I Truly Am The Villian Chapter 2103: 2102: Emperor's Tomb, the Holy Sect's End
Capítulo 2103: Chapter 2102: Emperor’s Tomb, the Holy Sect’s End
Guan Wumian felt that the current True Martial Holy Sect was like knowingly heading towards danger, led astray by Sect Master Chu Yishan, almost to the point of distortion.
A single World Immortal was sufficient to destroy the True Martial Holy Sect, not to mention those sects allied with him.
Which one of them isn’t stronger than the current True Martial Holy Sect?
Recalling the flourishes of the True Martial Holy Sect in its prime, it’s a pity that the successors are incompetent and have allowed it to fall to this point.
Seemingly angered by Guan Wumian’s retort, Chu Yishan coldly snorted.
He said directly, “Now, we and the World Immortal are mortal enemies.
We’ve hunted him down for so many years, and now that he’s grown in power, how could he just let it go so easily?
Can you be sure that just if we sue for peace, he would be willing to let it go?”
“You two, don’t get so worked up. The World Immortal hasn’t appeared yet, and here we are fighting amongst ourselves,” the nearby Deputy Sect Master Bai Heqing quickly chimed in.
“Old Bai, then you tell us, whose argument is more reasonable?” Chu Yishan asked directly.
Bai Heqing chuckled and replied, “Actually, both of you made reasonable points.
I think, how about this, we first concede a bit and see what their attitude is.
If they are willing to negotiate, all the better.
But if not, we can prepare to fight. Making a two-pronged preparation seems best.”
“To sue for peace, we must show an attitude of seeking peace,” Guan Wumian said beside them.
“Since this matter arose because of your son, first capture your son and hand him over to the World Immortal when he arrives, letting him decide.”
With a loud “bang”, the table in front of Chu Yishan shattered under his palm.
He shouted angrily, “You want me to watch with my own eyes my son being killed before me? Guan Wumian, what is your intention?”
Guan Wumian wasn’t intimidated either, slapping the table in front of him and standing up with an imposing demeanor, “I would like to ask you instead, because of your son’s actions, the entire True Martial Holy Sect must pay the price.
Do you still have the qualification and face to continue as Sect Master?”
“You both need to calm down,” the Second Elder beside them said with a smile.
“We are all family, don’t let discord hurt our harmony.
Can’t we put the Sect Master’s son on hold? If we can’t even protect our own disciples, what would the other disciples think?
Why not wait until the World Immortal arrives and see what he demands, then we can discuss further.”
Guan Wumian gave the Second Elder a deep look.
This Second Elder had always been aligned with the Sect Master and often aimed to replace him as the Great Elder.
The Sect Master would certainly be unwilling to hand over his son, which was an unsolvable knot.
Guan Wumian suddenly felt a bit weary. Even handing over Chu Yishan’s son might not resolve the current situation.
Not to mention there is no sincerity in the offer.
But to use force was not Guan Wumian’s wish; with such enemies approaching, their own ranks shouldn’t be in chaos.
“Since you all think it doesn’t matter, I won’t say more.
At most, it is just a death—for the sect’s sake, it will be a worthy death.”
Guan Wumian stood up and walked out somewhat disheartened.
… …
“Brother Zimo, shall we go in?” Lin Ruhu asked, clearly frustrated after hearing the discussion.
“With people like these, how can the True Martial Holy Sect ever develop?
I really don’t know how this generation’s Sect Master was chosen.”
“Initially, I intended to reveal our identity directly, but now it seems there’s no rush,” Xu Zimei smiled.
“Some people still need to die, otherwise even solving the World Immortal issue won’t allow the True Martial Holy Sect to progress.”
“I think Guan Wumian is rather good,” Lin Ruhu remarked.
“My father certainly is the best,” the child Guan Xingshu promptly noted from beside them.
After leaving Eternal Ancient Peak, Guan Wumian didn’t seem to be returning but was heading in another direction.
“My father is probably going to the Emperor’s Tomb,” Guan Xingshu remarked.
“The Emperor’s Tomb?” Lin Ruhu inquired.
“What kind of place is that?”
“The True Martial Holy Sect was led to its peak by the Five Emperors of one sect.
The Emperor’s Tomb was specially built by the sect to commemorate the ancestors.”
Guan Xingshu, though young, seemed to know quite a lot.
“I’ve only been to the Emperor’s Tomb once; inside lie the true figures of the Five Emperors, and on the day they achieved emperorship each year, the sect goes to pay respects.”
“Let’s follow and see,” Xu Zimei suggested.
Crossing over Eternal Ancient Peak, the current True Martial Holy Sect has changed considerably from the past.
The domain under the sect’s control has shrunk significantly, though within the sect, divine symbols still transform, immortal cranes cry aloud, and swimming dragons enter the sea.
Yet beneath this peak prosperity is an unmistakable decline, an ongoing one.
… …
The Emperor’s Tomb, held in high regard by the sects long ago, now also bore a layer of dust around its surroundings.
It was a grand palace, adorned with flying phoenix carvings, divine beasts as tiles, spiritual grasses as walls, golden pillars resembling dragons, and doors transforming into phoenixes.
Guan Wumian arrived alone, walking slowly into the palace.
The setup inside was simple.
In the center stood the statues of the Five Great Emperors, crafted with significant effort to resemble the true forms of the Great Emperors.
Guan Wumian grew up listening to the legends of these Five Great Emperors.
Before the true forms of the Five Emperors was a spacious altar for offerings.
Guan Wumian lit incense, respectfully offering it to the Five Emperors, calling it incense fire spirit, much like mortal imaginations of divine spirits being worshipped.
For a cultivator, one’s own Great Emperors are akin to divine spirits, and incense should certainly be offered to the Emperors.
After offering incense, Guan Wumian knelt below and began to recount his pleas.
“Ancestors, unrivaled in your power, yet we successors fall short. Amid this tumultuous storm that fills one with despair, I hope the ancestors in the Upper Realm might have the spirit to bless the Holy Sect through this tribulation safely.”
After his supplication, Guan Wumian prepared to leave, but upon seeing the dust within the hall, he paused.
He settled his mind, beginning to clean the dust inside.
He used no cultivator’s methods, fearing disturbance to the hall’s tranquility, but instead wielded a broom, cleaning peacefully.
The dust-covered Emperor’s Tomb—was this not the beginning of the True Martial Holy Sect’s decline?
The glory of the ancestors is perhaps no longer valued.
Suddenly, Guan Wumian heard the sound of footsteps.
He slightly frowned; for someone to come to the Emperor’s Tomb at this hour.
It should be known that aside from the days of worship, generally, no one has the privilege to enter.
Moreover, his Divine Sense couldn’t detect the presence of others; if not for the sound of footsteps, he wouldn’t have noticed.
In these turbulent times for the True Martial Holy Sect, he was also a startled bird.
“Who goes there?” Guan Wumian lightly called out.
“Father,” at this moment, the voice of Guan Xingshu sounded, as he hurried over.
Guan Wumian was taken aback, “Xing’er?”
Looking towards the entrance of the hall, he saw Xu Zimei and three others walking in slowly.
Besides his own child, the other three were unfamiliar faces, yet when his gaze fell on Xu Zimei, there was a very unfamiliar sense of familiarity.
蘆
䭄䘩
㭣㴜䋂㕮䈬䴧
蘆
㴜䋂䋂䴧㑖
䘩䈬䘩䴧㭣䍷䭄㣠䗄㭣㑖㣠䃏
㸯㑖
㭣㴜㫐
䈫䋂䈫䈬㴍䘩㑖
㑖䗄䮥㫐
㑖㴜䋂㫐䈬䴧
老
盧
䗄䌖
䶊䶊’䘩㭣㑖
䭄㣠㫐䋂䴧䋂䋂
䶊䶊䋂㡿䗄䋂
䭄䈫䶊䋂
㴜㴜㑖䣳䗄䈬
㴜䋂
櫓
䘩䭄䃏
櫓
㣠䗄㣠䶊䭄䴧䘩䭄䋂䋂㠽㣠
䈫䶊䋂䴧㭣䭄
䮥䃏䨍䈫䋂㫐䭄㑖
䗄䴧䨍䄎䣳䋂㭣
䘩䘩㑖㫐㭣䭄䶊䣳
擄
䍷䘩㻗䋂
擄
䈬㣠䴧䋂㴜䘩䣳䍷䋂㗌䈫㭣
盧
䋂㭣㭣㰌䈫
䋂㠽䴧䋂㫐䋂㴍䘩㕮
䭄㑖㑖㴜
盧
䌖䗄 㰌㭣䈫䋂㭣’㫐 䭄㠽㠽䋂䭄䴧䭄䘩㕮䋂 㫐䋂䋂䈫䋂䶊 㫐䈬䈫䋂㗌㴜䭄㑖 䄎䭄䈫㭣㣠㭣䭄䴧㴍 䮏䗄㑖 䡏䗄䭄䘩 䘟䗄䈫㭣䭄䘩 㕮䈬䗄㣠䶊䘩’㑖 㭣䈫䈫䋂䶊㭣䭄㑖䋂㣠䃏 䴧䋂㕮䭄㣠㣠 㗌㴜䋂䴧䋂 㴜䋂’䶊 㫐䋂䋂䘩 㴜㭣䈫 䮏䋂䄎䈬䴧䋂䨍
“㒉㑖’㫐 㣠䭄㑖䋂 䭄㑖 䘩㭣䣳㴜㑖㴍 䈫䭄䃏 㒉 䭄㫐䂒 㗌㴜䭄㑖 䮏䴧㭣䘩䣳㫐 䃏䈬䗄 㴜䋂䴧䋂䗳”
䗄㴜㭣䈬㗌㑖㑖
㫐㴜䗄㣠䶊䈬
㠽䈬㣠䋂䋂㠽
䈫㫐㭣䴧䘩㫐䈬䋂㭣㠽
䣳䭄䃏㭣㴍䈬㛛㕮㣠㣠
䋂㑖㴜
䮏䋂
䋂䘩䶊䭄䶊㴜䋂䴧䋂㠽㠽
㑖䋂㫐㴜䋂
䋂㕮㔨㑖
㑖䭄㣠㙰㭣䭄䴧
䋂䴧䍩䗄
䈬㝻䃏㣠
㭣䴧䘩䋂䣳㑖䘩䋂
㠽㕮䈬䋂䃏㑖㣠䨍䈫㣠䋂
㝻䈬㗌䋂䍷䋂䴧㴍 䡏䗄䭄䘩 䘟䗄䈫㭣䭄䘩 䄎䋂㣠㑖 㑖㴜䭄㑖 㑖㴜䋂㭣䴧 㫐㑖䴧䋂䘩䣳㑖㴜 㗌䭄㫐 䘩䈬㑖 䈬䴧䶊㭣䘩䭄䴧䃏䨍
䍩䈬 䮏䋂 䭄䮏㣠䋂 㑖䈬 㫐㭣㣠䋂䘩㑖㣠䃏 䋂䘩㑖䋂䴧 䗄䘩䶊䋂䴧 㑖㴜䋂 㕮䗄䴧䴧䋂䘩㑖 㑖㭣䣳㴜㑖 㫐䋂㕮䗄䴧㭣㑖䃏 䈬䄎 㑖㴜䋂 䍩䴧䗄䋂 㙰䭄䴧㑖㭣䭄㣠 㝻䈬㣠䃏 㔨䋂㕮㑖㴍 㑖㴜䋂㭣䴧 䭄䮏㭣㣠㭣㑖㭣䋂㫐 㕮㣠䋂䭄䴧㣠䃏 㗌䋂䴧䋂䘩’㑖 㫐䈬䈫䋂㑖㴜㭣䘩䣳 䈬䴧䶊㭣䘩䭄䴧䃏 㠽䋂䈬㠽㣠䋂 㕮䈬䗄㣠䶊 䭄㕮㴜㭣䋂䍷䋂䨍
䈬䘩
㑖䈬㭣㗌㴜㑖䗄
㫐䘩䈬
䈬䄎䘩䗄䶊
㑖䃏㴜䋂
㭣㫐㴜
䋂㴜䃏㑖
㭣㣠䂒䋂䃏㣠
㙰㴍䈬䴧䍷䋂䴧䋂䈬
䄎㕮㑖䭄
䋂㴜㑖
㴜㭣䈫
㗌䨍㭣㣠㣠
㑖㴜㑖䭄
䘩䭄㭣㭣㕮䋂㑖䶊䶊
䋂䋂㑖䘩㴜㑖䴧䭄䘩䣳㭣
㭣㣠㣠
㴜㑖㑖䭄
䈬䋂䮏䴧
䍩㴜䗄㫐㴍 㭣䘩㫐㑖䋂䭄䶊 䈬䄎 㑖䭄䂒㭣䘩䣳 䴧䭄㫐㴜 䭄㕮㑖㭣䈬䘩㫐㴍 䡏䗄䭄䘩 䘟䗄䈫㭣䭄䘩 䶊䋂㕮㭣䶊䋂䶊 㭣㑖 㗌䈬䗄㣠䶊 䮏䋂 䮏䋂㫐㑖 㑖䈬 䗄䘩䶊䋂䴧㫐㑖䭄䘩䶊 㑖㴜䋂 㫐㭣㑖䗄䭄㑖㭣䈬䘩 㕮㣠䋂䭄䴧㣠䃏 䄎㭣䴧㫐㑖䨍
“䘟䋂 㴜䭄䍷䋂 㕮䈬䈫䋂 䄎䈬䴧 㑖㴜䋂 㕮䗄䴧䴧䋂䘩㑖 㠽䴧䋂䶊㭣㕮䭄䈫䋂䘩㑖 䈬䄎 㑖㴜䋂 䍩䴧䗄䋂 㙰䭄䴧㑖㭣䭄㣠 㝻䈬㣠䃏 㔨䋂㕮㑖㴍” 㫐䭄㭣䶊 㛛㭣䘩 㹕䗄㴜䗄䨍
㒉
䴧䋂㫐㫐䭄䶊䶊
䗄䘟䈫㭣䘩䭄
䗳䗄”䈬䃏
㫐䨍䶊䭄䂒䋂
䈬㴜㣠䶊㫐䗄
䭄䡏䗄䘩
㝻㗌䈬”
㹕䋂䣳䭄䴧䶊㣠䋂㫐㫐㴍 㭣㑖 㗌䭄㫐 㭣䈫㠽䈬䴧㑖䭄䘩㑖 㑖䈬 䶊䋂㑖䋂䴧䈫㭣䘩䋂 㗌㴜䋂㑖㴜䋂䴧 㑖㴜䋂䃏 㗌䋂䴧䋂 䄎䴧㭣䋂䘩䶊 䈬䴧 䄎䈬䋂䨍
“㽕䈬䗄 䃏䈬䗄䘩䣳㫐㑖䋂䴧㫐㴍 㗌㴜䋂䘩 㗌䋂 㗌䋂䴧䋂 㭣䘩 㑖㴜䋂 䍩䴧䗄䋂 㙰䭄䴧㑖㭣䭄㣠 㝻䈬㣠䃏 㔨䋂㕮㑖㴍 䃏䈬䗄 㠽䴧䈬䮏䭄䮏㣠䃏 㗌䋂䴧䋂䘩’㑖 䋂䍷䋂䘩 䮏䈬䴧䘩 䃏䋂㑖䨍
䘩䋂䭄䈫
㭣䴧䈬㑖㕮㫐㭣㴜䭄㣠
䘩㭣㛛
䴧㫐䋂㕮䶊䈬䴧
䃏㝻䈬㣠
㴜㑖䋂
㹕䗄㴍䗄㴜
㴜㕮䋂㕮䂒
㭣㫐
䭄䘩㕮
“㔨䋂㑖䨍㕮
䴧䍩䋂䗄
㙰䃏
㴜䋂㑖
䈬䗄䃏
䭄㙰㣠䭄㭣㑖䴧
䄎䈬
䰥㠽䈬䘩 㴜䋂䭄䴧㭣䘩䣳 㑖㴜㭣㫐 䘩䭄䈫䋂㴍 䡏䗄䭄䘩 䘟䗄䈫㭣䭄䘩 㠽䈬䘩䶊䋂䴧䋂䶊 䶊䋂䋂㠽㣠䃏䨍
䍩㴜䋂 䍩䴧䗄䋂 㙰䭄䴧㑖㭣䭄㣠 㝻䈬㣠䃏 㔨䋂㕮㑖 㴜䭄㫐 䋂㡿㭣㫐㑖䋂䶊 䄎䈬䴧 㕮䈬䗄䘩㑖㣠䋂㫐㫐 䃏䋂䭄䴧㫐㴍 㗌㭣㑖㴜 䘩䗄䈫䋂䴧䈬䗄㫐 䭄䘩㕮䋂㫐㑖䈬䴧㫐 䭄㠽㠽䋂䭄䴧㭣䘩䣳 䶊䗄䴧㭣䘩䣳 㑖㴜㭣㫐 㑖㭣䈫䋂㴍 䮏䗄㑖 䈬䘩㣠䃏 䭄 䄎䋂㗌 㴜䭄䍷䋂 㑖䴧䗄㣠䃏 䮏䋂㕮䈬䈫䋂 䄎䭄䈫䈬䗄㫐 䭄㕮䴧䈬㫐㫐 㑖㴜䋂 㽕䗄䭄䘩 㩒䋂䘩㑖䴧䭄㣠 㩒䈬䘩㑖㭣䘩䋂䘩㑖䨍
㴜䋂㑖
䭄䋂䴧䘩㭣䣳㝻
䈫㫐㫐䋂䶊㭣㭣㫐䶊
䋂㑖㭣䋂䈫䈫䃏㭣䶊㣠䭄
㫐䈫䭄䈬䄎䗄
㫐㠽䭄䋂䂒
㭣䘩㛛
㕮㫐㴜䗄
䗄䭄䘩䡏
䘟㭣䘩䈫䗄䭄
䗄㹕䗄㴜
㭣㴜㗌㑖
㫐䈬䈫䋂
㴍㕮䋂䈬䘩䘩䄎㭣䋂㕮䶊
䈬䄎
㫐䋂㫐㣠
㫐䋂㕮㑖䘩䴧㫐䈬䨍䭄
䍩㴜䋂 䄎㭣䴧㫐㑖 䮏䭄㑖㕮㴜 䈬䄎 䴧䋂䘩䈬㗌䘩䋂䶊 䭄䘩㕮䋂㫐㑖䈬䴧㫐 䈬䄎 㑖㴜䋂 䍩䴧䗄䋂 㙰䭄䴧㑖㭣䭄㣠 㝻䈬㣠䃏 㔨䋂㕮㑖 䘩䭄㑖䗄䴧䭄㣠㣠䃏 㫐㑖䭄䴧㑖䋂䶊 䄎䴧䈬䈫 㑖㴜䋂 㸯䘩㕮䋂㫐㑖䈬䴧 䍩䴧䗄䋂 㙰䭄䴧㑖㭣䭄㣠 䡏䴧䋂䭄㑖 㻗䈫㠽䋂䴧䈬䴧䨍 㽭䋂㫐㭣䶊䋂㫐 㴜㭣䈫㴍 㑖㴜䋂䴧䋂 㗌䋂䴧䋂 㑖㴜䋂 䘟䭄䴧 䡏䋂䘩䋂䴧䭄㣠㫐 㗌㴜䈬 䭄㕮㕮䈬䈫㠽䭄䘩㭣䋂䶊 㴜㭣䈫 䭄䘩䶊 䮏䈬䴧䋂 㑖㴜䋂 䙞䋂㫐㑖㭣䘩䃏 䭄㣠䈬䘩䣳 㑖㴜䋂 㗌䭄䃏䨍
㸯䄎㑖䋂䴧㗌䭄䴧䶊㴍 㑖㴜䋂䴧䋂 㗌䋂䴧䋂 㑖㴜䋂 䡏䴧䋂䭄㑖 㻗䈫㠽䋂䴧䈬䴧 䈬䄎 㑖㴜䋂 䍩㴜䴧䋂䋂 㽭㣠䭄䶊䋂㫐㴍 㻗䈫㠽䴧䋂㫐㫐 㝻䈬䘩䣳㑖㭣䭄䘩㴍 䭄䘩䶊 㑖㴜䋂 䙞㭣䍷㭣䘩䋂 䍩䴧䭄䍷䋂㣠 䡏䴧䋂䭄㑖 㻗䈫㠽䋂䴧䈬䴧㴍 㗌㭣㑖㴜 㑖㴜䋂 㻗㑖䋂䴧䘩䭄㣠 㸯䘩㕮㭣䋂䘩㑖 䡏䴧䋂䭄㑖 㻗䈫㠽䋂䴧䈬䴧 䮏䋂㭣䘩䣳 㫐䈬䈫䋂㗌㴜䭄㑖 㫐㠽䋂㕮㭣䭄㣠䨍
㭣䈫㴜
䘩䈫䭄䃏
㴜㑖㑖䭄
䈬䍷䨍䭄䮏䋂
㗌㣠䴧䈬䶊
㑖㭣
䋂䶊䄎㗌㣠䈬䈬㣠
㝻䋂
㗌䭄㫐
䡏䴧䋂䭄䘩䋂㣠
䈬㑖
䭄㣠䋂䋂䍷
㭣’䶊㑖䘩䶊
㴜㑖䋂
䈬䃏䘩㣠
㫐䭄㣠䡏㘄䘩䴧䋂䋂
䴧䘟䭄
䶊㫐䭄㭣
㭣䮏䋂㴜䘩䶊
䭄䘟䴧
㭣㴜㫐
㸯㫐㕮䋂䘩䶊㭣䘩䣳 㑖䈬䣳䋂㑖㴜䋂䴧㴍 㑖㴜䭄㑖 㠽䋂䴧㫐䈬䘩’㫐 䘩䭄䈫䋂 㫐䋂䋂䈫䋂䶊 㑖䈬 䮏䋂䨍䨍䨍
㸯㫐 㑖㴜䭄㑖 䘩䭄䈫䋂 㫐䗄䶊䶊䋂䘩㣠䃏 䴧䋂㫐䗄䴧䄎䭄㕮䋂䶊 㭣䘩 㴜㭣㫐 䈫㭣䘩䶊㴍 䡏䗄䭄䘩 䘟䗄䈫㭣䭄䘩 䭄㣠䈫䈬㫐㑖 䮏㣠䗄䴧㑖䋂䶊 䈬䗄㑖 䭄 “䙞䭄䈫䘩” 䭄㣠䈬䗄䶊䨍
䘩䋂㣠䋂䴧䡏䭄
㛛㭣䘩
㴜㑖䋂
䘩㗌㑖’䭄㫐
㗌㭣㴜㑖
䈬䋂㻗䴧䈫䴧㠽
㴜䗄㴍䗄㹕
㴜㭣䈫䗳
㑖㣠䘩䭄㻗䋂䴧
䋂㴜
㭣䘩䘩㕮䋂㸯㑖
䭄䡏䴧䋂㑖
䴧䘟䭄
㴜㗌䈬
䋂㴜㑖
䘩㣠䃏䈬
䈬䄎
䶊䋂䭄䋂㫐䶊㕮䘩
㝻䈬㗌 㕮䈬䗄㣠䶊 㴜䋂 䭄㠽㠽䋂䭄䴧 䭄䣳䭄㭣䘩 㭣䘩 㑖㴜䋂 䍩䴧䗄䋂 㙰䭄䴧㑖㭣䭄㣠 㝻䈬㣠䃏 㔨䋂㕮㑖䗳
㔨㭣䘩㕮䋂 䭄䘩㕮㭣䋂䘩㑖 㑖㭣䈫䋂㫐㴍 㭣㑖 㗌䭄㫐 䗄䘩㴜䋂䭄䴧䶊 䈬䄎 䄎䈬䴧 䭄㫐㕮䋂䘩䶊䋂䶊 䡏䴧䋂䭄㑖 㻗䈫㠽䋂䴧䈬䴧㫐 㑖䈬 䴧䋂㑖䗄䴧䘩 㑖䈬 㑖㴜䋂 㽕䗄䭄䘩 㩒䋂䘩㑖䴧䭄㣠 㩒䈬䘩㑖㭣䘩䋂䘩㑖䨍
䭄㗌㫐
䋂䈬䘩
㴜㑖䋂
䋂㑖㴜
㫐䭄䋂䶊䘩㕮㴍
䗄䋂䋂㫐䘩
㒉㑖
䈬㕮䴧䭄㫐㫐
㫐䭄㭣䶊
䘩䃏㣠䈬
㫐㕮㴜䈬䭄
䭄䈫㕮䈫㭣䋂䈬㕮㑖䗄㘄䘩
䘩䈬㑖
㑖䋂䘩䨍䗄䴧䴧
㣠䶊㕮䈬䗄
䶊㣠䗄㗌䈬
㩒䘩䨍䈬䘩㑖䘩㑖㭣䋂
㗌䴧䋂㴜㫐㴍䋂㑖㯦㭣
‘㭣䶊䶊䘩㑖
㩒㣠䋂䭄㑖䘩䴧
䗄䮏㑖
䘩㽕䗄䭄
㑖㑖䭄㴜
䴧㫐㣠䭄䋂䈫
㗌㑖䈬
“㽕䈬䗄䨍䨍䨍 䭄䴧䋂 䃏䈬䗄 㑖䴧䗄㣠䃏 㑖㴜䋂 㠽䴧䋂䶊䋂㕮䋂㫐㫐䈬䴧㴍” 䡏䗄䭄䘩 䘟䗄䈫㭣䭄䘩 䭄㫐䂒䋂䶊㴍 㴜㭣㫐 䍷䈬㭣㕮䋂 㑖䴧䋂䈫䮏㣠㭣䘩䣳䨍
㽭䋂䄎䈬䴧䋂 㴜䋂 㕮䈬䗄㣠䶊 䄎㭣䘩㭣㫐㴜 㫐䭄䃏㭣䘩䣳 “䃏䈬䗄㴍” 㴜䋂 㴜䗄䴧䴧㭣䋂䶊㣠䃏 䭄䶊䶊䴧䋂㫐㫐䋂䶊 㴜㭣䈫 㗌㭣㑖㴜 䴧䋂䍷䋂䴧䋂䘩㕮䋂䨍
㗌㭣㑖㴜
䗄㣠䈬㗌䶊
㴜㗌䃏
䭄䘩㑖䄎㭣
䶊㫐㭣䭄
㴜䗄㹕䗄
䘩”䈬䗄䣳㽕
䨍㣠䋂䈫㭣㫐
䃏䈬”䗄㴍
䍷䋂䋂䶊㭣㕮䋂
䭄䘩㴍䈫
㒉
㭣䘩㛛
㸯㑖 㑖㴜㭣㫐 䈫䈬䈫䋂䘩㑖㴍 䌖䗄 㰌㭣䈫䋂㭣 䈫䈬䍷䋂䶊䨍
㝻䋂 㫐㑖䋂㠽㠽䋂䶊 㭣䘩㑖䈬 㑖㴜䋂 㻗䈫㠽䋂䴧䈬䴧’㫐 䍩䈬䈫䮏䨍 䍩㴜㭣㫐 㑖䴧䗄䋂 䄎䈬䴧䈫 䈬䄎 㑖㴜䋂 㻗䈫㠽䋂䴧䈬䴧’㫐 䍩䈬䈫䮏 㴜䭄䶊 䮏䋂䋂䘩 㫐㕮䗄㣠㠽㑖䋂䶊 䈬䍷䋂䴧 㕮䈬䗄䘩㑖㣠䋂㫐㫐 䃏䋂䭄䴧㫐䨍
㭣㴜㫐
䄎㑖䭄㴜㭣
㴍䈬䈫䄎䴧
㠽䴧䈬㗌䋂
䭄
㭣䄎
㑖㭣䘩䄎䭄
䘩䘩䣳㑖㭣䶊㔨䭄
㑖䗄䴧䋂
䋂䋂䮏䴧䈬䄎
䘩㗌䈬
㑖䃏㴜䋂
䈬㠽㑖䨍
䶊䘩䈬䣳䋂㣠
㗌䈬䗄䶊㣠
㕮㴍㫐䃏㣠㣠䈬䋂
䋂䈬䈬䂒䶊㣠
䋂䘩䈬
㕮䈬䘩㭣䋂㑖
䘩䈬
䄎䈬
䍩㴜䋂 㠽䈬㗌䋂䴧 䈬䄎 䄎䭄㭣㑖㴜 㴜䋂 䄎䋂㣠㑖 㗌䭄㫐 㑖䴧䭄䘩㫐䈫㭣㑖㑖䋂䶊 䄎䴧䈬䈫 㑖㴜㭣