Chapter 1045:

Kane slowly knelt down and looked directly into the cat's eyes. About ten yards away.
Kane turned and looked at Fairy Boy. The man knelt on the ground and pointed the rifle at the cat's head. The woman squatted and waited behind him, holding the rifle tightly.
Kane looked back at the cat and moved his head slowly. He could see the huge wagging tail moving back and forth.
Why don't men shoot? Kane asked himself. Why should he wait like this?
Time is suspended.
Kane looked back at Fairy Boy. You are crazy, he thought. You have a rifle in your hand, you...
Then he saw sweat dripping from the man's face, and his staring eyes lost their attention due to fear. The man's body was trembling, thinking: He is going to take the rifle out of his hand, he is...
The woman yelled. "Kill him! Kill him-" The rifle exploded in her hand, and the bullet went around in the air. There was a tingling pain in Ken's shoulder. The cat was a roaring, crazy thing, gleaming black that swept the air.
The air dissipated with the sound of the rifle, the scream of the woman and the roar of the cat. Kane waited, as if this was the dream he was watching. The cat jumped up for the woman, and now she was entangled with black and white paws, so Kane only saw a rolling scream.
The woman didn't make a sound anymore, but her body was broken and bleeding, the cat squatted down again, the black coat was dotted with red, and her orange eyes were frantic.
Kane blinked and realized that Fairy Boy was scattered beside him, a bullet passed through his head, and his hand was touching the unfired rifle.
Kane thought about the rifle, I couldn't do it. too slow. I will put those paws in before I can even touch them.
The cat clings to the ground and its muscles are in bunches.
Kane thought, I will work hard, his hand slowly moved towards the rifle, like a floating feather. Jump, he said silently to the cat. I can not do it
"Grittle?" It sounded like a flute.
The cat was motionless.
"Grittle?"
The cat slowly stood up, backed up, its tail trembling. The green hands slapped together and the cat turned and disappeared.
Kane laid his palms flat on the ground, supported himself, and looked at the coming characters. The fog seemed to disappear, and he could see the green skin and the big blinking eyes solemnly looking out from under the hood of the gray cloak more clearly.
The pastor Jianjian wanted to know. Come out of the temple? He said to himself, I don't know there are Venusians here, although this is only a small disclosure, as if he suddenly knew that there are more men than women on Venus, but he was surprised and impressed by this. "Okay," he said, grinning at them when they stopped by his side. "Ok."
He knelt, still smiling, looking at the loose arm of the gauze. He shook his head in surprise. He opened his eyes and inspected the blood flowing from the wound on his shoulder. "Okay," he repeated, standing up.
The woman was in a twisted shape on the wet ground, while the man lay very still. Kane looked from one to the other. "Yes, yes," he said loudly.
He turned to the gray-white Venusians and found their eyes staring at him in an affectionate manner. One of them reached out and touched Kane's shoulder above the broken arm. The others moved onto the bodies of the men and women, bent over, and floated with delicate green hands.
Pray? Kane wanted to know, watching these movements. He shrugged. He can't think about it for long.
The mist evaporates quickly. Kane raised his head, thinking he could see a sharp outline. Then suddenly, on a high place, a golden temple appeared, a towering yellow beautiful spire gleaming, and it was showered by the brilliant sun.
Jian Jian's face turned to a strange sun, the dazzling sun exuding bright life through the leaves. Kane knew that the cloaked figures were kneeling, praying with messy voices, their hands reaching out to bright visitors who didn't often come.
What are they talking about Kane asked, smiling strangely. What are they talking about? Crawl? sun? The most valuable gem on Venus? Is that what they worship in the golden temple? Kane looked at the man, then at the woman. Did they find it from Earth and Mars? sun? He felt the laughter start again, as if someone else was laughing. But his mouth opened wide, his teeth gleaming in the sun, and he laughed for a long time, hoarse laughter.
"It's here," he said, and he walked over to the man's body. "This is your gem. Fairy boy, have you seen it?" He pointed to the sky. "Give it to her," he said with a smile. "No? Then I'll give it to you. How about that?" He turned and walked towards the woman slowly, staggering. "Here," he said to the woman's staring eyes. "Here, do you know?"
He looked at her face, covered by the shadow of a big vine tree. He stretched out his hand to pull the leaves away, so that the sun was completely shining on her white face. "There! Take it! From Charles to you, through me. It's not beautiful, so big, so brilliant, so..." The laughter hindered him from speaking, and he would feel tears falling down his face.
The pale green hands held him so that he would not fall. They moved him to the temple. Kane looked at the big eyes around him and felt his hands guiding him. He couldn't stop laughing, only he hoped that God could, because it made the pain worse. And he couldn't take it anymore.
The lips of a green face moved. "Witch?" the voice said, the word difficult to pronounce.
"Take a rest?" Kane said, between his now sure laughs, he was crying now. "Yes, yes," he said, trying to wipe away the tears. "Oh yes. Rest..."
The pale green hand stretched out again, palm down, waved downward, destroying the evil. Then put them in a cup and slowly rise, as if the purity has been raised to the top of the golden spire, where it burns with brilliant sunlight. The feet stepped silently, and the character knelt down and circled a fist-sized ball. "It's great," said the flute-like voice. The other said. "It's great," said a dozen voices. With both hands moving, the silver ball is no longer sullen, but full of pure sunlight, making it sparkle like a thousand diamonds. The lips moved silently. A cat whimpered somewhere and then fell asleep. be quiet.
Criticizing Lucian as one of the modernists is a frequent criticism, but in fact, he is close to our time because all ancient people are the closest to him. He shared a discovery with Petronis that there are literary materials in the degenerate and changeable life every day-from the eye, personal color and complexity are better than strictly abstract poets. He replaced the tradition respected by his father with a more vivid and relaxed observation than the naturalist's notes. He puts the world under the light of truth. Because human vanity is a constant factor at all ages, there is rarely a page in Lucian's works that is filled with the breath of ancient times. His characters are now as familiar as those in the second century, because he unravels the stupid entanglements of mankind with his ruthless determination and never turns a blind eye to his true qualities. His interest is as fresh as his penetration. His curiosity has not changed at all. Apart from Cicero in the history of literature, this is the time in history that we met a writer whose uninterrupted activities include the world. When others declared themselves poets, historians, and philosophers, Lucian appeared as a literati. If he had lived today, he would have edited a newspaper, wrote important articles, and showed his name to the public in the magazine. If he avoids shortcomings, he has the qualities of a journalist. One of his words is not often used because of immorality. His judgment is not compromised by universal connections; his style is still his own, suitable for expressing personal opinions. But he pointed out that such types and events can be issued immediately. If it is a perennial appeal, to study him, one must be convinced that literature and news are not necessarily divorced.
This industry is new, and with the joy of innovators, Lucian has never tired of inventing new types. Romance, criticism, irony-he has all of them. With the delicacy and restraint in Poison and Donkey, he proved that he can handle this story. His apprenticeship as a sculptor was properly trained, which gave him a taste and sense of art, which he admired deeply. In fact, he is one of the art critics, and he pursues art in an unknowingly way of his legacy to the world. Yes, he remained silent about the technical practices of the Greeks. Indeed, he made us deeply ignorant of Zeus' art, and if he was not like a letter writer, he might reveal his secrets. But he found opportunities to express elegance in paintings and sculptures. We will forgive a thousand shortcomings in order to seek inspiration for beauty, such as Sosandra’s smile: in literary criticism, he is in a more reliable position, here He also left the past behind. He is very knowledgeable of Greek poetry; he has Homer in his heart
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