"Your Majesty," a subordinate bowed respectfully from a distance, reminding him, "I have heard that a once-in-a-century snowstorm is about to hit Mohe. I urge Your Majesty to set off for the palace as soon as possible."
Tong finally stood up, silently turned away from the broken monument, and walked through the dilapidated village toward the main road.
Suddenly, he heard a soft clanging of metal against metal—startled, he turned his head to look at an empty house. He recognized it: it was the place of his childhood nightmares! More than a decade later, the birch bark roof collapsed under the weight of snow, the wind howled through, and two iron shackles hanging from the wall clashed together, making a piercing sound.
He suddenly staggered, revealing a pained expression.
In that instant, he recalled his childhood, so distant it seemed unreal, the endless nights and those bright eyes in those nights… She called him brother, held his hand and played and chased each other on the frozen river, so happy and carefree—what price would it take to let that fleeting joy be relived in his life?
How I wished I could stay in that memory forever, but no one can go back.
Winter nights, summer days. After a hundred years, return to one's room.
Those who had given him warmth have all returned to the cold earth forever. And he, after a long journey, has reached the pinnacle of power, so lonely yet so proud.
Power is a vicious tiger; once you ride it, it's hard to get off easily. So, he can only ensure that he won't be devoured by this tiger by constantly driving it to devour more people and find more blood to feed it. He can even see the end of his life in the previous pope.
Countless colors flickered in Tong's eyes, remaining silent in the snow, preventing the piercing pain from escaping her throat.
Beside the village, a massive fir forest stood like rows of dark gray tombstones pointing towards the cold, snowy sky. Only the snow in the wasteland continued to fall endlessly, indifferent and silent, as if to bury everything.
"Look!" Suddenly, he heard a joyful cry, and his subordinates all looked up at the sky. "What is this?"
He unconsciously raised his head, and for a moment, even his breath caught in his throat—
Under the greyish-white sky, a boundless beam of light suddenly streaked across the sky! The light diffused from the far north, enveloping the sky above Mohe, and lightly changing colors on the swirling snow: red, orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue, purple... It fell on the desolate cemetery, like a dream that suddenly descended.
"Light."
—Under the wondrous power of creation, the young Pope knelt in the snow-covered sky and slowly stretched out his hands toward the heavens.
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