C50 (1/2)
In 1934, the German Palace of the Brown Palace.
Classical baroque office. On the wall was a large oil painting of ”Free Guide to the People.”
A middle-aged man in a well-ironed military uniform was sitting on a gilded chair, focusing on cleaning the pure white orchids on the desk.
He had only a vague idea of money and property, and perhaps the only luxury for him was the real Goblin rug, the classical paintings, and the elaborately decorated flowers.
He carefully pruned off the dead branches of the orchid, skillfully like an artist. No one would have thought that in the near future, he would become a war maniac who would carry tens of millions of lives on his back.
Sitting opposite him was an old man with a sickly face. He was cowering on a stool, as if everything around him was going to swallow him up. He didn't even dare look at the person in front of him with a flower pot in his hand, as if he was a devil hiding in the darkness.
The young officer standing next to the old man took out two books from his briefcase and threw it on the ground.
One book is called ”In the Secret Tibet,” and the other is called ”Darknessover Tibet.”
The old man stared at them, his body trembling like a sieve.
”Theodore. ”If you don't want your family to suffer, tell me the truth.” The young officer said impatiently.
This is Theodore. The old man's face turned pale all of a sudden. If it were not for the handles on both sides of the chair, he would have fallen off by now.
”Trauder, you can leave first.” The middle-aged man behind the orchid finally raised his head, took off his white gloves, and slowly leaned back in his chair.
”Yes, your majesty.” The young officer saluted, turned, and walked out of the office.
The remaining two people were silent for a long time.
”Mr. Ilion,” said Hitler first, ”tell me, do you love your country? Do you love your Germanic compatriots? ”
His body shook violently as if he had been struck by lightning. After a long while, he nodded his head hesitantly.
”Very good, very good,” the Head of State nodded in gratification. ”Then tell me, why are we fighting?”
”For... ”Fight for freedom?” Ilion seemed to be trying to remember the new government leaflets pasted to the streets.
”You're right,” Hitler said, rising from his gilded chair and walking slowly toward Ilion.
”We fight for freedom! The Germanic nation is a great people! We keep the same blood! ”Tell me, will you let him cool down?”
Whether by Hitler's encouragement or fear, Ilion shook his head like a rattle.
”I know a lot of people call me a demon behind my back, but the Jews have stolen our dignity,” Hitler said bitterly. ”Even if the Jews disappear, the British will return tomorrow, and those damned blacks will come the day after tomorrow, and what will become of the Germanic people? — if we don't have strength today, tomorrow we will lose our freedom under the enemy's guns!”
”Only a people with power can stand firm and not fall. ”Mr. Ilion, are you right?” Hitler leaned over and whispered in his ear.
Ilion closed his eyes and nodded.
”You've done well. Now let's talk about your work.” Hitler picked up one of the books from the floor.
”I've read this book many times, and you said that when you crossed Tibet in 1920, you saw a vertical cave — when you threw a stone into a cave, you couldn't hear it fall for a long time. You say that its depth is immeasurable, that it connects to another world — a higher world, and that you have made it an underground kingdom of the Shambala. Many people suspect that you have never been to Tibet. This is just a fictional novel. But it seems to me that you are the one who has truly seen the ultimate mystery of this world. ” Hitler smiled mysteriously:
”You say that you entered the cave and escaped in fear — what did you see?”
Iren held his head in pain, as if he was lost in a horrible memory. He murmured to himself.
”... Darkness... An endless darkness … They... Waiting … ”No one can leave here alive …”
”Perhaps the darkness in your eyes —” Hitler puffed out his chest, his eyes brimming with joy and madness:
”— in my eyes is the dawn of the Germanic people! What's the name of the lama who brought you to the entrance of Chambala? ”
”...” He has no name. ” His eyes were glazed again. He raised his head and said slowly:
”He is the descendant of God. Only God has a name …”
Hitler frowned. ”What's the god's name?”
”...” ”It's called Meng in the morning, La in the afternoon, Tawwa in the sunset, and Turgu in the early morning.” Ilion muttered:
”... Mortal beings have no way of knowing the true name of God … ”
”Claudel!” Hitler shouted, and the young man who had just left opened the door and ran inside in a matter of seconds.
”Lord Head!”
”— Tell Himmler to come here! We have to find Shambala, find the entrance to Aghatha! ” Hitler roared, his voice full of fanaticism.
Before he finished his sentence, Ilyan had gathered up the courage to grab Hitler's hand tightly.
”NO!” Don't go! I can't go... I beg you, no one can pass through this maze! ”
Ilion's eyes widened as he looked at Hitler in despair.
Hitler threw off his hand — he was a germaphobe — and looked at him in disgust. He took up his gloves and wiped his hands vigorously, and said impatiently to Claudel, his secretary, ”Take this man away!”
Claudel picked up Ilion, who had been spread out on a stool, and walked to the door.
Hitler walked to the window, sneered, and said to himself:
”I would like to see what place in this world is inaccessible to my army …”
Winter of 1938, Tibet.
It was a lamasery on a snowline.
Of the 6700 lamas in Tibet, the majority were built on village lines. There were very few temples near the snow line, and very few temples built on the snow line. If it weren't for the fact that they were led by someone familiar, no ordinary person would have been able to find their way here.
There was no golden dome of the Potala Palace, nor was there the five-colored scripture of the Temple of Songzanlin. The temple was lonely and hidden on the cliffs between the white snow, looking from a distance like a piece of manualite left behind on a hada.
At this moment, a young red-robed monk was standing in the snow outside the Lamaism Temple.
With a sharp knock on the door, an old lama pushed open the heavy wooden door. The young monk stumbled through the wooden door, anxiety and anxiety written all over his face. The old Lama seemed to have foreseen what was happening at the foot of the mountain. He turned his head, his eyes as calm as the lake water.