Wu Xuefeng was Tang Zhaozong's guard, as long as Tang Zhaozong made a request, they would naturally do what Tang Zhaozong asked.

Therefore, Wu Xuefeng took the weapon and fought with Bai Cunxiao.

That Wu Xuefeng used a machete, and Bai Cunxiao brandished his spear and fought with Wu Xuefeng.

Bai Cunxiao said: "One inch long, one inch strong, if you fight with me, you are looking for death." ”

That Wu Xuefeng grinned, and he said: "Every inch is short and every inch is dangerous, I am not afraid of you, maybe you can't kill me, but I can get you!" ”

Bai Cunxiao said: "You can do your spring and autumn dreams!" ”

The two of them are thunder and fire, both sides continue to release big moves, they are also very tenacious, and they are playing real fire.

When Wu Xuefeng and Tang Zhangwei's subordinate Bai Cunxiao were in full swing, they kept using those powerful tricks.

If any of them were to have any worse martial arts, both of them would be killed or injured. It's a pity that Tang Zhangwei and Wu Xuefeng's martial arts are very good, so the two of them are fine.

Tang Zhangwei watched them fight with real fire, so he said to Tang Zhaozong: "Don't let them fight again, if they continue to fight, they may die." ”

Tang Zhaozong said: "It doesn't matter, take your time, they will definitely be fine." ”

Tang Zhangwei said: "You're right to listen to me, I think that Bai Cunxiao is really on fire, don't let them do it again." ”

Tang Zhaozong had to say: "Okay, everyone stop, this is just a competition, don't hate each other!" ”

That Wu Xuefeng and Bai Cunxiao stopped at the same time, and there were fine beads of sweat on their foreheads, indicating that when they were fighting, neither side had preserved their strength.

Tang Zhangwei said to Tang Zhaozong: "You almost made them bleed, and this bloodshed is unnecessary. ”

A thin film flows down the rock. The amount of water is not much, but as long as he licks it patiently for an hour, it will satisfy his need for water for a day. He also found food, namely crickets and swimming snakes, whose heads he pinched off. Swallow them with the bone. He also eats lichens, grasses, and bitter berries. This kind of nutrition is problematic from the perspective of the citizen, but it does not bother him at all. In fact, in recent weeks and months, he has stopped eating human foods, such as bread, sausages and cheese, and when he feels hungry, he eats whatever he can eat. He is not inferior to a gourmet. If it is not the smell of pure disembodied bodies, but something else, then he does not covet it at all. He also doesn't seek comfort, and he is satisfied with the bunk even when it is arranged on a shiny rock. But he found something better.

It was at the place where he found the water that he found a natural tunnel that zigzagged into the mountain, and after about thirty meters it was blocked. At the end of the tunnel was so narrow that Grenouille's shoulders touched the stones, and at the same time it was so low that he could only stand on his back. But he can sit, and if he is cricked, he can even lie down. This is more than enough to satisfy his requirements for comfort. This place has the advantage of being open after you let it go: at the end of the tunnel curve, the day is as silent as night, the air is salty, damp and cool. Grenouille immediately smelled that no creature had ever been in this place. When he took the place, a feeling of infinite dread came over him. He carefully spread the thick woolen blanket on the ground, as if covering an altar. Then he lay down. He felt like he was in heaven. He lay fifty meters deep in the desolate mountains of France, as if in his own grave. He had never felt so safe in his life, even in his mother's womb. Even if the outside world was on fire, he wouldn't be aware of it. He began to cry silently. He didn't know. Who should he thank for being so happy?

After that, he went out of the tunnel, just to lick the water, urinate and hunt for scorpions and snakes. They were easy to catch at night, as they returned to the slabs or small caves, which he could spot with a sniff.

In the first few weeks, he went to the top of the mountain a few more times in order to sniff the horizon. But it soon became more of a cumbersome habit than a necessity, for not once did he smell any danger. So he eventually stopped such tours. Whenever he had done what he needed most urgently for the sake of his life, his only concern was to get back to his grave as soon as possible. Because he was living in this tomb. That is to say, for more than twenty hours a day, he sat completely motionless on a thick woolen blanket at the end of the stone path in complete darkness and utter silence, leaning slightly against the pebbles, his shoulders between the rocks, enjoying himself. 、。 People have seen people looking for solitude: penitents, losers, saints, or prophets. They like to live in seclusion in the desert and live on locusts and wild honey. Some also live in caves, canyons, or squatting in cages – which are a bit sensational – on poles and floating high in the air. They did this to draw closer to God. They practice hard by being alone, and they repent through loneliness. They act with the conviction of living a life that God loves. They spend months and years in solitude waiting for God's will, and then they want to spread it among people as soon as possible.

None of this is appropriate for Grenouille. He had nothing to do with God in his thoughts. He does not repent, does not expect higher inspiration. He was only in seclusion for his own, the only pleasure, just to live alone. He immersed himself in a life where he was no longer disturbed by anything, and he found it beautiful. He lay like a corpse in a rock tomb, barely breathing, his heart barely beating, but he lived a strong and bohemian life, and no one in the outside world had ever lived like this.

This place of bohemianism was—nothing else—his inner empire, and from the moment he was born, he kept in mind the contours of everything he ever smelled. In order to raise his mood, he first summoned the earliest, most distant smells like magic: the hostile, vaporous stench of Madame Gjallar's bedroom; the scent of her hands, whose skin seemed dry; Elder Tyrrier breathed like vinegar; The hysterical nurse Bissière's body was filled with the smell of hot sweat like a mother; the stench of the cemetery of the Holy Child; The ferocity of the mother. He was immersed in disgust and hatred, and his hair stood on end with pleasant horror.

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