Chapter 24 Mixed Feelings

Perturabo tried his best to keep his breathing at a level that was just enough to supply blood circulation, but even so, he couldn't adjust his heart, which was beating faster and faster.

He grabbed the cushion, and the tiny raised threads of the embroidery sank into the gaps between his pale nails, as if he couldn't resist the non-existent tremors and shaking if he didn't hold something tightly.

He still didn't see Morse.

Perturabo put his hands back on his legs, looking around absent-mindedly, listening to various noises.

Some wind sounds, many people's buzzing words, the tyrant and his children's whispered conversations, and more spectators who gathered one after another. The noise occupied his mind, and he occasionally closed his eyes for a short time to isolate his senses, but this only brought him a more acute hearing, and the clamor and watching that anxiously grasped his nerves all over his body.

He knew he couldn't complain about the noise around him, which was what he wanted. Although the number of people watching far exceeded his expectations, it was good for him to gain the respect of the Lokos people.

But he suddenly found that he no longer had absolute expectations for whether he could be liked by the people here.

"Perturabo?" A warm male voice called his name in his ear, and he immediately responded: "What, Andos?"

"I would like to ask, what is the theme of your work?" Andos said slowly, with the same tone as he did a month ago. The prince tilted his head slightly towards the audience seats and added: "They are far away... I will not cheat intentionally."

"You will know later." Perturabo did not want to say more. He put his two stiff hands together, and then he found that both hands were a little cold.

Perturabo remembered every time Andos raised his eyebrows and thought during the meeting that day. At that time, he saw that Andos had an unusual judgment on him. He could remember that face with a simple smile, all his hesitation, affirmation, appreciation and thinking, as well as his eyes that seemed to be looking for something and his extra hidden psychological activities.

From Andos's deliberate avoidance of shortcomings and only cautious praise, he did not get the satisfaction of being praised, but a nameless frustration and helpless anger.

So he challenged him at that time and announced his decision. To this day, Perturabo still does not regret this choice.

Andos did not mind his temper, as if nothing in the world could touch the bottom line of this prince.

He said: "If you are willing, I want to tell you the theme of my work."

"What?"

"The statue of the goddess Hephoni, she symbolizes life and blessing." Andos said. There is a frightening calmness and sincerity in his ordinary face.

"Do you know that I don't like the religion?" Perturabo said uncomfortably. He subconsciously raised his tone and used an impatient refusal to end his trembling mood. Andos's kindness was almost annoying.

"Then forget the concept of God. She symbolizes blessing. I have been thinking that since you came to Lokos, we have never given you a gift. If you are willing to accept..."

"No need!" Perturabo turned his head excitedly. When did he need these people's offerings? Could these gifts from the Lokos people, the eyes of the Lokos people on the whole street, make him more outstanding?

His growth is his own priority, and his achievements will also come from himself.

Perhaps the sound from his vocal cords was too loud, and Kaliphon moved his eyes.

Perturabo stopped talking suddenly. When he knew that his face was reflected in Kaliphon's bright eyes, his swirling anger gradually calmed down.

He clasped his hands and changed his sitting position on the cushion.

The words he had just said carelessly were now repeatedly circulating in his mind. He thought of a hundred reasons to regret and make his answer better.

Maybe he should adjust his tone, restrain his emotions, and speak clearly.

Perhaps he should calm down, think carefully, and pass on his principles to the people who listen to him with a meticulous chain of logic.

Perhaps he could do better, better, and show his excellent qualities more, just like the trial a month ago.

Only he himself knew that he had calculated several times in advance how to throw the forged sword into the fire.

He won the respect of everyone at that time, and Perturabo believed that this also included Morse.

He should not relax today.

His chaotic mind was gradually gathered by him, leaving only a little flickering flame, perhaps waiting for fuel, perhaps waiting for wind and oxygen to illuminate him again.

He stretched his limbs, moved his shoulders, straightened his back, turned his head, and listened to the host in the light yellow robe read out the various tedious words for today's opening.

As the host introduced, countless pairs of eyes moved to him. He swallowed his saliva, and a hot illusion penetrated the muscles all over his body. He couldn't hear what the audience was saying, and could only hope that they gave the praise they deserved.

After just a few seconds, Perturabo raised his chin and avoided eye contact with his manners.

Surrounded by the voices from bottom to top, several judges began their orderly evaluations.

Perturabo heard a variety of praises, the repetition of words and the unity of tone were almost chilling. They were not praising the work itself, but his identity.

He thought he would be happy to receive praise, but he was not. His heart was trembling violently, not out of anxiety, but this time it was indeed born from the anger of being insulted.

In contrast, he realized how precious Andos's sincerity was. What he opposed a few minutes ago, he now wanted to get back.

Then he saw Andos's statue.

The statue had been exposed to the sky for a long time, but he really saw it now.

Whether it was the flat forehead of the statue, the long wavy hair, the plump figure, the soft body, or the silk robe and skirt, they were all within the reach of the craftsman. Even if the statue's solemn and quiet expression and the tenderness that overflowed from the body were also taken into consideration, Perturabo dared to say that Andos's statue was by no means better than his work.

But when he stared at the statue, he heard the echo of Andos's words. His rich imagination helped him imagine the various expressions of the craftsman himself when Andos was carving.

He saw a man full of concern and thought, pouring his careful and focused thoughts into every mark that fell. This concentration looked at him through the eyes of the statue, like melody swaying in the limbs, music trembling in the intoxicated blood.

In this understanding and witnessing, he felt himself constantly melting.

"What's the matter?" Andos asked.

"Your skills are no worse than mine." Perturabo said, "and... no, nothing."

He stood up. "I'm going to end this despicable play."

Because he saw a blessing.

And these people who were talking and playing their well-arranged flattery tricks shamelessly insulted his work and the blessing dedicated to him, which was also maliciously insulting him.

This is the only way to soothe the anxious thoughts in his heart.