When Porcha's thoughts were interrupted by a hurried knock at the door, he remembered the distant afternoon that Lyon Siro had brought him out of the bustling crowd of talking in Rana many years ago. Pen Fun Pavilion wWw. ｂiquge。 InfoAt that time, the pastures of Dasbefa were yellow, and the Kugit Khanate, which had been devastated by civil war, was devastated. Like countless young people displaced by war, Porcha wandered between ruined villages and desolate towns without direction, watching the army kick up the billowing dust. The helplessness they felt at the beginning gradually turned into a pent-up anger over the years. From then on, the horse began to be an incurable disease for the newborn baby of the Kugit Khanate.

Porcha was originally kind and cowardly, and he was unwilling to fall into the grass. He spent his days in the towns doing odd jobs, herding cattle, feeding the horses, or helping the tavern keeper clean up the halls, and at night he slept in a secluded corner of the street, earning a few changes to survive, and at the same time suffering the cold eyes of others. Sometimes, the kind-hearted tavern owner would let him spend some cold night in the warm hall, and a small glass of ale would warm his thin, shivering body. When he saw the tiny, warm flame, he remembered the distant passing night when his mother held her hands and watched the flames blaze in the fireplace as a child. At that time, the Kugit steppe was newly developed by the Karad people, although they did not know how to best use the steppe. The Kugit steppe was distant and unfamiliar to the people of the Suno Plain and the Rhodok Mountains, and not many people wanted to go to the steppe at first. The wise and enlightened king decreed that those who wished to go there, regardless of their status, could set aside their own land in the new land, which could be used for three years free of charge. The aristocracy was still not very interested, but many commoners who were eager to change their fates spontaneously went to say goodbye to their families and hometowns, and embarked on an unknown journey to face a difficult fate. Porcha's father was one of them, young and strong, resolute and silent, who quietly left his hometown with a pack horse and a set of farm tools. He quickly carved out his land and cultivated it, thus asserting his sovereignty, and responding to unfriendly neighbors with the rusty sword he carried with him, until later the people would shy away from the scars on his thick and solid chest, and would not say anything more to him. He soon became a wealthy freelancer and gradually became able to own his own estate.

Everyone else thinks he's a weirdo. He always did the farm work silently, ploughing the fields, his eyes were always staring at the ground as if he had been born like that, waving the farm tools in his hands intently, and the sweat flowed down the dripping. In such a way, he showed the pride that he hid in his heart and did not know it. In fact, people of high character are always proud, but their pride is not so superficial, but naturally shows a state of not being disturbed by others, as if that loneliness is not allowed to be disturbed by anyone. His life is lonely and repetitive, seemingly endless. In fact, when a person tries to change his fate, he always has to go through such a stage, although the end is often not the longed victory, but just a dull death. Porcha's father guarded the land he had pioneered, and no one seemed to be able to pull him out of this lonely life, until that usually hot afternoon, when the air was unusually lazy, and when he had paused a little from his farm work, he felt a long-standing fatigue. A vigorous cool breeze blew in the distance, and he changed his usual concentration, and was stunned by the wind for a while, looking into the distance. Porcha's maternal grandfather with his wife and daughter gradually became clear in his vision. It was the hottest time of the afternoon, the heat wave was rolling and the land was scorching hot. Porcha's father looked into the distance, and at first it was just a few black spots on the grassland, but then the black spots gradually expanded, becoming a small black oppressive figure. They were also spotted by many of the Karadians who were in the shade, curious and a little wary. They went back and got some "weapons" like hoes and rakes, held them tightly in their hands, gathered together, and carefully observed the movements of the opposite team. Porcha's father remained unmoved, but watched from afar, and many people ran ahead of him, standing around him, and he ignored them. Eventually, the handful of people were only five paces away from the swarm. People finally saw their faces and clothes: their noses were low, their eyes were dark black, and many were dressed in nomadic clothing. The pack horses behind them seemed to be laden with goods. A stocky middle-aged man stepped forward, pulled out a roll of parchment, unfolded it and spread it on the ground, the words on it were crooked, but barely recognizable as Callad's script. He then looked up at the sky, then put his left hand on his right shoulder, as if in some kind of prayer. Then, in a thick accent, the middle-aged man slumped out the crooked Calad script on the paper, syllable by syllable.

They are Kugit people, from the other side of the mountains. An old man in the agitated Calad crowd spoke suddenly, his voice like a texture of time, old and majestic, and the crowd fell silent.

Unbeknownst to the Karad people at the time, war broke out among the great tribes in the northern mountains, the slaves of the Khanate finally took up arms, and many Kugits began to move around, and naturally some people crossed the mountains to this vast and unfamiliar steppe, carrying a fate that they did not know at that time. Porcha's maternal grandfather, a fierce and hearty steppe man, was in the prime of life, and resolutely led his people over the mountains to become the first batch of Kugit people to come to the Kugit steppe.

"They are refugees left over from the war, and hopefully we can take them in. The goods carried by the pack horses behind them were considered tribute. In addition, they did not bring weapons. The old man continued. A few bold young men began to inspect the pack horses, and they brought with them large bags of wool, small bags of spices, and many barrels of mellow dairy products. Immediately after that, several sturdy middle-aged men began to search the bodies of the Kugit men, and the Kugit people all raised their hands and did not move. One of the Karad men's hands deliberately rubbed against the leg of a Kugit girl, and then a loud slap sounded, and the man was stopped by his companions, who blushed and stared at him with big black eyes, and said nothing. Porcha's father still watched quietly, looking into the girl's stubborn eyes. The crowds on both sides fell silent.

The middle-aged man finally spoke again, still stiff and stumbling: "I, we, yes, grass, plain, people, this, inside, yes, grass, plain." I, we, may, help, help, you, we. ”

At that time, the kingdom adopted an open ethnic policy, and did not discriminate among the people who moved out, and there were many Nords on the North Sea coast who did business. The ancient and mysterious kingdom was gradually revealed, and in fact it was generous, benevolent, rich and generous, far beyond the imagination of the steppe nomads, who also restrained their former savagery and ferocity, began to learn the manners and customs of the Karad people, and intermarried families abounded. The Kugit people brought with them a steppe way of life, which was also beneficial to the Karad people, and a large number of livestock were domesticated. The steady flow of Kugit to the steppes, and the direct self-government of the kingdom over the steppes, have been effective, at least for the time being.

Porcha's father later learned that the girl who had blushed that day turned out to be the patriarch's own daughter, but there was no difference between what he knew and what he didn't. He continued to work as attentively and silently as before, and it seemed to make no difference, except that in the evening some of the Kugit girls would laugh and laugh past the fence of his land, and the girl was among them, but it seemed much quieter. As she passed, Porcha's father would stop what he was doing, but still staring at the ground, a carnal sensation, like the moment when the waves washed a man onto the beach. For the first time, his loneliness was invaded in this way, she appeared in the cool air of the morning, she appeared on the hot earth, she appeared in the blue sky of the afternoon, she appeared in the mellow fragrance of goat's milk, she was everywhere, she was everywhere. He tried his best to suppress his impulses, like a blind and mad beast, squandering his strength frantically, but the moment he collapsed on the bed from exhaustion every day, he still could not prevent her face from appearing in front of his eyes. Finally, on a quiet summer evening, he took his title deed to the patriarch's room, where the oil lamp was still lit, and the middle-aged man was now fluent in Karadian, but the thick Kugit accent could not be changed. He looked at the young man in front of him who was silently wringing with him, and just felt strange, so he asked him, "Is there anything you have done here?"

"I'm going to marry your daughter, sir. He said this in the midst of several struggles, and calmed down a lot.

"I have several daughters. The steppe man almost laughed.

"The one who blushes a lot. ”

The steppe man stopped talking, just stared at him with an interesting expression. Porcha's father couldn't stand such treatment and turned around to leave. But the steppe man stopped him, and waved his hand to call out his daughter, whose face was like a persimmon that was red from the cold, and there was a locked enthusiasm in her beauty.

"Is this the man you said never looked at you?"

The girl nodded.

In this way, she became the mother of the future Porcha. On the day of the wedding, my mother wore the most traditional Kugit costume, while my father wore the short-sleeved robe he had brought with him. The father had no family, but the mother's family came, and the father was still silent as always, just kept toasting, and his mother accompanied him. It wasn't until he got down that she helped him into the room with a red face. Two years after they got married, they had Porcha, who looked like he had inherited the worst part of his parents. When he was born, his father looked at Polcha, who was crying in his mother's arms, and kept wiping his sweat and said, "He is like me, like me." ”

"But he was so ugly. Mother quipped.

The father smiled rarely, gently brushed her mother's hair, helped her wipe the beads of sweat from her forehead, and whispered, "Blame me, blame me." ”

When Porcha was older, his father would take him to see the grasslands, the galloping horses, the magnificent sunset, the sound of the wind and the howl of wolves. In the summer, his mother would fan him, telling heroic tales and staccato epics until he fell asleep, and in the winter he would hold his hands and warm himself in front of the newly repaired fireplace in the house, watching the burning flames illuminate his mother's crimson cheeks, and quietly waiting for his father to return from the pasture.

Until that day, the people standing guard in the distance ran back to report that the former mountain pass had been sealed with huge stones, and the mighty army had raised a monstrous amount of dust. In the midst of doubt, the fate of the people on the grassland began to appear, but now they had to make a final struggle.

When Gerak Khan entered the steppe, his two sons, Saiga and Dastam, were behind him, and they were not yet at odds with each other. Behind them was a mighty army, the scale armor of the Kugit lancers in the front row glowing in the bright light of the steppe. The Kugit riders in the middle of the procession were the main force of the army, dressed in nomadic robes and with Kugit bows pinned to their waists. From a distance, they marched in unison, with clear banners, and the ranks marched in unison like a tidal wave. When they arrived at Adakulum, the people had not seen a real army for many years, so they could not help but be surprised, and more panicked. The local tribune went to Gerak's army with his makeshift army, which had been a security force, and he met him with the determination to die.

Just as Porcha's grandfather had come to this strange land many years earlier, another roll of parchment unfolded before the Kalade, only now there was no hope of good wine and peace. The tribune read the document quickly, for it was not a lot of words, just two simple lines: the Karadians left, and the Kugit stayed. The merchant, who had been plundered by the robbers of the Greenwoods in Uxhall, had regained his fortune in the Kugit steppes with his perseverance and brains, and had been elected by the local villagers as a tribune, and was greatly respected and loved, but now he had to kneel before this thin roll of parchment, and tremble at the sight of such a short and cold sentence. He always felt that fate loved to play a joke on him, and these two simple lines of sentences were the best annotation of his joking life. He looked at the "army" beside him, most of them were still young men, trembling behind their shabby fan-shaped shields, holding the spears in their hands tightly, the tips of which were still trembling. He picked up the roll of paper in both hands and bowed his head in respectful acceptance.

Early the next morning, the tribune led the Karadian on the so-called homecoming. Some of them had carts full of accumulated wealth, while most of them had returned empty-handed, leaving their possessions to their alien families, as they had done when they first arrived. They did not go quickly, and at night, when they had just reached the highlands of Dista, they prepared to spend the night in the steppes below the highlands. The night was clear and dry, with starlight covering the sky and moonlight, and the Karadians looked at the night, lost in thought and unaware of the unusual silence of the night. It wasn't until the alert tribune heard the sound of the bowstring taut, and before his warning cry could be uttered, arrows rained down from the sky, obscuring the bright night sky, making people feel like a thick night suddenly collapsed. The bodies of the Kalladians were struck by arrows and fell to the prairie one after another, the scratches left by their fingers on the soil showed their desire to live, the crimson blood gurgling from beneath them, and their eyes were so dazed and desperate as they died. The Callade's mourning did not last long, and then the dead silence rose like a tide in the steppe, until the footsteps finally became dense and cramped, and Darstam's cold, stern gaze prompted the Kujits to quickly clear the corpses, and they emptied the slaughter site in the first rays of the dawn, carrying away all the cloth, silver, and jewelry, without noticing the former tribune crawling out in the chaos. Such an operation was not difficult for the cunning and fierce Kujits, who quickly gained access to the Turbuk and Dista highlands, as well as the vast grasslands in between. The empire is in a bitter war with the Nords, and it is like stepping into a quagmire that may cut off limbs at any time, how can it come to the aid of this autonomous region? This rich and peaceful paradise belonging to the Karadians is like a lamb to the slaughter, which has been laid on the slaughter frame of Gerak.