Night.

Twelve forty a.m.

The lonely forager went out more than half an hour early tonight to "hunt", the journey was not long, the location was direct, and he could munch on it as long as he opened the freezer in the storage room. Menarliev opened a packet of puffed food and chewed it "click-click". He knew it wasn't enough to satisfy his hunger, but the crisp cracking sound of the flakes in his mouth made him feel like he was still alive.

He slipped another slice and focused on his food like a cicada-catching praying mantis. He knew there was a "yellow finch" behind him, but he didn't care, or even didn't have the energy to pay attention to the uninvited guest.

His energy had long since been exhausted, and for so many days he had always been lying in bed, and Menarliev knew for the first time that he was so tired even lying down, and sleep was no longer a supply of energy, but a heavy burden. He thought he was going to apologize to his mother, who had been lying in bed all day.

Menaryev remembered very well that her mother, the woman whose eyes were so sick that they were about to protrude, always stared at her with the eyes of a monster, as if the man in front of her was not the blood of her own pregnancy and birth, or that she wished that she had never given birth to such a son, and that she would throw him into the heating stove that was burning next to him, and let him writhe like maggots in agony, howling like a pig to the slaughter, and being burned to pieces by the flames. Flesh and bones were devoured completely, like the winter snow that flew outside, and wiped out the earth.

The winter of that year was so cold, and this woman, who had fought with her son all her life, finally compromised with everything. She was not breathing, and her body was submerged in layer after layer of brocade mattresses. But Menarliev knew that it was just good-looking, and it had already been replaced by a reed flower by his empathetic father at the behest of his lover. The kind of cotton that looks like white from afar, but in fact, when you walk in, it is something that is not related to the wind and horses.

In addition, there may be cattails, and her sister Hilarily likes to rub the oval puff stick with her hand, and when she pinches it with her hand, a large piece of flocculent matter gushes out and floats away in the wind...... Just like him. Menarliev remembered that he always looked at the catkins with sorrow, looking free, but in fact wandering rootlessly, the heavens could not contain it, and the earth would not accept it, just as he did...... No one can understand him.

My sister didn't know what he was worried about. At least she didn't know it at the time. She thought that her brother was worried about her amorous father's change of heart and the heartbroken mother's illness, but she didn't know that Menarliev was actually suffering from some undeserved thoughts.

He didn't care about his father, Menarliev thought, the man had long since ceased to regard the family as a home, nor did he regard them as his children, and he was now in the arms of his eighth lover, and he longed to be that lover's child.

Mother he also ...... It doesn't matter anymore. Anyway, she already knew about it, and even almost beat him to death with a leather whip, she wished that there was no such son, a son who wanted to be a woman, what use did she want, it was better to just beat him to death, or burn him to death with a fire, along with this cold house, burn to death, burn it all!

He didn't know if his mother's illness was also caused by him. Menaryev didn't know, and he didn't want to know, he had long since stopped paying attention to these things, and it was no longer worth worrying about, because his parents, whom he had loved so much, had already chosen to abandon him, so he also decided to abandon him.

It's just that the only thing he can't give up is his dear sister, this sister who is as pure as a white reed flower, how should he face her?

Originally, he had become the only master of this family, and he could have done what he wanted unscrupulously. But the mere thought of his sister's wet fawn-like eyes made Menaryev breathless. If she knew that the brother she respected and loved was actually a monster who liked to wear women's skirts, she would, what would she think?

He began to breathe heavily, as if something was pressing on him.

If, if his beloved sister knew that the tall brother who wanted to hold up the whole world of the family was willing to embroider and stitch and stuff himself into the narrow skirt, would the sky of her pure heart collapse?

Tears crawled all over Menarliev's face, and he sobbed uncontrollably, his shoulders shaking terribly. He grew his mouth and tried to take in more air, but for some reason it backfired, and instead became more tightness and shortness of breath.

He's really not a monster, he's trying to justify himself, he just likes to wear skirts, he doesn't want to be a woman, he's just, he's just......

"Enough! You greased monster! ”

His ears rang with his mother's thunder, and he looked up as an apparition of his mother, who was not sick at the time.

Her slap rained down on his face, and she curled her fingers and twisted them viciously several times on him.

"I've never given birth to something as shameful as you!"

Menarliev closed his eyes, as if in this way he could escape everything.

Scolding and whipping mingled like lightning and torrential rain on his land. He was bruised and bruised, but there was no place for him to be sheltered, for the punishment was the former harbor!

"Click, click."

The chewing sound of the chips brought him back to reality from his cold dreams. Menarliev touched his face, but he didn't touch anything, maybe the thing had already dried up. Except for his sister Hilarily, there is nothing worth crying for.

He wiped the crumbs from his mouth, took out two bottles of water and a box of lunches from the freezer, warmed them, and paced back to his room.

After detecting his mental fluctuations, he also floated past, and as soon as he turned around, he walked into Lovend's room.

"I knew you were coming."

Lovend is writing a report to the gods this week.

"Tell me, what do you want to ask?"

Will was silent for a while, and then spoke: "What is the so-called 'Ten Saints' game like? Why, Menarliev has such rich memories? Or, to put it another way, ......"

"Alright, alright, I know what you mean." Lovend reached out and stopped it, "Help me press one of your mudras here, the mud is here." All right. ”

He touched the little head of the will, and then said: "In your mind, do you think that the Ten Saints Game is simply a bunch of data to kill and kill, and finally choose the strongest one?" ”

"Yes, yes, that's it...... It's a bit like raising Gu? Put a lot of bugs together and let them bite each other, and the one who didn't bite to death in the end was the strongest, which was the Gu King. ”

Lovend smiled, and he reached out and gently flicked the will to a citron to eat.

"It's not that simple, little fool. This one of ours is a fairly complete simulation of the world. ”