Dow and Carbon-Based Monkey Breeding Guidelines

Chapter 628 A Story of a Happy Reunion
The Pale River has long been a story passed down by boatmen.They dared not talk about it on the river, or bring the relevant text on board the boat.Discussing its secrets in the river's presence is as dangerous as discussing the temperaments of those girls on their turf.The price of disrespect is sure to capsize the ship—and what sinks in the Pale River never rises again.

On shore, however, the rules of the river are not so strict.The boatmen would go to rest behind the slopes or in the woods where the river could not see, and exchange what they knew with each other.

There is no bottom under the river.Some boatmen said.Once I used a very long pole, which was made of immortal branches picked from the Green Rose Road.I let it grow at home for 20 years, and then put it in the river, and it sank without touching anything.

The other boatmen expressed no surprise.There are too many versions of the story about He Shen.Each of them has some story, true or false, to tell.

The bubbles in the river represent your luck today.said another boatman.It's not a new trick either.It is believed that the size and number of pearl bubbles are a sign of impending doom.The story is endless.However, no matter how many bubbles there are, there will always be capsized ships.

There is only one kind of story that is seldom discussed by boatmen.Not at all, it's just that few who listen believe it.What the filth beneath the river was, or looked like, the living will never know.It is said that a man once put his head in the water and his boat capsized immediately.Someone made an ingenious observation device using luminous stones, lenses, and pipes. Only the lower end of it was stretched into the river, and pearls began to grow in his eyes until the entire skin was burst.There was another man who brought his own child into the boat, but did not take care of it carefully. When he lifted the head of the child that had fallen into the river, the latter's face and hair disappeared without a trace.

There are so many versions of the story that it is difficult to tell which is true, but on the last one the boatmen believe it to be true.At the mouth of the river where the tumor-eye trees grew, the child who fell into the river is still alive today.Its head was like a bumpy egg, it couldn't speak, and it seemed like it couldn't hear.It is not known how he inhales and eats.In fact he might have been some other creature just like a man, wearing for some reason a dirty and ragged woven robe, but the boatmen believed that he was the boy who had fallen into the river.

People try to avoid him, because he has undoubtedly become some kind of "girl thing".In some particularly gloomy weather he was occasionally seen crawling out of his muddy and damp tree-holes, and wandering blindly and aimlessly along the river.He's harmless, compared to other grotesques, but if anyone wants to do something about him, it's a downright stupid idea.In the face of a grotesque that the girls have never acknowledged as belonging, the wisest thing to do is to respect while staying away.

Don't spy on rivers that can't see below the surface.Anyone who has ever seen something that dwells in a hollow tree will agree.Make peace with the fantasy and don't join it until the time is right.Funerals are often held in rivers.For those who are not favored by the girls, they cannot be buried in places like Green Rose Road or Mi Rang Ye without permission.All sorts of things happen to dead bodies buried in the ground, and nothing is surprising—just being eaten or getting up is no big deal, people fear the unpredictable.For example, that river-side tumor-eyed tree was once called "Dover with Broken Leg," and that might well be a hint as to its origins.But now that all the people living in the vicinity are dead, no one among the boatmen can tell the matter clearly.

Sinking to the bottom of the river is a safer approach, at least on the surface.Regardless of the opinions of the dead, the peace of the living can be guaranteed.They can eat, drink and rest to their heart's content after the funeral instead of rushing home in fear to make sure that the dead relative is not at the door or at the table.This is simply too convenient.So while many died crying and begging relatives not to throw their bodies into the bottom of the river of no return, river sinking funerals were held again and again—life by the river was made up of tricks of deceit.

They inevitably started to imagine at a certain moment far away from the river: under the waves, the remains sank slowly.They may start to move again, just like when they were buried in the soil.But they couldn't swim, so they just kept falling.They'll start to rot in the process, and possibly fight each other with fish monsters that swim by.The boatmen imagined them bending their nails in the dark, opening and closing their teeth, tearing flesh from the dead white, scale-stained belly of the fish monster.The bitter stench will spread in the dark and cold water, as well as the rancid and blue blood of the sick, the deep purple or dark green flesh of the dead, the water bugs that hatched when the bones melted, and all the filthy residue that may be produced by the dead remains.From ancient times to the present, they are all piled up under the river.

That would be wonderful.The boatmen all whispered to each other.That will definitely become wonderful, like the scene when the flowering period is at its peak on the road of green roses.Once one takes a look at them, one forgets how to get back to the wild world, and they become part of the roadside nourishment ever since.The boatmen discussed it with smiles, but their bodies trembled with fear.On the Pale River, everyone knows how the world works: the accumulation of grotesques breeds more grotesques, and nothing attracts grotesques more than death.Under the river, where the accumulation of death from ancient times to the present, no one knows what kind of things have been conceived there.Fortunately, the things at the bottom of the river never reached the world above.

The Master sits on a rock on the shore and waits.The bluish-gray boulder with the slender scar was once called the "heart of Vilaleva Garcicu".The origin of the name is as unknown as the tumor-eye tree.But when the old man was sitting on the stone, he was staring at the shadow under the stone, showing a smile that is not understood by the world.He silently dropped a name on the surface of the stone with his fingers—Alan Mings.

You deserved this baby, didn't you?He happily asked the stone under him.He should have belonged to you, but it's a pity that foreigners don't behave well.What an impolite theft!
Under the waves exuding pearly luster, the person pulled by the mist spirit was falling below the surface of the river.The truth about what he saw down the river was actually exactly the opposite of what the boatmen imagined.He sank in the pale gray river water, but it felt like he was in some empty place.The flow of water is also but an illusion of form.A visual container for the grotesque.In the depths of the Pale River, where even Horrors and Fish Monsters dare not swim, the answer is nothing.Life and everything else disappears here.light or perception.self.Vientiane goes out one by one and returns to the mother bed of chaos.

That's just one answer.Regarding the secret under the river, perhaps only the people in the mountains can see this scene.Halfway to the sea of ​​nightmares, he would fall into a deep, endless sleep.That is not the same as death, when the invisible thread tightens, he will still return from the mirror.Go back to the seaside, or to the mountains, to make up for the vacant beams and pillars.But now, everything is sinking.All things return to nothing.

He should go "there."No one is more suitable than him.After ten vicious checkpoints, the door was still quietly closed.Never look.Never go knocking.That promise has left him with life.

But where did that come from?on the river bank.Perhaps from a more distant place, there was a loud voice.A crisp, booming sound of hooves.A bright red spark blooming on a silver branch.Someone roared like thunder.

"Little--li--ghost--right under the bell! Oh! Wait--no? Yes? No? Yalai! I can't tell--tell me which one he is!"

　I'm very busy with chores, and I'm stuck for another day, sorry.

　　Get some monthly tickets.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)