In the sudden arrival of wind, rain, thunder, and lightning, an unexpected guest appeared at Hill’s door, knocking on misfortune.
Hill clearly sensed the strangeness and unpredictability of this person, sothing murky and filthy contained within the darkness of his being.
Thick shadows enveloped the visitor, a streak of Thunder flashed across the sky, the pale light illuminating his body, only then could Hill barely make out his figure.
A wide black robe draped over the visitor’s body, woven with special materials; raindrops slid off it swiftly, unable to dampen it... or perhaps the visitor possessed a power that rejected all things, impervious to intrusion.
His presence was so abrupt, as if he shouldn’t exist in this world.
The lightning shattered the black mist cloaking the visitor, his face gradually beca clear, Hill saw a handso face with a slight smile on his lips, beneath the robe were luxurious and elegant garnts, and in his hand, he held a gem-encrusted staff.
"Hill, may I co in to take shelter from the rain?"
The man spoke, his voice mingling with the sound of the wind and rain, the booming of thunder, reminding Hill of the people from mythical stories.
Hill did not understand how the man knew his na; instinctively, he felt fear and threat. The man was certainly not a benevolent existence, yet when Hill really wanted to act, he found he couldn’t refuse the man.
"Sure... sure."
Hill’s heart scread, resisted, but his body acted in opposition to his mind, stepping aside to reveal the crude, dark house.
The man leaned on his staff, entered the room, removed his black robe, and hung it on a coat rack. The slightly tight-fitting luxurious attire accentuated the man’s physique, like a statue sculpted by an artist coming to life. Even though Hill was also a male, he felt an overwhelming charm in the man.
Like a Celestial God.
After realizing this, Hill felt an inexplicable absurdity inside.
Is there really a Celestial God in this world? If so, why doesn’t the Celestial God take away the worldly pains, why do his parents endure the tornt of illness?
Besides, is the man really a Celestial God?
The man had an irresistibly compelling appearance and deanor, but instinctively, Hill felt a sense of ominous foreboding from him, like an illusion, Hill even thought the shadows behind the man began to writhe, countless specters lingered around him, whispering that evil Curse in his ear.
Hill asked with difficulty, "Who are you?"
"?"
The man pointed to himself, smiling, "As you can see, a weary traveler, a well-intentioned rchant."
"A rchant?"
Hill scrutinized the man, except for the staff, he had no possessions to speak of.
"As a rchant, you have nothing to sell, what are you peddling then? Knowledge? Or divination?"
Hill had seen similar fellows, dressed mysteriously, appearing in the village taverns and streets, peddling what seed like profound yet fundantally flawed trickery.
His mother once blindly sought the help of those Mages, hoping to hear beautiful blessings from their mouths, yet she knew those blessings couldn’t cure his father’s illness or change anything.
He shouldn’t have opened the door to the man, Hill once again had this thought.
The man spoke mysteriously, "I sell sothing even more precious than that."
Hill beca increasingly uneasy and wary, watching the man, questioning, "How do you know my na?"
"Hmm, because I know your na," the man replied with aninglessly empty words, "I know everyone’s na."
As the man finished speaking, coughing emanated from the depths of the house, mingled with painful moans.
The sound tugged at Hill’s heart, lately, he forced himself to sleep earlier, sleep deeper, so he wouldn’t be awakened by the coughing at night, wouldn’t panic and suffer as darkness unfolded.
Other than self-deception, Hill could think of no other way.
"Your father is ill," the man suddenly said, "He is very sick."
Hill’s face turned deathly pale, as if exposed by a hidden secret in his heart.
The man’s smile grew increasingly bizarre and sinister, "Not only your father, your mother will also be seized by illness."
At this mont, the coughing beca louder and clearer, pounding Hill’s eardrums like a Heavy Hamr, the entire house shook, and the sound of the wind, rain, and thunder quickly receded.
Hill’s breathing beca heavy and strained, his chest heaving violently, a naless rage burning within his organs.
At this mont, Hill realized the eeriness of the current situation. Recently, his mother had difficulty sleeping, his conversation with the man should have woken her up, yet even though they were in the sa house, the distance between them had beco imasurably vast, impossible to bridge.
"Hill, I know what you are thinking, you are afraid of what happens next."
The man lifted his chin, looking at Hill with interest, "You have already seen it in the village, those diseased corpses, piled together, burned to ashes."
"You know, your father is going to die, and your mother too will fall ill from exhaustion, following closely behind.
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