Demon Slayer: Upper 0 seems to be a waste

Chapter 250 Summer and Paper Planes

This is what summer should be like.

Under the scorching sun, in the courtyards, gathered together are energetic young people, forming a small irregular circle in twos and threes, arguing, discussing, playing, and then laughing together. It is as lively as the Flower Street and as noisy as the birds on the branches.

But it was different from the flower streets. The energetic voices of the young people were different from the noise there. They were not harsh, nor did they make people feel annoyed. Instead, they felt a warmth like the scorching sun overhead.

When the wind blows, it is hot.

It was summer, after all, and that was the way it should be. Everything the sun touched was tinged with heat. It was hot, not just from the wind, but from the people as well.

The young men gathered in the yard, and the sound continued to ring out.

Even so, Lin Guang felt nothing real about it. The sun was too far away from him, in every sense of the word, and so was summer.

What does summer look like in my memory? It seems like there's nothing particularly memorable about it. Spring arrives with the wind, the sight of the snow gradually thinning, grass sprouting from the ground, branches sprouting from withered trees, new flowers blooming on their branches, the sight of the frozen lake gradually cracking, a sound of crackling when I jump and step on it. Autumn arrives with pleasant smells: the dampness of dry grass, the sweetness of fruit on the trees, the aroma of ripe crops, the plant-specific scent of crops, the fallen leaves piled on the ground, each one making a crisp sound when I step on them. Winter arrives quietly with the first snowfall, and then everything turns white, indistinguishable from here and there. Every breath freezes my lungs. The snow piles up day by day, until my feet squeak under my feet. Even if I jump high and land on the ground, the snow will envelop me, making no pain.

But what is there about summer? There seems to be nothing worth remembering, nothing unique. A clear summer night is no different from any other night, and even if it rains, it is not special.

The so-called heat, the so-called scorching sun, were too far away from him, so far that Lin Guang had never seen them and had never known them.

He didn't truly know what it felt like to be warmed by the sun, nor did he know the difference between walking under the sun and walking on ground illuminated only by moonlight. A ghost's heart beat, and his blood flowed, but his palms were cold, as was his body. The moonlight provided no warmth, and the night wind only lowered his body temperature. He had no clear sense of the cold when he stepped into the river; it was close to his body temperature, and even the winter snow didn't really make him feel cold.

The wind came through the gap in the open door, the wind coming from outside. Lin Guang stretched out his hand, subconsciously trying to grab something, but he couldn't grab the wind. The wind passed through his fingers, and every place it passed seemed to be stained with the heat of the sun, as if someone was holding his hand, warm and soft, like a furry tail sweeping across his palm. For a moment, it seemed that his hand was also hot.

But that was all. This illusion was fleeting. When I clenched my outstretched hand, I still felt the familiar coldness.

Not only the wind but also the sunlight came through the crack in the door. The sunlight passed through the crack and sprinkled on the ground inside the house, so that the territory it passed through became an absolute restricted area. The boy sat on the ground, approaching the deadly existence at the most dangerous distance. His palms on the ground were not far from the sunlight. This distance made him seem to feel the heat of the sun.

Is this summer?

Around him is a cage made of sunlight, in front of him is a door panel that keeps him safe, and above his head is an eave that blocks the sunlight. He cannot take a step toward the sunlight. His sight replaces his body, passing through the forbidden zone that cannot be entered, peeking at the freedom that belongs to human beings.

The open door revealed a sunlit courtyard, seemingly no different from night, yet completely different. My ears could hear the boisterous voices of the teenagers, their arguments, their laughter, the rustling of clothes, the clatter of shoes, the crash of piled gravel. My eyes could see the illuminated courtyard, the sunlight casting long shadows, identical to those cast by the moon. Papers were folded repeatedly on the floor, and the teenagers' faces were filled with nervous anticipation.

With the raised hands and the sound of the starting signal after the countdown, what was reflected in his eyes was the second color that broke into the blue sky. What should he sigh about first? Was it the blue sky, the pure white clouds, or the two paper planes flying into the distance?

Two paper airplanes were held high and flew out of the boy's hands. Following inertia, they flew into the sky with hope, riding the wind towards the clouds and into the distance.

"Ah, so this is the kind of competition it is."

But he realized it later.

That's what this competition is like.

It's not about being lifted high and then held tightly, it's not about being released carefully across the room, it's not about breaking something and then folding a new one.

This is what a paper airplane should look like.

Things are not meant to take off indoors, and their final fate should not be to crash into the wall in front of them. Even if they are made of folded paper, they should at least try to fly and fly farther, not being trapped in a small room, being held in the palm of your hand, being blocked by walls, being imprisoned by windows, and not having the fate of being discarded after crashing.

Even if you can't really fly into the sky and into the clouds like a bird, you should at least try to fly farther with the wind.

A door seemed to create two completely different worlds. Lin Guang folded the paper that was blown up by the wind and fell to his hand. He had only folded it once and was not familiar with paper or paper airplanes. So what was finally born in his hand was a paper airplane that was neither beautiful nor delicate.

Outside the door are laughter and joy, a courtyard filled with sunshine, and the summer that belongs to mankind. One paper airplane after another is held high. With a command, they wave their arms, and the paper airplanes fly high, carried by the wind to a distant, unknown destination.

Inside the door was the shadows created by the roof, walls, windows, and door panels, and it was the room where the evil spirits lingered. The crude paper airplane that was held up left the boy's hand at the sound of the command, and what was reflected in the boy's eyes was the paper airplane crashing in the sunlight, hitting the floor heavily, and not even being able to pass through the open door.