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墨書 Inktalez
I shook myself awake, recalling the steam train ride he took me on that day. I had decorated the room in the Old Inn to be pitch dark; I liked this darkness, both sad and exciting. The chefs were boiling dumplings in their pots, and she had come here alone, captivated by a book called "Western Shadows." The wanted posters were everywhere, plastered on the walls or blowing around like tumbleweeds. The door of the room across from us creaked open, and a man retrieved a key from under the carpet. By then, the pot was bubbling over with foam, and the chefs fished out the dumplings, inviting us to sit down. She was very warm to us and polite to the other guests as well. Was it because we were foreigners? After all, this wasn't our hometown; dumplings were just fillings wrapped in some kind of flour from who knows where. One of the disposable chopsticks from the cabinet broke, so I decided to eat a small banana from the table first. The skin of this short banana was too thin, so he simply ate it with the skin on, and I followed suit. The dumplings were filled with meat; surprisingly, frozen food could still be found in the West. If it weren't for the circumstances, I would have preferred steamed dumplings.
Today was not as hot as yesterday; the chefs brought in a large bottle of ice water, claiming it was spring water from a mountain stream. Where in the West could there be such cool spring water? But aside from our surprise, the other guests seemed unfazed. When she opened the refrigerator, I caught a glimpse of several more large bottles inside, all different kinds. I swallowed one dumpling after another without feeling anything. It was just one bowl, yet by the time I finished, I was hungry again.
The man across the street walked out, and that image won't leave my mind. I really want to steal something, money? Not necessary, just some clothes and food would be enough. But we need to catch the next train soon and leave this hot place.
We came here to pursue a fugitive, no, we are not police. After discussing with En, we decided to pursue one of the fugitives on the wanted list. The reward may not be high, but the danger is not high either. We obtained two pistols and some bullets from the black market. We will take the next train to the interior, where there are rich mineral resources and once experienced a huge gold rush. But now the resources are depleted, leaving only the remnants of gold diggers and mine owners from the last century.
For those fugitives, it is an excellent place to hide.
In the West, as long as you have money, there's nothing you can't do. Some illegal smugglers have reached a deal with long-term fugitive criminals who have been hiding there. The smugglers are responsible for transporting food and other goods for them, while the criminals provide security along the way or eliminate some business enemies for the smugglers. Over time, a black industry chain has formed here, gaining a notorious reputation. On the surface, everything seems calm, but in reality, the entire West has long been divided by various forces, reminiscent of the ancient times when the mountains were ruled. Some are not fierce tigers but cunning little henchmen, who survive by borrowing their reputation and influence in various cracks. Those lucky enough join a gang to make a living, while those unlucky ones get caught by the police or end up dead in gang fights. For the people here, tomorrow is just a hope, not a certainty.
It seems that not all red wine is like fruit juice, no wonder those celebrities can sip a glass for hours. Hey, where did you get this bottle of rum? When I opened it and took a sniff, it had a grape flavor.
"This is not for sale."
He poured some into the cup, swirled it around, then poured it out. When he handed it to me, it was exactly one-third full.
"Smuggled?"
"Along with the guns."
This wine is indeed rich. As soon as I brought it close to my nose, the aroma wafted into my nostrils on its own. It really shouldn't have been opened in the car; the whole car was filled with this scent for a moment. I quickly opened the window, and outside was an endless wilderness, with the scorching sun hanging in the distance. After he finished the wine in one gulp, he threw the wine glass out of the window, and I saw it shatter on the rocks, reflecting the sunlight. The wine was gone, but the lingering fragrance remained in the glass.
This wine is really good, but I still prefer grape juice.
My legs are a bit weak, so I squat on the ground. The alcohol is slowly starting to take effect. I dreamt that I was driving a burning pickup truck, speeding on a hill like a fugitive. I also dreamt of a fair-skinned blonde girl, who looked like her, as fair, with hair... hers was brown due to malnutrition. The girl bit me like a rabbit, her body getting hot, probably because of the weather. I played a piano piece in a room of ghostly blue, with the fluctuating scales and the swelling rain outside, full of hope. Leaning against the wall, I saw her graceful tears. The TV flickered with terrifying static, fading into silence.
There is something cruel and dark, as if it is being lightly and meaninglessly evaded. Speaking of this, it seems like there is something important, but I can't quite remember. Is it a promise or something else...
No wonder they can drink a glass of wine
And savor it all day...
This wine... this wine,
Indeed rich.
But I still like...
Grapes...
Juice.
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