Aztec Eternals

The cool sun fell on Lake Patzcuaro, reflecting the shallow surface of the lake in the dry season and the reflection of reeds in the water. Along the shores of the Lake District, the Tarasco villages are lonely and desolate, and the fields are full of weeds. Even though it is the beginning of the new year, there are no celebrating crowds and no smell of praying rosin. Only in the morning and evening, when the faint smoke rises, accompanied by the occasional barking of dogs, does it reveal a little bit of rare vitality.

The old militiaman Chihuaco stood blankly in front of a mud brick hut, his body motionless, his eyes were empty and dull.

It has been half a year since he was called up and left his warm little home. In the past six months, he has participated in fiery water battles, and also experienced sieges with arrows and rain. He saw many nobles who were easily broken like corn stalks; he also saw tens of thousands of warriors who stepped into the mud like leaves; , scattered all over the sky without a trace.

He fled back from the dead on the battlefield, was used to the blood and tears in the world, and finally returned to the village after going through the hardships of life and death. However, he never thought, and never wanted to imagine, that in this cold little home, only the simple mud hut remained.

The mud house was built by him with a handful of mud and a brick. He had accumulated materials for several years and spent a year. It can be called decent in the village. And these fired mud bricks are the result of hard work day and night after he and his wife finished their hard work during the slack season. In this mud house, there used to be the busyness of his wife, the noise of his son, the laughter of his daughter, and everything he cherished.

At this moment, in front of the mud house, the wooden door is wide open, as if welcoming the long-lost owner. Outside the house, the turkeys raised in the pen, the hairless domestic dog in front of the house, and the peppers hanging from the eaves all disappeared. In the house, there are not many belongings scattered all over the place, as if they are telling the past experience. Clay pots for cooking were smashed to the ground, and pots for water were completely toppled over. All that was left on the hard-earned grass bed was the thatch, and the corner where grain was piled up was already empty.

The old militiaman's mind was also blank. He tremblingly looked at everything in front of him. The figures he was familiar with, the ones he expected, and the ones he loved were all left in his memory, as if his soul had been taken away, leaving only a solitary shell.

Not far behind the old militiaman, Wezti looked at the empty thatched hut with a dazed and bewildered expression on his face. A group of seven militiamen rushed into this desolate and dilapidated village, and the homeland in memory was suddenly shattered. In this familiar yet strange place, they seem to be the only lifelines.

The militiaman Yayuli looked at the trembling crowd, scratched his head, then continued to lower his body, trying to dig something in the soil. After returning to the village, he just glanced at the empty thatched hut, and started working indifferently.

Ayuli is the youngest in the group and has just come of age. Although he followed the crowd and talked about women and children on weekdays, he was actually just a bachelor. His parents died early, and he was not married. The whole family was alone, and the poor ones didn't even have a dagger. He didn't feel much about death and parting. This time when he went out to join the army, at least he got a spear, stripped off his clothes, touched a dagger behind him, and came back whole.

After a long while, Yauli finally threw a broken sack out of the soil, which contained a pile of dried old corn. With a grin, he went to one of the other empty houses to fetch a clay pot, and scooped a jug of water from the neighboring lake. While scooping up water, Yauli glanced at the lake, and there seemed to be some small boats in the distance, with bronze spears shining on them.

Ayuli ignored it. He got a pile of thatch from the dilapidated house, and then set up a bonfire at the cold firepit in the center of the village. Then, using the copper spears of his companions, he set up an earthenware pot, boiled old corn, and continued to search the other houses to see if there was anything that could be used.

Curly smoke rises, and the aroma of corn begins to waft through the village. Yauli found a bag of coarse salt, tasted it, and found that the salt was a bit bitter. I don't know what was mixed in it, maybe salt should have this taste. Then, he walked to the pot, poked the corn with a dagger, and nodded in satisfaction.

"Uncle, Stupid Wood, come over to eat corn!"

Ayuli shouted joyfully to the other militiamen, but no one paid attention to him. He scratched his head again, took a piece of corn by himself, and began to chew hard, regardless of the burning of his mouth. Old corn is really chewy and tight. From time to time, he would lick the grains of salt poured into his palm, which is the most economical way to eat. During the six months of his expedition, he saw that the samurai lords could eat soft corn cakes and smoked dried meat, and the aristocratic lords could also eat pure yellow honey and dark cocoa. He was really envious in his heart, but he couldn't imagine what it was like.

The aroma of food spread far away, and suddenly there was some movement in the village. An old man poked his head out from the dilapidated house, carefully looked at the copper spear with the clay pot on it, and then at the person eating corn, he suddenly breathed a sigh of relief. The old man walked out quietly, looked left and right at the other people who were in a daze, and then grabbed the corn in the pot regardless of the hot water in the pot.

Hearing the noise, Ayuli, who was eating corn, suddenly stopped. He turned his head and saw the old man who stole the corn. After identifying it for a moment, he burst into anger.

"Old Yitong, you dare to steal my corn!"

After finishing speaking, Ayuli stretched out his hand to snatch the food from the old man's hand.

Old Yitong bowed his body to dodge, stuffed the corn into his mouth in a frantic manner, and yelled falteringly.

"Little Ya Yuli, don't you steal my corn too often? Give me back one, I haven't eaten for a long time! By the way, is the war over? You guys are the only ones back? My little Yitong Woolen cloth?"

Hearing this, Ayuli stopped suddenly. He scratched his head, sighed, took two steps back, and squatted in front of the clay pot, not knowing what to say.

Seeing this scene, Old Yitong also stopped eating corn. He looked at Yauli and asked tremblingly.

"My little Yitong? He."

Yayuli was silent, and nodded after a while.

Old Yitong took two steps back in disbelief. At this moment, he seemed to be drained of all his strength. The next moment, he suddenly looked at the dull old militiaman Chivaco, and staggered towards him. He was still holding on to the half-gnawed corn tightly in his hand, as if he was holding on to his last hope.

"Chivaco, where's my little Yitong? You're all back, what about others?!"

Hearing the loud questioning, the old militiaman turned around slowly, as if awakened from a deep sleep. He opened his eyes and looked at the running old man, his expression gradually twisted, and he suddenly burst out.

"Old Yitong, why are you still alive! Where is my wife? Where is my son? Where is my daughter?! Where are they!"

Old Yitong turned a deaf ear. He approached the old militiaman, just asking loudly.

"Where did my son go?!"

"Your son died a long time ago! He was shot to death by an arrow and fell into the lake, leaving nothing behind, even the corpse was fed to the crocodile!"

Old Yitong was struck by lightning. He stood there sluggishly, muttering to himself.

"Crocodile. Crocodile"

Chivaco rushed forward, a strange light in his eyes. He grabbed old Yitong's skirt, shook his thin body vigorously, and asked ferociously.

"Old man, where is my family? Where is my son? Where is my daughter? Where is my wife?!"

Old Yitong was awakened by the violent shaking. He glanced at Chivako with a gray face, and said with a gloomy expression.

"Chivaco, your family is gone! Your son was taken away by the second batch of conscription masters! Your daughter was sacrificed to the warrior master by the village chief! Your mother-in-law couldn't think about it, she drowned to death two months ago. The body I couldn’t find it, I don’t know where it rotted, and no one looked for it.”

Hearing this, Chivako's eyes widened, his body froze instantly, and two lines of muddy tears flowed silently from the corners of his eyes. Then, he panted violently, trembled violently, and roared violently.

"My mother-in-law is gone, she's gone, gone...Damn it! My son is only fifteen and my daughter is only thirteen! I'm going to kill them!"

Then, a murderous intent appeared in the eyes of the old militiaman. He grabbed old Yitong's neck and asked sharply.

"Old man, where is the village chief? I want to kill him! Kill him!!"

Old Yitong looked in fear at Chivaco, whom he had never seen before. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Seeing this, Chivako let go of his palm a little, and continued to stare fiercely.

"The village chief. He was taken away by the masters of the third batch of conscripts. Who knows where he is now, he might be dead."

Once again the old militia stalled. There was a daze in his eyes, and he lost strength in his hands. After a while, he muttered to himself.

"It's all dead, why don't you die? Why don't you die?"

Old Yitong twisted his neck hard, struggling to get out of Chivaco's loosened palm. He took a few breaths, and when he heard the old militiaman's question, he thought it was him.

"The old men didn't like my old bones, so they saved my life. Besides, being confiscated doesn't necessarily mean that you will die. Your son and daughter may still be alive somewhere in the capital."

"They don't understand anything, how can they survive in this world! No, no, you are right, they are not dead yet, I have to find them and bring them back!"

Having said that, the old militiaman's gloomy eyes lit up again. He looked towards the capital across the lake, which was his only hope and a new goal. Then, he lowered his head, wiped the corners of his eyes with his sleeves, then left Old Yitong aside, and went to the firepit where the militiamen gathered. He was going to discuss with his partners who lived and died together.

Old Yitong stood alone in the corner. He gnawed the corn slowly, squatted on the ground slowly, and then lay down in the mud again, like an old yellow croaker out of the water. Then, he turned over with difficulty, buried his head in the soil, and wept softly.

The old militiaman Chihuaco called up six companions. With flames in his eyes, he said something loudly. Then, Wezti was the first to nod. The other militiamen stood there for a while, before some nodded in agreement, while others shook their heads in reluctance, and everyone fell into a dispute. Xiaoya Yuli didn't care where he was going. He looked at the lake not far away and suddenly found something.

"Look! There are two boats coming up there."

Two of the usual canoes, with erected shields, were evidently a warship, leaning against the edge of the lake. A dozen or so Tarasco warriors jumped off the warship, holding shiny copper spears and sturdy wooden shields, striding indifferently towards the smoke of the village.

"Where did you come from the militia!"

The leading samurai wears a hummingbird kamon costume. After returning from the battlefield, the militiamen already knew a lot. This is obviously a warrior from a noble family.

Everyone looked at Chivako together. The old militiaman bowed his head in silence for a while, rubbed his face with his hands, and then raised his head with a smile on his face. Then, he spoke respectfully with the accent he learned in the north.

"My lord, we are the militiamen from Acambaro state in the north! The Mexica came too fast, and the lords in the north didn't have time to resist, so many of them fled in all directions. We originally followed a turkey lord. , went to the capital to guard. But the old man walked too fast, we didn't catch up, so we scattered here, looking for his traces everywhere."

The hummingbird warrior thought about the turkey's family crest, and it seemed that the fief was indeed in the north. He looked at the bronze spears of the militiamen, then at the age of these people, and nodded slowly.

"Don't go to your master! Now, on behalf of the chief minister, I announce that you have been recruited by Qincong Cancheng to serve the holy three gods and the supreme royal family! Pack up, don't bring any sundries, and follow me now On the road!"

The old militiaman looked at the well-equipped warriors in front of him, and then at the other militiamen. At this moment, everyone nodded obediently. Everyone picked up their spears, followed the warriors to board the boat, and then headed for the "Land of Hummingbirds" by the lake, the capital Qin Congcan. Before leaving, Yauli took one last look at the sack of corn he dropped, then at the figure in the corner, then scratched his head again, and left with everyone.

The desolate village became quiet again, the bonfire was flickering, only the faint cry in the wind. After a while, the crying gradually stopped, and the old Yitong, who was ignored by no one, got up from the ground. He wiped the dirt and tears from his face before bending over and shaking to pick up the remaining sack of corn. He tightly grasped the heavy corn sack, then slowly came to the campfire, squatted down, and picked up the corn cobs that the militiamen had just discarded. Then, he gnawed at the dirt-stained corn residue, like gnawing at the remaining hope, until there was nothing left.

Chihuaco rowed across the lonely lake with the hummingbird warriors. He looked at the fuzzy corpses floating in the water, but he couldn't find the face that accompanied him all his life. He looked at the deserted island in the lake, and memories of the past flooded into his mind. During the dozens of New Years he spent, there would be boats all over the lake, and villagers would come from all directions to trade native products on the small islands in the lake, singing and dancing. The priests of the town will also come here occasionally to preside over grand prayer ceremonies and praise the three gods who protect the Tarasco people.

He once shared with his family the rare joys in these toils, and turned them into a trance at this time. The faint laughter came from the memory, floating in today's wind, as if they were still by their side

The breeze blew away the laughter and the figure, leaving only the desolation of the wind. There were only sparse patrol warships left on the lake, and the warriors and militiamen held their weapons tightly and watched the north nervously. The Mexica scouts had crossed Huayamo and appeared on the edge of the lake, and the dreaded army was not far away.

After sailing for only half a day, everyone came to the lake. Chihuaco woke up from a trance, and in front of him was the capital of the kingdom, Qincongcan City, which was full of people.

He looked at the mighty city, the center of the mythical world. He looked at the towering walls, which were twice as strong as the estuary fort. He looked at the sacred "House of Winds", a group of pyramids that stood for centuries, and a sanctuary where priests lived. Finally, he looked at the majestic "Palace of the Winds", the king's supreme palace, the centerpiece of the kingdom's rule.

The magnificent copper all stands by the lake, unchanged for hundreds of years. This is the most prosperous place in the world in Chivaco's heart, and it is also the last pursuit in his life.

Ah, I'm a little sad... I rub my head.