagihara didn't know that she was no longer alone and silently seeing off her friend this time. The mercenaries are running towards here quickly, with a similar mood to hers and equal sadness. At this moment, no matter how the road ahead stretches, Yanagihara and the mercenaries' road ahead has been briefly washed away from the gloom. They become companions in one moment and separate the next. But at this moment, they all have a bright future. It was a casual thought: After the exam, I will write something to Sister Yuan, which contains a lot of selfishness. When Yanagi Yuan was on her journey to seek death, did she ever think about the countless rays of light following behind her? When her eyes were dark, did she know that there were tiny sparks shining in the cold night? This is why I wrote this article. I also want to send this article to NPC. Since the beginning of "Frozen", there have been many big and small things happening. Thank you for your hard work. I only recently learned about the incident with my hand, so I wanted to write this article to the NPC even more. Although it is not easy, I still wish you hope and light, and we will all have a brighter future.

In recent chapters, there was a description of Al lying in the snow. I couldn't help but touch it after a few days. It was so cute. (I am just a novice from the South. I have never seen snow, so please forgive me for my poor drawing.)

Finally it's back to the theme of transformation, and the apocalypse that I like. Go! ! !

A poor ghost is like rice wine, rich and mellow, with endless aftertaste A messenger is like wine, the blood of Jesus, bitter and sweet A thief is like sake, with a refreshing taste, like an immortal but close to the common people Hometown is like vodka, with a mellow taste, wild and uninhibited

I was deceived by the author at the beginning of the introduction to Poor Ghost. He said it was a healing article, and the titles of each chapter were also very light-hearted. However, in the end he lied to me, it was obviously to Yu Wen! I am the kind of person who is so sad that my throat becomes speechless. Not only do I feel uncomfortable in my heart, but I also suffer physically. When I saw that there was only the last chapter of Doufan left, I didn't open the novel for half a year because I knew my relationship with this book would end. Later, I heard that Pauper had been banned, so I kept looking for a substitute, but in the end I found another book whose author kept revising and rewriting it like a lunatic. At first it was easy and funny, but later on the literary youth turned into a mad dog-like protagonist. Finally, I heard that the poor author had rewritten the book and transformed. I came back happily and found that there were only a few short chapters. I wanted to give it a try, but today I watched the anime The Immortality of You and suddenly recalled my frozen hometown. Unexpectedly, the author can no longer write due to surgery and depression.