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The sun is setting, and the halo is bleak. Pen, fun, pavilion www. biquge。 info

Anyang country slum.

A thin-skinned teenager with a vegetable face was surrounded by a group of children in tattered clothes and hungry faces, staring at the half-blackened steamed bun in the young man's hand, their eyes full of longing.

A child who was short like a dwarf and had two or three scratches on his face couldn't bear the torture of hunger, and anxiously reached out and grabbed it: "Give it to me, give it to me." ”

As he took the lead, the group of children could no longer resist the temptation of food, and rushed to reach out to the boy to snatch the half of the blackened steamed bun.

A thin and fleshless hand hurriedly stretched out in front of the young man, desperately snatching it, the young man clenched the steamed bun tightly, and his hungry face was full of determination.

The boy pushed hard, pushing the child closest to him to stumble and fall to the ground with a "bang".

The young man grabbed the steamed buns, like a trapped beast in a cage, and roared in a low voice: "Get out of here, this is to save my uncle's life." ”

The child who was pushed down got up on the ground with grinned teeth and stared at the boy angrily: "We also have to live." ”

He snatched forward again, viciously threatening: "If I don't give it to me, I'll kill you." ”

The boy glanced at the child, his eyes filled with deep hatred, he spat and held the steamed bun in his arms.

"Damn, don't give me face, brothers hit me."

As he spoke, he took the lead in kicking over, and a group of children around him also punched and kicked the young man, and blood continued to flow out of the corners of the eyes, nose and mouth on the young man's head, dripping to the ground, condensing into a gray-brown mixed with dirt.

The young man didn't say a word, just hugged the steamed bun in his arms.

He had survived in the slums for thirteen years, and knew very well that the rebellion would only be beaten more harshly, and that it would be possible for his grandson to seize the opportunity and escape at a relatively small cost.

There was a ghostly child whose eyes rolled, quietly bent down, and reached out to snatch the steamed bun in his arms, but as soon as he touched the palm of the young man's hand, the young man screamed twice, and grabbed the hand stretched out into his arms, like an angry beast, I don't know where the strength jumped out, and it was directly broken by the hand.

The child's anguished wolf howled and rolled on the ground.

The children around were stunned for a moment, and they were frightened for a while.

The young man took advantage of this opportunity to fiercely push away a child beside him, clutched the steamed buns, and ran forward like crazy.

There was a dead silence behind him, and it took a lot of effort to speak, and no one would have such a luxury here.

The young man dragged his scarred body to the thatched hut that he called home, and his eyes finally showed a touch of excitement, and he shouted happily before he entered the house: "Uncle, look, I have brought you steamed buns." ”

The room was silent, and the boy pursed his lips, and pushed open the door with a trembling of uneasiness.

"Squeak."

The old door groaned in pain, he looked at the old man lying on the bed, in the damp and moldy room, the old man with a dim face looked at the young man who entered the room and grinned with difficulty.

The young man must have raised the steamed bun in his hand and showed off: "Uncle, why don't you speak, look, I brought you a steamed bun." ”

As he spoke, he walked to the bedside, brought half of the moldy steamed bun that he had worked so hard to get to his uncle's mouth, swallowed his saliva, and said with a smile: "Uncle, hurry up and eat, you can get better when you get sick from eating." ”

The old man made a "hehe" sound in his throat, tremblingly stretched out a finger, pointing to the distance, muttering something vaguely in his mouth, the young man hurriedly listened to it, only to hear the old man saying the same sentence with difficulty: "Qing... Qingcheng.... Walk... Leave.. Get out of this ......"

The young man's name is Qingcheng, the name was given by the uncle, when he asked the uncle why he gave himself such a name, the uncle smiled and said that it was a name, no different from a cat and a dog.

Qingcheng thought so, never asked again, and didn't feel that there was anything wrong, he was a little boy in the slums, naturally he would not know that between heaven and earth, there was a holy place with the same name as him.

He was only thirteen years old, very small, it had been passed down for thousands of years, very ancient.

There should be no intersection between the two.

Qingcheng shook his head and said firmly: "Uncle, I'm not leaving, what will you do if I leave." ”

The old man heard Qingcheng's words, and muttered vaguely: "Uncle is tired and wants to sleep well." ”

The old man's fingers fell weakly, and his cloudy eyes lost their last color.

The steamed bun in Qingcheng's hand fell to the bed suddenly, his face was full of tears, but he just hugged the gradually cold corpse and couldn't cry, and the wind passed through the thatched hut full of cracks, whimpering endlessly.

After a long time, he stood up tremblingly, picked up the moldy steamed bun, pointed to the old man's corpse and laughed: "Uncle, you are really unlucky, I begged for the steamed buns that others only got for three days, how many times have you eaten them in your life?" I wanted to honor you, but I didn't think about it in the end. ”

He sat back on the edge of the bed, munching on the steamed buns, tears streaming down the corners of his eyes.

"Incense, it's so fragrant..."

The young man's mouth was full of gray steamed bread foam, and he couldn't swallow it anymore under the sobbing, he didn't care, just trembled and reached out to wipe the corners of his mouth, and whimpered: "Uncle, I have no parents, you saved me, and you have dragged me in this kind of ghost place for thirteen years, this kindness is higher than the sky, but why don't you give me the opportunity to repay you... You've taken care of me for thirteen years, can't you let me take care of you once? ”

"Uncle, do you know, now I finally know that tears are salty..."

"Uncle, didn't you say you were going to take me to see the scenery outside, you big liar."

"Uncle, don't you die, okay..."

The boy babbled and said, but no one around him would answer him anymore.

When the sun set, the old man with a face full of vicissitudes would no longer hang his feet on the threshold and look at him kindly.

The night gradually deepened, and Qingcheng's chattering voice gradually weakened, he left the edge of the bed, and carefully took out a rusty shovel from the corner of the wall, his eyes persistent and determined.

Under the moonlight, the black stone hanging from Qingcheng's neck shimmered with a pitch-black and cold light.

Uncle said that it was his greatest wish in his life to be in peace.

He wanted to fulfill his uncle's wish, which he would call a wish.

The moonlight was like water, gently sprinkling patches of clear light, and the slums, which were usually as silent as a tomb, were even quieter at this time.

Eerie, dead, insensitive.

This is the slum, a term mentioned in the history books of Anyang, where the powerful and powerful disdain.

And Qingcheng has been living here for thirteen years, struggling for thirteen years to survive.

Outside the thatched house, Qingcheng had an extremely difficult shovel to hoe through the hard ground, and at this moment, there was a strange peace and tranquility in my heart.

As if, the world is also silent because of this, and there is no more joy and sorrow of life and death.

"Rustle..."

A slight movement came, like messy footsteps, Qingcheng looked up, and saw a group of thin and short people, old and young, women and children, the same with the same hungry face, the same longing gaze.

Qingcheng stared at them fiercely.

When this group of people saw the young man digging the pit, a moment of shame flashed in their eyes, and then they desperately rushed to the thatched house, Qingcheng brandished an iron shovel, both old and young were mercilessly smashed, some people were smashed to the ground by him, and more people pushed him and rushed into the thatched house, his eyes were red, and he roared angrily: "Uncle is dead." ”

A man with dilated pupils pushed him and said anxiously: "Your uncle is dead, so let us living people live for a few more days." ”

Qingcheng's heart was suddenly weak, but in a moment, the already thin uncle couldn't find even a trace of flesh foam on his body.

He slammed his ass to the ground, biting his lip and suppressing the pain.

At this moment, he finally understood why the uncle said that entering the soil was a luxury.

Under extreme poverty, loving mothers cut flesh to raise their sons, evil fathers cook their sons and kill their wives and eat, great evil and great good, scene after scene, entangled, like an unsolvable knot.

Only death is the final liberation.

Qingcheng dug a pit, buried the pile of corpses, and sat next to the loess where the uncle was buried for three days and three nights.

This is the last and only thing he can do to his uncle.

People say that if someone guards the tomb, he will not be a lonely soul after death, and he will be able to vote for a good family in the next life.

True or not, Thaksin.

He hopes that in the next life, his uncle can eat white-flour steamed buns, he has smelled the taste of white-flour steamed buns from afar, very fragrant, very fragrant....

He's leaving this place where no one is a ghost.

I hope that in the next life, my uncle will be able to enter the earth safely after his death.

He waved his hand, not expecting to come back.

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