A Report on a Pilot's Notes Found in 1994.

 

I am an archivist. Due to the confidentiality of my job, all materials in the archive cannot be published.  What you are about to read is an archive that I found when I sorted out my files in 1994 and that I have not been able to forget.  It comes from a lifetime study of a World War II pilot. To make this file public today I spent five years of extremely hard work.

 

During these five years, I have made my requests to the authorities, hoping to let the authorities know that the archive lacks practical value and that it gives me the opportunity to make the archive public.

 

In 1999 I finally got my wish. However, the conditions imposed by the authorities are that no name (including a pseudonym), nationality, location, and time accurate to the month can be announced. This small condition, of course, I immediately accept. In my report, I mainly recorded the pilot’s findings, passages, and results. I have omitted from this report the pilot's research materials weighing up to 1,200 pounds.

 

The name of the file is: 1946-1993 Searching for a Village in a Snowy Mountain

 

The following copy from the pilot's notes.

Note: *The name, nationality, location and time accurate to the month are omitted.

 

On 1945**, the war just ended. I did my last flight tour above the longitude * latitude*. I found that there was an unusual black spot in the snow mountains below. As soon as I got closer, I realized that was a group of eagles that were tearing at a corpse. It turned out to be a human body.

I made a landing, the eagles fled.

The body had been torn apart beyond recognition, and the internal organs had been eaten clean. I could only guess his identity by his clothes; he might have been a farmer.

There was a canvas bag next to him. I opened the bag which was full of manuscripts, small texts densely written on the front and back of each piece. There was only one page written with huge letters saying: "If you find me, please take away my bag and tell the tribe that I have done my best. Please forgive me." The ink in the last few words was progressively lighter, probably those last few words were written as he ran out of ink.

In addition to these papers, there were also a few bread crumbs, an empty ink bottle, and a pen without a tip but no information about his identity.

I prayed for him and buried him, and carved a cross on the side of the pine tree.

On 1945**, I finally finished the reading of the dead man’s manuscript. The contents are shocking. Here I will transcribe the contents of some of it:

 

"I don't know if I can reach the top of the holy mountain. I'm dying of hunger and cold. One day the sun will not rise because of me. Mother, I'm sorry, brothers, I'm sorry.”

 

“Every morning when the sun's first golden light passes over the top of the holy mountain and shines on the face of the mother who her son was heading to the holy mountain, the mother's tears are like gold. Although I do not know which day’s sun is which of my brothers, the sun is rising every day. It must be my 13 brothers who have all become the sun. I thought I would be a sun one day like my brothers were.

 

I really tried my best, but I couldn't reach the top of this mountain. I must have done something to make the holy mountain unwilling to accept me. When the nights come, I prayed to the holy mountain in the snow. When the sun rose the next day, I knew one person must have reached the top of the holy mountain and became the sun. I had hope again. ”

 

I am so surprised that there is still a place that exists with such primitive beliefs. I calculated that there are 367 pages of notes. These 367 pages of dense notes are the confession of the man alone on the snow mountains, full of struggle and remorse. It can be known from the notes that this man's village believes that the sun rose every day because one of their people climbed to the top of the mountain and became the sun.

I shall find the village.

 

The above quotes are from the pilot's notes. He began his search for the village which was described in the dead man’s notes. It was a 48-year long nonstop search. Unfortunately, he did not find the village at the time of his death, and he committed suicide in 1993 when he had mentally collapsed. That was the year before I discovered the pilot’s achievement.

 

The following is the last record written by the pilot before his death:

 

“The 367-page manuscript have hunted me every day. I have already memorized the thickness of every stroke on each line of each word. 48 years have passed and I haven’t found the village. I thought if someone could find the village based on my research, more or less my efforts would not have been wasted.  But today I realized that my life is a joke. All the files I have been collecting are worthless. When the electricity went out tonight, I lit a candle to continue my study. The lights were dim and I fell asleep holding a few pages of the dead man’s manuscript. Since my hand was too close to the candle, the pages almost caught fire before I woke up.  And I came to notice that the ink on the part of the manuscript heated by the candle had disappeared, and another message had appeared. This message is no longer in tiny words, but made of very thick lines. I thought it was a map. I was in ecstasy to have found it by accident. I carefully heated up the manuscript in my hand and found that it was not a picture, but that each manuscript contained only a huge word. "Hello" "there" When I saw these two words, my ecstasy grew...But when the new message on these 367 pages were revealed, I fell to hell.

My soul is broken.  All the fire in my heart went out. ”

 

End of quotation.

 

This was the last word left by the pilot.  Before he committed suicide, all 367 pages of manuscript were shredded, and I spent a great deal of effort repairing the 367 pages.

When I first saw the 367 words on the 367 pages of manuscript, I was speechless.

 

The 367 words say this:

 

 

Hello there

Congratulations to you on your final discovery

I hope you have not spent too much time on revealing my secret

This is an invented story

The dead man was just a body I found

I dragged him up to the mountain

To make the story appear real

I handmade all the objects on the dead body

Including clothes and the manuscript

Even the ink was handmade

The invisible ink has taken me a lot of thought

I hope you like this trick

The necessary conditions for the development of the invisible ink

is no less than 0.44 grams of sweat per square inch on the manuscript

With Beeswax smoke

With Twenty-two percent of oxygen

And 1823 degrees Fahrenheit

If you have been wearing gloves to handle these manuscripts

Or you don’t have a candle made from beeswax

You can never reveal the hidden texts

I designed this story for anyone who can read

So as long as you are literate

You have a great chance to fall into the set up

No such a village ever existed

No such person ever existed

There were just words

And a dead body

Buy I hope you won't take this personally

To make you feel better

Whoever you are

I chose a random place to put the body

I cannot determine if someone can find this “story”

So please don't feel this is a trap I made for you

It is by chance

It is the Creator who set you up

And don’t feel like the Creator is treating you cruelly

Maybe He just

Let things randomly happen without considering who and when

Like what I have been doing

I designed a total of 24 stories

21 out of 24 have been completed

Maybe all 24 stories will be found

Maybe only some will be discovered

Maybe not a single story will be seen

But like I said

It doesn't matter to me

So

You have no way to find another 23 stories through this story

But I can tell you

I sequenced and titled all the 24 stories

The story number of this one is 22

The title of this piece is

The Meaning of Life

 

 

 

 

 

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