Now let's talk about the second girl I slept with at that particular time, and frankly, when I talk about the deceased, I have more or less resistance in my heart, and it is even more difficult to talk about a girl who was taken away by death at a young age. Because of death, people have the impression that they are eternally young, and it is also because of death that the good and bad things they do become insignificant, but extremely precious.

And up to now, we who are still alive in the world are aging day by day, constantly repeating things that look different, making mistakes and correcting them, and then making different mistakes after correcting them. Counting the gains and losses, chasing the results. What's even more terrifying is that we don't know when such a thing will suddenly stop like an alarm clock running out of power.

She is a music student who is only 20 years old, with soft and flexible fingers like an octopus, a height of about 170 cm, skin like cream, a slender figure, slender legs, and her hair often leaks to her chest like a clear spring.

About four months after the snow ran away, five weeks after the first girl disappeared, I met Liszt in a public music class. After class, she came over and asked me if I was Dongyu from the Chinese department. I nodded.

"My name is Duoqi, I have seen the drama you arranged, and I played and recorded a lot of music in the middle of that drama, do you have any impression?"

I'm Yaoyao.

"I went to see you when you were rehearsing in the auditorium, and I have a surprisingly good memory, so it's easy not to forget what you remember, how about you?

"The Year of the Pilgrimage. "I seem to have finally found a breakthrough where I could talk.

"Not bad," Doki smiled toothlessly.

"Because of Haruki Murakami, I bought a vinyl LP record played by Alfred Blundell and Lazar Bellman. ”

"How's the sound quality?"

"Yay. ”

"How about taking me to hear it?"

"Anytime. ”

So at the end of the winter, we got on a crowded bus and went back to my place at the time.

"Not decent," I said, pointing to the cluttered room.

"It's just not neat, but it's still clean. ”

I pulled the record out of the cabinet and put it on the record player that a friend had given me. By the time the music started, she had already started tidying up my room, during which time I asked her what she wanted to drink. She replied to me in extremely concise language, "Cold beer." ”

I took out two bottles of Corona from the fridge and since I couldn't find the wine starter, I pried them open separately with a fruit knife and set them on the table. Then clean up the droppings from the litter box into a garbage bag. When we turned to look at Jim, he was hiding in his nest and looked at us in horror.

"What's its name?" Dochy leaned back on my couch and took a sip of beer.

"Jim, Jimbeam's Jim," I said, sitting on a puff mat on the ground next to her.

"Does it like whiskey?"

"It just so happened that I was drinking whiskey on the day it came. ”

"What a good time," Doki smiled again. The smile is beautiful, as if it has been engraved in an ancient picture scroll.

"Have you ever thought of writing that script into a novel?" asked Dochy.

"I've thought about it, but I still have to work on the end," I said, putting the bottle on the floor and lighting a cigarette.

"Why?"

"I don't like to use the death of the main character to push the plot to an end. ”

"Mind death?"

"I hate it. ”

The music abruptly stopped, and silence spread through the room, as if sticky juice smeared the walls around it.

"And cold beer?" Doki broke the silence.

"The fresh-keeping layer is stuffed to the brim. ”

So we drank beer and listened to "The Year of the Pilgrimage" until the beer bottles in the fridge covered the floor, and then we curled up naked like two frozen penguins under the heavy quilt.