C50 Wedge

In 1934, the German Palace of the Brown Palace.

Classical baroque office. On the wall was a large oil painting of "Free Guide to the People."

A middle-aged man in a well-ironed military uniform was sitting on a gilded chair, focusing on cleaning the pure white orchids on the desk.

He had only a vague idea of money and property, and perhaps the only luxury for him was the real Goblin rug, the classical paintings, and the elaborately decorated flowers.

He carefully pruned off the dead branches of the orchid, skillfully like an artist. No one would have thought that in the near future, he would become a war maniac who would carry tens of millions of lives on his back.

Sitting opposite him was an old man with a sickly face. He was cowering on a stool, as if everything around him was going to swallow him up. He didn't even dare look at the person in front of him with a flower pot in his hand, as if he was a devil hiding in the darkness.

The young officer standing next to the old man took out two books from his briefcase and threw it on the ground.

One book is called "In the Secret Tibet," and the other is called "Darknessover Tibet."

The old man stared at them, his body trembling like a sieve.

"Theodore. "If you don't want your family to suffer, tell me the truth." The young officer said impatiently.

This is Theodore. The old man's face turned pale all of a sudden. If it were not for the handles on both sides of the chair, he would have fallen off by now.

"Trauder, you can leave first." The middle-aged man behind the orchid finally raised his head, took off his white gloves, and slowly leaned back in his chair.

"Yes, your majesty." The young officer saluted, turned, and walked out of the office.

The remaining two people were silent for a long time.

"Mr. Ilion," said Hitler first, "tell me, do you love your country? Do you love your Germanic compatriots? "

His body shook violently as if he had been struck by lightning. After a long while, he nodded his head hesitantly.

"Very good, very good," the Head of State nodded in gratification. "Then tell me, why are we fighting?"

"For... "Fight for freedom?" Ilion seemed to be trying to remember the new government leaflets pasted to the streets.

"You're right," Hitler said, rising from his gilded chair and walking slowly toward Ilion.

"We fight for freedom! The Germanic nation is a great people! We keep the same blood! "Tell me, will you let him cool down?"

Whether by Hitler's encouragement or fear, Ilion shook his head like a rattle.

"I know a lot of people call me a demon behind my back, but the Jews have stolen our dignity," Hitler said bitterly. "Even if the Jews disappear, the British will return tomorrow, and those damned blacks will come the day after tomorrow, and what will become of the Germanic people? — if we don't have strength today, tomorrow we will lose our freedom under the enemy's guns!"

"Only a people with power can stand firm and not fall. "Mr. Ilion, are you right?" Hitler leaned over and whispered in his ear.

Ilion closed his eyes and nodded.

"You've done well. Now let's talk about your work." Hitler picked up one of the books from the floor.

"I've read this book many times, and you said that when you crossed Tibet in 1920, you saw a vertical cave — when you threw a stone into a cave, you couldn't hear it fall for a long time. You say that its depth is immeasurable, that it connects to another world — a higher world, and that you have made it an underground kingdom of the Shambala. Many people suspect that you have never been to Tibet. This is just a fictional novel. But it seems to me that you are the one who has truly seen the ultimate mystery of this world. " Hitler smiled mysteriously:

"You say that you entered the cave and escaped in fear — what did you see?"

Iren held his head in pain, as if he was lost in a horrible memory. He murmured to himself.

"... Darkness... An endless darkness … They... Waiting … "No one can leave here alive …"

"Perhaps the darkness in your eyes —" Hitler puffed out his chest, his eyes brimming with joy and madness:

"— in my eyes is the dawn of the Germanic people! What's the name of the lama who brought you to the entrance of Chambala? "

"..." He has no name. " His eyes were glazed again. He raised his head and said slowly:

"He is the descendant of God. Only God has a name …"

Hitler frowned. "What's the god's name?"

"..." "It's called Meng in the morning, La in the afternoon, Tawwa in the sunset, and Turgu in the early morning." Ilion muttered:

"... Mortal beings have no way of knowing the true name of God … "

"Claudel!" Hitler shouted, and the young man who had just left opened the door and ran inside in a matter of seconds.

"Lord Head!"

"— Tell Himmler to come here! We have to find Shambala, find the entrance to Aghatha! " Hitler roared, his voice full of fanaticism.

Before he finished his sentence, Ilyan had gathered up the courage to grab Hitler's hand tightly.

"NO!" Don't go! I can't go... I beg you, no one can pass through this maze! "

Ilion's eyes widened as he looked at Hitler in despair.

Hitler threw off his hand — he was a germaphobe — and looked at him in disgust. He took up his gloves and wiped his hands vigorously, and said impatiently to Claudel, his secretary, "Take this man away!"

Claudel picked up Ilion, who had been spread out on a stool, and walked to the door.

Hitler walked to the window, sneered, and said to himself:

"I would like to see what place in this world is inaccessible to my army …"

Winter of 1938, Tibet.

It was a lamasery on a snowline.

Of the 6700 lamas in Tibet, the majority were built on village lines. There were very few temples near the snow line, and very few temples built on the snow line. If it weren't for the fact that they were led by someone familiar, no ordinary person would have been able to find their way here.

There was no golden dome of the Potala Palace, nor was there the five-colored scripture of the Temple of Songzanlin. The temple was lonely and hidden on the cliffs between the white snow, looking from a distance like a piece of manualite left behind on a hada.

At this moment, a young red-robed monk was standing in the snow outside the Lamaism Temple.

With a sharp knock on the door, an old lama pushed open the heavy wooden door. The young monk stumbled through the wooden door, anxiety and anxiety written all over his face. The old Lama seemed to have foreseen what was happening at the foot of the mountain. He turned his head, his eyes as calm as the lake water.

The young monk followed the old monk through the rows of prayer boxes. The last rays of the setting sun fell over the eaves onto the snow, melting two long footprints.

The main temple's main hall was empty, without any buddhist statues. A group of calm looking old monks sat on the ground, their bodies hunched over. Beside them were some small bone bowls with colorful sand inside.

In the middle of the hall was a very, very old Rinpoche.

His skin was as dry as weathered dead wood, and no one could tell his age. He was dressed in an old-fashioned robe with a red monastic robe. He wore a crown on his head, and in one hand he held a string of unknown prayer beads. In the other he held a pestle, and he was chanting some incomprehensible inscriptions.

"Master —"

The young monk kneeled on the ground and sobbed, "Those heretics colluded with some of the monks and found the entrance to Aghatha. Our people died and the blood converged into a river in the Tangula Mountains …" "Wuuu..."

"They have brought iron vehicles and weapons, and they are going to blast open the entrance of the Shambala with cannons... They took the scriptures and the magical equipment, and they destroyed the fucking pile... Very soon, they will enter … "

"Child... "Come..."

The High Master extended his withered hand, and the young Lama crawled over the great hall. The High Master placed his hand on the top of his head.

"Those people you saw were not fated to be people. "It is not time yet, even if we force our way into the Shambala, without the map, we will only be forever lost in the labyrinth."

"Master, where is the map of the maze?"

The High Scholar slowly raised his hand and pointed at the group of old monks sitting on the ground.

Amidst them, there was a set of Mandala sand paintings that were about to be completed.

The Mandala, also known as the Altar City, was translated into vernacular into Tibetan Buddhism to gather energy in the training hall. The Mandala was wrapped in a circle shape, symbolizing the universe. There were four entrances on each side to the outside world.

The ancient bowls beside the old Lama were filled with different colors of sand, and each color of sand was handmade from a special kind of stone: red is agate, yellow is gold, white is pearl, blue is lapis lazuli, black is charcoal, green is turquoise … There were a total of seven colors. They scooped out the colored sand with their spoons, filling the last pattern in the center of the Mandala.

The young man looked at the sand paintings on the ground carefully. These Lama's description of Mandala s was different from what he usually saw. Behind the four entrances of the circular world, there was actually a seven-level, seven-level, seven-barrier, seemingly endless maze.

And in the middle of the Mandala maze was a closed door with a golden lotus drawn on it.

"This... "This is the map?" The young man exclaimed in a low voice.

The Master shook his head.

"..." Child, this is only a part of the map, "the Grand Master slowly said." This is the time wheel Mandala, a map of the Shambala, the God's Underground Country … This is where we came from... "

"Then... "Where is the other part of the map?" The young monk asked.

"Do you see the four entrances outside the Mandala?" The High Master said, "Those are the four entrances to the Shambala. Millions of years ago, our yellow prophets brought the time wheel Mandala here, and from then on, we guarded this entrance …

"As for the other part of the map, it is kept by the red prophet. They came out from another entrance, and in the land on the other side of the world, they guard the secret of the maze …"

"From then on, the sun is our moon, the night is their day — from then on, we have to use the power of the heart to purify this murky era, day and night …" the Master said, his head held high and trembling.

The young monk did not pay any attention to the master's gatha. Instead, he silently stared at the sand painting on the ground.

The old monks of Altar City, instead of drawing a draft on the ground, did it as if they had painted it thousands of times, as if they were writing down the familiar world view in their heads.

The last lotus petal was complete.

The young man was stunned. This was the most gorgeous Mandala sand painting he had ever seen in his entire life.

The next second, the old lama stood up and opened the door of the hall, which had been closed.

"No!" The young monk cried out.

The wind blew in along with the snow, his voice was instantly drowned out by the wind, causing all the Mandala on the ground to be scattered into nothingness.

"Life is originally from nothing to nothing. Colourless and formless, all forms are empty."

The Grandmaster's bell pestle rang in his hand.

"Everything was flourishing, but there was only a handful of fine sand. Money, power, status — it's all an illusion, don't you see? Go back and tell those who sent you that Shambala is not a tool for dominating the world. They are not qualified to enter the city of God. " Master said indifferently.

The young monk felt as if he had been struck by lightning. His feet gave way and he collapsed in front of the master. His forehead hit the ground, and within two strikes, he was bleeding profusely.

"..." Honorable Rinpoche, forgive my offense. I told them that everything in the Shambala is just an empty legend. However, they do not believe me and they … "The soldiers promised me that if I could put the ten thousand word flag on Aghatha's land, my brother would become the next Dalai Lama …"

"Forget it …" Master shook his head.

"When you sell your soul for money and power, you can no longer stay. There is not an inch of land in Tibet that can accommodate you. "

"I can't go back empty-handed! If I don't bring what they want, they will come here. They won't let you off … "

"I've lived long enough …" The Master closed his eyes.

"It has been over a thousand years … "I'm already very tired, I don't want to wait for my prophecy to come true …"

At the same time, the elders in the hall all sat cross-legged as if they had the tacit approval of their master, closing their eyes and chanting the Rebirth Spell.

"..." When the Iron Bird flies in the sky, when the Iron Horse gallops on the ground, the Armageddon will come; the Tibetan will be displaced, the descendants of Turgu will reach the land of the Red Man, and they will once again return to the Kingdom of God … "

The High Master repeated the prophecy he had made a thousand years ago, and died with the old monks in the great hall.

Only the young monk with tears streaming down his face remained, kneeling on the ground and not moving for a long time.

The last rays of the setting sun disappeared beneath the snowy line.

— —

Theodore. Theodore Illion, a travel writer, published Insect Tibet in the Secret Tibet in 1937, followed by darknessover Tibet. He emphasized that he had arrived in Tibet around 1930 and had met a lama who called himself Turgut Turgut, who had taken him to a cave that was said to be the entrance to an underground city called Chambala. But because the story that Ilion wrote was so bizarre, many people questioned whether he had ever been to Tibet. But Hitler believed so deeply in his novel that he planned three Nazi missions to Tibet.

Lotus birth: the founder of Tibetan Buddhism, records that he has lived for more than 500 years, and records that he has lived for more than 1000 years. In the eighth century A.D., lotus warriors made prophecies [when iron birds fly in the air and iron horses gallop on wheels, the Tibetan people will spread the earth, and the Buddhist magic will reach the land of the red man], and in the second century A.D., Hopi, the Indian Hopi, made similar prophecies].

If you have a globe at your side, try digging a hole in the Hopi's Indian soil, running vertically through the center of the earth, and coming out of Lhasa, Tibet, on the other side.

The Hopi language is about 40 percent similar to Tibetan, except that all words are semantically reversed, the Hopi pronunciation of "day" is Tibetan of "night", the Tibetan pronunciation of "day" is Hopi of "night", and many other words, such as love and hate, joy and happiness, are the same. Other examples are not given.

The appearance and living habits of the two races are very similar because some content is more sensitive and people like Baidu so they can Google it.