chsdbacks #120 - There are elves flowing in their bodies
#120 - There are elves flowing in their bodies
By the time you read this letter, I imagine I'll already be dead.
Because if I weren't dead, I'd definitely come back and destroy this shameful letter.
You might be wondering who I am, but I won't tell you my name; those of us in this line of work don't have names.
Alright, now that you know I'm a dead man, I'll have this conversation with you.
What should I tell you? Well, how should I put it? Let me put it this way: I can say without any false modesty that I've been a detestable person since I was little.
When I was a kid, I loved seeing people suffer. When I saw someone crying, I'd laugh gleefully.
When I grew up, I loved hanging out with thugs and hoodlums until my father kicked me out of the family.
Who cares? It suited me just fine; I loved wandering around anyway. I went from east to west, from south to north, just loving to steal and deceive people.
Don't you dare be unconvinced; there was nothing I couldn't steal or swindle!
One day, I thought, stealing small things is too petty; I'll steal the recipe for Blue Blood Wine.
That would be a big deal; it's worth 22 gold pounds a bottle on the market. If I could find the recipe for Blue Blood Wine, I'd be rich.
So I gathered a few accomplices, and we tried every possible means, incredibly lucky to find a lead.
After killing several innocent people, with the help of a wizard, I impersonated a blind, middle-aged monk and entered the Jims Monastery, where they brew Blue Blood Wine.
This monastery is an orphanage; once outsiders enter, they're not allowed to leave.
I thought at the time, 'Not allowed to leave? You're underestimating me. There's never been anything that could trap your old man here.'
I was too young then. Looking back now, you can't walk by the river without getting your shoes wet. I roamed various town prisons for over a decade, and this is the first time I've truly been stuck.
I've been in this broken-down place for thirteen years, can you believe it? I, a free-spirited wanderer, have been here for thirteen years.
I should have left, but I'm still trapped here.
When I first arrived, a portly abbot greeted me.
He told me that the orphans in this orphanage weren't true orphans; they were children rescued from the Green-Clothed Pied Piper.
To eliminate the secret society's spies and cleanse the infection of the secret society, they needed one to two years to purify them, and once that time was up, they would be sent away.
Although I didn't understand what the brewing of Blue Blood Wine had to do with these little kids, I honestly lay low.
Perhaps I seemed too honest; I was assigned to be these little kids' nanny.
They were really annoying, constantly making a ruckus, but I couldn't hit them because, according to the records, I was a gentle monk.
I had no choice but to tell them stories. I told them about my past experiences of swindling and stealing.
I called myself the Robin Zorro, describing the victims as lords and knights.
Every time I told a story, they would sit quietly, and I could have a moment of peace.
At night, some of them were afraid of the dark, and they would cry as soon as it got dark. One person cried, and everyone followed suit.
I had to move my bed into their dormitory. Later, every winter, my bed was crowded with children.
To keep them from making noise, I suggested to the abbot that they write letters to their parents.
Every year, they had one chance to write letters to their parents. If they couldn't read, I would write for them.
However, most of these letters were thrown into the furnace.
They always asked me, 'When can we go home?'
I said, 'Soon, soon. When the time comes, I'll drive a carriage, going through streets and alleys, crossing mountains and ridges, and send you home one by one.'
They never return home; I learned this in my second year in this monastery.
Everyone thought I was blind; I disguised myself too well, but I wished I were truly blind.
Do you know? The people of Thousand River Valley are very special. Their ancestors were direct blood slaves of the Blood Cup Prince, one of the twelve vampire princes.
Their bodies flow with a special bloodline that has not been worn away for thousands of years.
Only during their development period is it possible to produce unclean blood.
When unclean blood is brewed with wine, a special wine is produced.
It not only has the effects of invigorating yang, promoting lust, and causing hallucinations, but also relieves wrinkles and enhances the knight's breathing technique.
And this wine has a resounding name: Blue Blood Wine.
Unclean blood is only produced in extreme fear before death; it is blue and permeates the entire flesh and blood.
These children, under the age of fourteen, must be crushed with a millstone, sieved repeatedly, and distilled repeatedly to obtain a portion of blue blood.
One portion of blue blood requires one child; one portion of blue blood can brew one bottle of Blue Blood Wine.
The monastery's annual output is about 70 bottles, and the ex-factory price per bottle is 20 gold pounds.
1400 gold pounds, the income of a small monastery, is equivalent to the tax revenue of a small county in the Thousand River Valley area.
I got the recipe for Blue Blood Wine, but I can't escape.
I was knocked unconscious and brought in; I only know that this is Thousand River Valley, but I don't know where.
It takes at least two days to walk out of here, but giant spiders start hunting everyone alive outside the monastery at night.
Every one or two years on the night of the full moon, I will be locked in the basement.
It's so quiet in the basement, but I can still hear them crying and calling my name.
In the past, I should have laughed, but I can't.
I'm just a rogue, a swindler, a prodigal son. Tell me, how can I have the ability to save these children?
They die when they die, what does it have to do with me?
I can't escape, so I can only continue to stay here. Year after year, I tell the Robin Zorro story that I'm about to vomit, and I send away batch after batch of children.
In their eyes, those are new and wonderful stories.
The only thing I can do is keep their letters.
I can't remember which year it was, but I met Tess.
She was the cutest little girl in the world, and she was different from others.
Every time I told the story of the Robin Hood, she would ask me—why doesn't the Robin Hood go home? Where is the Robin Hood's home?
Once I got sick, and the abbot was afraid of infection, so he locked me in the room.
She led the other children up the window sill and took turns singing to me at the window, and I quickly recovered.
The night before the full moon night, she secretly ran to my room and told me that she had a little man in her belly.
She was only fourteen years old. In this monastery, besides me, the only man with bright eyes was the abbot.
She said that she wanted to go home to see her parents and asked if Sir Robin Hood could give her a ride.
I said, 'It's too late. Sir Robin Hood is too tired. Let's talk about it in a couple of days.'
Tess's body was found on the morning of the third day.
She was only 14 years old, with such a big belly. On both sides of the road were countless blood-red spider eyes, and she was afraid of the dark.
She walked 25 miles in two days, without crying, without being bitten by spiders. She bled to death.
I carried her body back and placed it in the blooming flowerbed. Butterflies would stop on the tip of her nose.
She looked like she was asleep.
The abbot and the nuns said that pregnancy was even better.
I stood at the door, from that night to the next night.
I didn't see her body; I only saw buckets of purplish-red wine.
Tess was a good child, and I am a bad person.
In my life, I have swindled countless people out of their homes and stolen countless things that people cherish.
That's why my family was ruined, and that's why I lost the things I cherish.
I can't redeem my sins.
I have deceived everyone in my life and have never done anything good. I am a complete scoundrel.
But I beg you, really, I beg you, whoever sees this letter, I don't know who you are.
I beg you, I have never begged anyone in my life, but I beg you, save them, save the children.
Don't be a bastard like me.
Buried with this letter is the evidence I collected. I have been in this hellish place for thirteen years, and I have recorded the names, parents, origins, physical characteristics, birthmarks, etc. of 792 children.
I have been hiding their letters, a total of 914, and I know each one by heart.
For all the dead children, I have tried to find relics that can prove their identities, a total of 93 items, and I have listed them clearly.
I am waiting, waiting for the day when I can escape, the day when I can make these things public.
I want to send each of them home safely!
But I have to ask you to help me, because I can't do it, and I have to break my promise again.
Do you know? A week ago, I heard a piece of news.
This monastery has been standing here for fifty-five years and should be moved. I can finally leave here.
It's just that I can't take anything with me, because they are going to destroy everything here, even the clothes on my body.
So I can only leave these things behind, leave them to you, my friend.
If you are capable enough, please save these children. There is more than one such monastery.
If you are like me and unable to do so, at least return these letters and relics to their parents and send them home.
I should have left, but I thought, what if something unexpected happens?
What if this evidence is discovered by the church and destroyed?
What if my accomplices understand what I mean and take this evidence to the church to collect rewards and the Inquisition to hunt them down?
Don't laugh, they can really do such a thing.
You know, I am a professional swindler, a legendary thief. I always prepare for the worst and make sure everything is foolproof.
I want to protect these children and protect this evidence in my own way.
This is simply not something I should do, foolish and unwise.
But this is the most correct choice in my life.
I have dirty blood all over my body, and I only ask to drain it all so that I can exchange it for justice.
If one day you do what I ask you to do, please erect a tombstone for me here.
Don't engrave my name, please write—
'The journey to send you home, I have finished.'
If not, please don't do this, my lonely soul will forever remain in the world. Without me, they will be afraid.