Aztec Eternals

"Aztec Eternal (

The cool sunlight fell on Lake Patzcuaro, reflecting the shallow surface of the lake in the dry season and the reflection of the reeds in the water. Along the shores of the Lake District, the Tarasco villages are lonely and desolate, and the fields are overgrown with weeds. Even though it is the beginning of the new year, there is no crowd to celebrate, no smell of rosin for prayers. Only in the morning and evening, the faint smoke from the cooking rose, accompanied by the occasional barking of the dog, revealed a rare anger.

The old militiaman Chiwako stood blankly in front of a mud-brick hut, his body motionless, his eyes empty and dull.

It has been half a year since he was called up and left his warm little home. In the past six months, he has participated in the flaming water battle, and also experienced the siege of the arrow rain. He saw many nobles, easily broken like corn stalks; also saw tens of thousands of warriors, stepping into the mud like leaves; and countless civilians, just like burning weeds, which turned to ashes with the fire of war , scattered all over the sky without traces.

He escaped from the dead place on the battlefield, and was used to seeing blood and tears in the world. After the hardships of life and death, he finally returned to the village. However, he never imagined and never wanted to imagine that in this cold little home, only the humble mud house remained.

The mud house was built by him with a handful of mud and bricks. He had accumulated materials for several years, and it took him a year to be considered decent in the village. And these fired mud bricks are the result of hard work day and night after he and his wife finished laboring during the slack farming season. In this mud house, there used to be the busyness of his wife, the noise of his son, the laughter of his daughter, and everything he cherished.

At this moment, in front of the mud house, the wooden door was wide open, as if welcoming the long-lost owner. Outside the house, the turkeys raised in the pens, the hairless domestic dogs in front of the house, and even the peppers hanging from the eaves, all disappeared. Inside the house, a few belongings were scattered all over the place, as if telling the story of Zeng Jin's experience. The rice-cooking pot shattered on the ground, and the water-filled pot was completely dumped. The hard-built grass bed left only the thatch on the ground, and the corner where the grain was piled was already empty.

The old militiaman's mind was equally blank. He looked at everything in front of him tremblingly. The figures he was familiar with, he looked forward to, and the figures he loved were all left in his memories, as if his soul had been taken away, leaving only a solitary body.

Not far behind the old militiaman, Wizti looked at the empty thatched hut with a look of bewilderment and bewilderment on his face. A group of seven militiamen poured into this desolate and dilapidated village, and the home in memory suddenly shattered. In this familiar and unfamiliar place, they seem to be the only life.

The militiaman Ayuli glanced at the trembling figures, scratched his head, and continued to lower his body, trying to dig something in the soil. After returning to the village, he simply glanced at the empty thatched hut and got busy with his work without caring.

Ayuli was the youngest in the group and had just come of age. Although he followed everyone and talked about women and children on weekdays, he was actually just a bachelor. His parents died early, and he didn't get married. The whole family was alone, and he was also poor without even a dagger. He didn't feel much about death and parting. This time, when I went out to join the army, I sent out a spear, stripped off my clothes, touched a dagger in the back, and came back whole.

After a while, Yauli finally threw a broken sack from the soil, which contained a pile of dried and old corn. With a grin, he fetched a clay pot from the other empty house, and scooped a jar of water from the adjacent lake. As he scooped up the water, Ayuli glanced at the lake, and there seemed to be some boats in the distance, with the twinkling light of bronze spears on them.

Yauli ignored it. He made a pile of thatch from the dilapidated house, and then started a bonfire in the icy fire pit in the center of the village. Afterwards, he used the copper spears of his companions to set up a clay pot, boiled old corn, and continued to search in other houses to see if there was anything that could be used.

The smoke from the cooking rose, and the aroma of corn began to drift in the village. Ayulli found a bag of coarse salt and tasted it. There was some bitterness in the salt, and he didn't know what was in it. Maybe the salt was supposed to taste like this. Then, he walked to the edge of the pot, poked the corn with a dagger, and nodded in satisfaction.

"Uncle, stupid wood, come here to eat corn!"

Yauli shouted joyfully at the other militiamen, but no one paid him any attention. He scratched his head again, then took a piece of corn himself, ignoring the hot mouth, and nibbled it hard, the old corn was really hard to chew. From time to time, he would lick the salt grains poured into his palms, which was the most economical way to eat. During the six months of the expedition, he saw that the samurai gentlemen could eat soft tortillas, smoked dried meat, and the noble gentlemen also had pure yellow honey and dark cocoa. He was really envious in his heart, but he couldn't imagine what it would be like.

The aroma of the food spread far and wide, and suddenly there was some movement in the village. An old man stuck his head out of the dilapidated house, carefully looked down at the copper spear holding the pottery pot, and looked at the person eating corn, and suddenly heaved a sigh of relief. The old man walked out quietly, looked left and right at the other people in a daze, ignored the hot water in the pot, and grabbed the corn in the pot.

Hearing the sound, Ayuri, who was eating corn, stopped abruptly. He turned his head, saw the old man stealing the corn, recognized it for a moment, and became angry.

"Old Yitong, how dare you steal my corn!"

After all, Yayuli is going to grab the corn in the hands of Lao Yitong.

Old Yitong hunched over to dodge, hurriedly stuffed the corn into his mouth, and shouted hesitantly.

"Little Yayuli, did you steal less corn from my house? Give me one, I haven't eaten for a long time! ... By the way, is the war over? Are you the only ones who came back? My family's What about little Yitong?"

Hearing this, Ayuri suddenly stopped in his hands. He scratched his head, sighed, took two steps back, and squatted in front of the clay pot, not knowing what to say.

Seeing this scene, Lao Yitong's action of eating corn also stopped. He looked at Ayuri and asked with some trembling.

"My little Yitong?...he..."

Ayuri remained silent, and nodded after a while.

Old Yitong took two steps back in disbelief. At this moment, he seemed to be drained of all his strength. The next moment, he looked at Chiwako, the sluggish old militiaman, and staggered towards him. He was still holding the half-eaten corn in his hand, as if he was holding on to the last hope.

"Chiwako, where is my little Yitong? You are all back, what about the others?!"

Hearing the high-pitched questioning, the old militia slowly turned around, as if awakened from a deep sleep. He opened his eyes, looked at the running old man, and suddenly burst out.

"Old Yitong, why are you still alive! Where is my mother-in-law? Where is my son? Where is my daughter?! Where are they!"

Old Yitong turned a deaf ear. He approached the old militiaman and just asked loudly.

"Where is my son?!"

"Your son is already dead! He was shot with an arrow and fell into the lake, leaving nothing behind. The body rotted in the belly of the crocodile!"

Old Yitong was struck by lightning. He stood there dumbfounded, muttering to himself.

"Crocodile... Crocodile..."

Chiwako rushed forward with a strange light in his eyes. He grabbed Lao Yitong's shirt, shook the other's skinny body, and asked hideously.

"Old man, where is my family? Where is my son? Where is my daughter? Where is my mother-in-law?!"

Old Yitong was awakened by the violent shaking. He glanced at Chiwaco with a dismayed expression, and said bleakly.

"Chiwako, your family is gone! Your son was taken away by the second batch of conscript masters! Your daughter was dedicated to the samurai master by the village chief! Your mother-in-law can't think of it, she was thrown into the water two months ago. The body died. I haven't found it, I don't know where the rot is, and no one is looking for it."

Hearing this, Chiwako's eyes widened, his body instantly solidified, and two lines of tears slowly flowed from the corners of his eyes. Then, he gasped violently, trembled violently, and then roared violently.

"My mother-in-law is gone, she's gone, gone... Damn it! My son is fifteen and my daughter is thirteen! I'm going to kill them!"

Then, fierce killing intent flashed in the eyes of the old militiaman, he grabbed Old Yitong's neck fiercely, and asked sharply.

"Immortal, where is the village chief? I'm going to kill him!...kill him!"

Old Yitong looked at Chiwako, who he had never seen before, in horror. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Seeing this, Chiwako released his palm slightly and continued to stare fiercely.

"The village chief... He was taken away by the third batch of conscription masters... Who knows where he is now, maybe he is dead."

Once again the old militia stagnated. There was confusion in his eyes, and he lost strength in his hands. After a while, he muttered to himself.

"They're all dead...why aren't you dead? Why aren't you dead?..."

Old Yitong twisted his neck hard and struggled out of Chiwako's released palm. He took a deep breath and heard the questioning of the old militiaman, thinking it was himself.

"The gentlemen don't look down on my old bones, so they saved my life. Besides, being conscripted doesn't necessarily mean that you will die. Your son and daughter may still be alive somewhere in the capital."

"They don't know anything, how can they survive in this world! No, you're right, they're not dead yet, I have to find them and bring them back!"

Having said this, the old militiaman's gray eyes once again brightened. He looked at the capital city across the lake, where it was his only hope and a new goal. Then, he lowered his head, wiped the corners of his eyes with his sleeves, and left Old Yitong aside to go to the fire pit where the militiamen had gathered. He is going to discuss it with his friends who live and die together.

Old Yitong stood alone in the corner. He slowly finished eating the corn, slowly squatted on the ground, and then slowly lay in the mud, like an old yellow croaker out of water. Then, he turned over with difficulty, buried his head in the mud, and wept softly.

The old militia Chiwaco gathered six companions. With flames in his eyes, he said something loudly. Then, Wizti nodded first. The other militiamen stood there for a while before nodding their heads in agreement, while others shook their heads unwillingly, and everyone fell into a dispute. Xiao Yayuli didn't care where he went. He looked at the lake not far away and suddenly found something.

"Look! There's a boat coming over there."

Two common canoes leaned against the lake, with shields erected on them, apparently a warship. More than a dozen Tarasco warriors jumped off the warship, holding shining bronze spears and sturdy wooden shields, striding indifferently towards the smoke of the village.

"Where are you militiamen from!"

The leading samurai wears the hummingbird family crest. After returning from the battlefield, the militiamen already knew a lot, and they were obviously the family warriors of the great nobles.

Everyone looked at Chiwaco together. The old militiaman bowed his head and fell silent, rubbed his face with his hand, and then raised his head with a smile on his face. Then, using the accent he learned from the north, he said respectfully.

"Master, we are militiamen from the northern Sitaquaro state! The Mexicans came too fast, and the northern gentlemen didn't have time to resist, and many people fled... We originally followed a turkey family crest. The eldest man, went to the capital to guard. But the eldest man walked too fast, we didn't catch up, so we scattered here, looking for his traces everywhere..."

The hummingbird warrior thought about the turkey's family crest, and it seemed that the fief was indeed in the north. He looked at the bronze spears of the militiamen, looked at the ages of these people, and nodded slowly.

"Don't go to your master! Now, on behalf of the chief minister, I announce that you have been recruited by Qin Congcan City to serve the three gods and the supreme royal family! Pack up, don't bring any sundries, and follow me now! "

The old militiaman looked at the well-equipped warriors before him, and then at the other militiamen. At this moment, everyone nodded obediently. Everyone picked up their spears, followed the warriors to board the boat, and then went to the "hummingbird land" by the lake, the capital Qin Congcan. Before leaving, Yauli finally glanced at the bag of corn that he had left behind~www.readwn.com~ and looked at the figure in the corner, scratched his head again, and left with everyone.

The desolate village was quiet again, the bonfire was flickering on and off, and there was only a faint cry in the wind. After a while, the crying gradually stopped, and the old Yitong, who was ignored by no one, got up from the ground. He wiped the dirt and tears from his face, then hunched over and swayed to pick up the remaining sack of corn. He grabbed the heavy bag of corn tightly, then slowly came to the bonfire, crouched down, and picked up the corn cobs that the militiamen had just discarded. Then, he gnawed at the corn residue stained with soil, as if gnawing at the remnants of himself.

Chihuaco followed the hummingbird warriors as they rowed across the lonely lake. He looked at the deserted island in the lake, and memories of the past flooded into his mind. In the dozens of New Years he spent, the lake would be full of boats, and villagers would come from all directions to trade local products and sing and dance on the small islands in the lake. Occasionally, priests from the town come here to preside over lavish prayers and praise the three gods who bless the Tarrascos. .

Now, only the sparse warships were left on the lake, and the samurai and militiamen clenched their weapons and stared nervously to the north. The Mexica scouts crossed the Huayamo fortress, and the enemy's army was not far away.

After only half a day of sailing, Chiwako arrived at the capital of the kingdom by the lake, Qincongcan City.

He looked at the mighty city, the center of the mythical world. He looked at the towering city walls, which were twice as strong as the estuary fortresses. He looked at the sacred "House of Winds," a hundred-year-old pyramid complex where priests lived. Finally, he looked at the stately "Palace of Winds", the supreme palace of the king, the heart of the kingdom's rule.

The magnificent coppers all stand by the lake, unchanged for hundreds of years. This is the most prosperous place in the world in Chiwako's heart, and it is also the pursuit of his last hope in his life.