On the soft soil, Seven crouched next to a corpse, touching the dead man’s arm. He felt scriptures on that man’s arm; they were like some kind of birthmarks. It was weird because they were not tattoos, for no tattoo could be felt so distinctly like veins; but if they really were birthmarks, then… this man would be a bigger miracle than the reincarnation of living Buddha. What kind of true god could have scriptures as birthmarks?
However, these lines seemed difficult to understand. They seemed to be carrying so much truth, but were hard to get instantly, as if the truth was hidden behind a piece of silk. To Seven, such stuff was what drugs were to addicts; he was immediately obsessed with it.
