Chapter 100 Nimrod
Just as Hania's debts piled up, far from the sacred land of Canaan, in the Mesopotamian plains, in Sumer, the land where the two rivers meet, King Nimrod of many kingdoms was flirting with his concubines in his magnificent palace.
Bright lights illuminated the walls, and intricate murals were carved beneath vibrant canopies.
The king was indulging in a life of pleasure when suddenly his attendant entered, startling the pair of swans with intertwined necks.
"Your Majesty, Abram has come to apologize."
"Abram?" Nimrod asked casually, tossing a woman's long hair. "Which Abram?"
"The son of the chieftain of Ur," the attendant stepped forward, and seeing that the king did not stop him, he whispered reassuringly in his ear.
"You just dealt with his troublemaking brother Haran a few days ago."
"So he's the son of the Semitic Tarra." A knowing smile played on Nimrod's lips.
"Leave him there for half a day, then bring him in."
The attendant understood instantly and slowly withdrew.
Seeing the unusual excitement on his face, the concubine couldn't help but ask curiously.
"Your Majesty, who is this Abram?"
"Goodness, how dare you say another man's name in my bed?" Nimrod grabbed her waist and pressed her down onto the bed. The woman giggled, quickly forgetting about it.
She forgot, but Nimrod didn't.
After they finished, he lay on top of the woman, panting, but his eyes held a somber look.
"Many years ago, when my great-grandfather Noah was still a farmer on earth…" He slowly recounted a story.
That year, Noah, having drunk a little too much, lay naked and drunk in his tent, inadvertently seen by his youngest son, Ham.
"What talk of disrespect for one's father being cursed? It's nothing but an attempt to conveniently hand everything over to the Semitic people."
Just because of his grandfather's mistake, his uncle was made a servant, and his grandfather was deeply affected and never recovered.
"I once told my grandfather that life is in one's own hands," Nimrod stroked the woman's long hair, a slight smile playing on his lips.
"Let's see who is whose servant."
Seeing his displeased expression, the woman dared not speak, only quietly leaning against Nimrod's strong chest.
Soon, guards brought in Abram, along with a host of gifts.
"Abram son of Terah bows before His Majesty," the man said with a warm, mellow voice that easily won people's favor.
The woman peeked out, wanting to see what this unfortunate fellow who had angered the king looked like, but Nimrod pressed her down.
The king of Shinar, with his beautiful concubine in his arms, leaned back in his throne, being served by the woman, and looked down at the people below.
"You Ur people have quite the airs, requiring me to send messengers three times to urge you to come."
Having been left waiting for so long, Nimrod's arrival, with his concubine in his arms, was a blatant insult.
But Abram ignored the absurd scene above and apologized again.
"Please forgive me, King Nimrod. Your virtue and prestige are renowned throughout the land; you will surely not hold a grudge against a small people like us."
"Then what brings you, a member of a small people, to see me?" Nimrod asked slowly and deliberately.
Abram did not play dumb. He unfurled the gifts he had brought, demonstrating his sincerity.
"My father is old, and Haran is his youngest son. Please, have mercy on his love for his son, and let Haran return home."
"That's a fine gift," Nimrod accepted the gift, but wasn't about to let it go easily. "Haran disobeyed my orders, and not only that, I've also heard that he tried to persuade your brother Nahor to join you."
"Your Majesty, this is absolutely not true!" Abram looked up in fear.
Nimrod stared at him intently, his eyes like those of a hawk.
"You say it's a misunderstanding? Then why has the whole land of Shinar obeyed my orders, and why have all the people of Shinar participated in the construction of the tower, while Ur has been conspicuously absent?"
"And Haran has gone even further, daring to openly accuse me in public!"
"I dare not, Your Majesty, my brother was rude and acted rashly," Abram said fearfully.
"But why do you insist on building the Tower of Babel?"
Because he wanted to ascend to heaven.
His vanity had inflated his ego.
Ninru, king for decades, considered himself great and omnipotent, which was why he conceived of building such a tower to demonstrate his power.
"Who in the world is more qualified than me?" he declared arrogantly, shoving away the woman clinging to him.
"When I can stand shoulder to shoulder with the sun and moon, all the peoples of the four corners of the earth will submit to my banner!"
"Your wisdom is boundless, and all nations will come to pay homage."
"Besides, how dare a man compare himself to the heavens? Please retract your decree. I am truly terrified that the Tower of Babel will bring natural disasters. But you…"
"Shut up! Abram!" Ningru couldn't tolerate curses, especially from a Semitic. He immediately turned cold and rebuked him.
"I'm letting you off the hook because of your father; after all, he's a favorite of mine, and a shrewd and wealthy merchant."
"I'm grateful for his past generosity."
When Nimrod led a group eastward, he didn't receive support from everyone. Even his own relatives, most of whom still remain in distant Canaan, were not among them. Instead, many Semitic people and descendants of Japheth followed him to reclaim the land; Terah was one of them.
He was a capable man, skilled in business and accounting.
"But since he had a son, he's become increasingly senile," Nimrod said coldly.
"I'll give you one more chance. Soon, I'll select a hundred able-bodied men from your tribe to come to Shinar."
"If you, like Haran, spout nonsense on my construction site, I will have your soldiers thrown in jail."
Abram dared not say anything more. He lowered his head. "Then Haran…"
"Oh, I do have something to say to you about that," Nimrod said, straightening his clothes. "You're a little late." Your brother, frail and unable to withstand the harshness of this place, died a few days ago."
Abram looked at him in disbelief.
"What? You don't believe me?"
"No." "
"Hmm, that's good," Nimrod said, pleased with his tact.
"Don't worry, I've arranged for his funeral. He'll be buried on the border of Ur. You can visit his grave on your way back."
...
This is outrageous!
Abram emerged from King Nimrod's palace, suppressing his anger. The servant who had helped him carry the gifts only breathed a sigh of relief after they left the palace.
"Young Master, why does the sovereign keep making things difficult for us?"
"What kind of sovereign is he?" Abram snapped, his sleeves flying. "He's nothing but an ungrateful wretch!"
"The world originally belonged to my Semitic people. When our ancestor Heber was alive, what was Nimrod?"
"He's nothing but... nothing but..." He was so angry his hair almost stood on end, but his good upbringing prevented him from uttering even harsher words. Come.
"They think my Shem are without talent," he said, a sorrowful expression on his face, his heart filled with shame at his own incompetence.
The Tower of Babel was a massive project, mostly undertaken by slaves. The cruelty and ruthlessness within were unimaginable, yet Nimrod wanted to offer him as a young, promising talent from his tribe to be his slave.
"To compare oneself to the heavens, such an arrogant and haughty man…" He gritted his teeth, a hint of resentment on his face, but being subservient was unavoidable.
He thought of Haran's fate, and tears streamed down his face.
"The world is vast, yet there is no place for us."
Meanwhile, God and Hania had already left Canaan and Jerusalem. They traveled north across the Jordan Plain, following the Euphrates River southeastward.
Soon they arrived at a prosperous land on the other side of the continent.
"Black-hearted angels!" Haniah, still resentful, glared angrily at Yahweh ahead, his face puffed out. Who could have imagined that his journey would leave him with a debt of 99 gold coins in the mortal realm?
The creditor walked calmly, neither too fast nor too slow, as if oblivious to the nagging behind him.
The land of Shinar, where Noah's descendants migrated eastward, found the terrain flat and settled there.
Although the cities of Nimrod were situated on a plain, their walls were made of mud bricks. Mud bricks were unstable and could not last long, thus requiring constant reinforcement. Over time, their city was actually built higher than those of other inhabitants.
Therefore, they also mastered more advanced tower-building techniques than people in other regions.
"Wow, this place is so lively! It seems even more lively than Canaan!" Hania stared intently at everything before her, her eyes gleaming with longing.
God knew the angel was eager to explore, so he didn't hold back and gave him a bag of gold coins to stroll around.
The seraph cautiously accepted the bag of gold coins. "How much interest do you want?" "He learns these things quickly from others," a smile playing on God's eyes.
"I won't take your money."
The talk of borrowing money was just a joke; it was enough to curb Haniya's growing greed. If she really developed such a stingy personality, it would only cause trouble.
Haniya's eyes lit up, and she happily went off to play with the money bag.
God watched her leave, then walked to a tower under construction.
Its foundation was so vast; one could imagine its height.
Up Those at the top reveled in the ever-increasing height of the tower, while those at the bottom complained bitterly about the constant moving.
He stood beneath the Tower of Babel, gazing at this unfinished ambition, his gaze icy.
Haniah returned soon after. He found himself, an angel, lonely and uninteresting; being with Yahweh was much more fun.
He tugged at the sullen-looking silver-haired angel and asked,
"Yahweh, why do the people here all like to put a flag atop their houses?"
Haniah had walked around and found the people here very different from those in Jerusalem. He didn't see a single temple, but many towers.
The people here didn't live in houses made of wood or stone; they seemed to be constantly demolishing and building new houses.
"Those are human totems," God said.
"Totems?"
The Sumerians used sun and moon totems as flags because they worshipped the sun and moon.
"How outrageous! The sun and moon were both created by our God! How can they abandon God and worship the sun and moon!" "
"Man has always been this way."
The ruler of this place was named Nimrod, born with immense strength and unparalleled bravery, revered by many nations.
However, in the eyes of God, "he was nothing more than a hunter." "
"He said.
"Oh, don't be angry anymore."
Haniah was initially angry upon hearing that the people of the plains of Shinar did not honor God, but he found that Yahweh was even angrier than he was, so he suppressed his own anger and instead comforted Yahweh.
"I am not angry," God said coldly.
His tone had changed, yet he said he wasn't angry.
Yahweh was always indifferent; this was the first time he had seen him so provoked in all this time.
It was clear that he cared about the gods.
Haniah felt a surge of warmth and emotion, as if he were looking for a long-lost comrade, and thus grew even closer to Yahweh.
"Yahweh, are you hungry?" he tried to distract him.
"No," God said, "and you are not hungry either." "But we've come all this way, how can we not try some human food?" he whispered. "They say the food here tastes very different from what we have back home."
It was as if he'd eaten too much fine cuisine and was now curious about roadside stalls.
God had no appetite, but he knew that if he didn't satisfy Hania's curiosity, he'd have to listen to the angels nagging him all the way.
It was too noisy.
And right now, God just wanted some peace and quiet.
So they arrived at a famous, luxurious restaurant, outside which flowed a branching river.
"I've heard that passing merchants dine here, using only the finest ingredients." "I don't like this place," Hania said, standing at the shop entrance.
Not far away, the cook was preparing a two-meter-long fish.
Bright red blood oozed out, the distinctive fishy smell mingling with the stench of blood, reaching the angel's sensitive nose.
Hania looked at the fish's lifeless eyes, and even the angel, who disliked meat, felt a pang of pity.
"How could they do this?"
But unexpectedly, Yahweh seemed to think differently.
"Big fish eat small fish, small fish prey on shrimp, shrimp feed on algae, and where do you think the algae comes from? It's nothing but the transformation of big fish."
"Don't you find them cruel?"
"Such is the law of the world. All things are born and die, in a cycle, ultimately inescapable of the five elements. Why should you pity them?" "God said calmly.
Hania, comforted by Yahweh, felt less resistant, but the visual impact remained.
"But... I can't eat like this. Let's go to another vegetarian restaurant," he stammered.
God remained noncommittal, but the waiter at the restaurant entrance kept glancing over, finding the two at the door strange and incomprehensible.
"If you're not going to eat, then leave quickly. One's cold and hard, the other's wearing a ghost mask, talking incessantly at the entrance—what kind of behavior is that?"
"Could it be a competitor trying to cause trouble?"
He took a moment to go inside and tell the owner.
Mammon, who was furiously writing in the ledger, paused, looking up in surprise.
"Are there really such fools?" "
The waiter nodded vigorously.
"It's alright," Mammon said with a smile, dipping his quill in ink. "I also own this vegetarian restaurant."
"No, boss, that's not the point." The waiter wanted to speak, but Mammon waved him off.
"I'm busy, don't bother me with these trivial matters."
"Yes," the waiter said, retreating dejectedly, only to be called back.
"By the way, you haven't forgotten, have you? I'm hosting a distinguished guest in a few days. Have you prepared everything I asked you to?"
"Everything you asked for is ready."
"That's good." Mammon felt relieved for a moment, then suddenly stopped. "Remember to call back the chef who was sent to King Ninglu that day. I want him to personally prepare the banquet."
"You carefully..." "He needs instructions."
"The dishes shouldn't be roasted, fried, braised, or stewed," Mammon said. "Frying is okay—"
"But it should be crispy but not crunchy. He doesn't like food that makes noise while eating. Stews are also acceptable, but they should be tender but not mushy."
"The flavors should be sweet and fragrant. Meat dishes shouldn't be too salty. Vegetables should be washed and blanched in hot water before plating."
The waiter nodded and noted everything down, about to go and give the orders, but before he finished, his boss paused for only a symbolic second before continuing.
"And an aperitif, not too strong. Although he likes it, I'll have a problem if he gets drunk."
"Ah, the meat should be tender veal, head and tail removed, no innards. He doesn't eat that...why? Innards are so delicious!"
"Choose a scaleless fish with large bones. You can add spices to remove the fishy smell, but don't let the spices sink to the bottom of the broth...hmm, let me think of anything else I should pay attention to..."
"Boss," the waiter stared blankly, mouth agape.
"What?" The handsome young man with dark hair raised an eyebrow at him.
"I don't remember."
Mammon was speechless for a moment.
"You're so stupid! You can't even remember something this simple. What's the point of hiring a bunch of idiots like you!"
"I'll give you another list..." He casually cut a piece of parchment, dipped it in ink, and began to sketch. His handwriting was bold and unrestrained, filling a long scroll.
"Prepare according to this. Everything must be the best. Don't worry about the price; I'll pay. Don't forget to have the trading company write a personally signed invoice and bring it back. Understand?"
"Understood! Boss!"
The waiter suddenly had a more objective understanding of the customer's importance.
For such a stingy boss to make such a boastful statement, he must be someone of high status.
I wonder which lady could receive such high treatment.
(You provide the author Danmu's [Hebrew Mythology]: The arduous journey of a world's creation.)