At noon, the canteen of the regiment headquarters made hot rice, and the dishes were uncharacteristically fish and meat, and people ate them with relish. It is not convenient to eat directly in the canteen www.biquge.info the pen and the library box, so it is usually taken back to your own residence. Guard Tang warned him not to show off, it would be difficult for the British to know about it.

The scrivener was eating with relish in his residence, and suddenly a question came to mind, what did the old man on the mountain eat? Thinking that he couldn't eat any more, he packed the rest and gave it to the old man to take with him.

The scrivener went up the hill again, the second time in a day. I was familiar with the road, and it didn't take much trouble to get on board. The strange old man was still there, but in a different position, his head tucked into the crotch of his pants, and his limbs were reversed to the ground, like a turtle.

The scrivener sticks out his tongue, is this old man sick? He spoke to the other party again, but it was still useless. He put the food in front of the old man, and after waiting for a long time, he didn't see that the other party wanted to eat, so he had to leave stupidly.

In the evening, the scrivener went up the hill again with the meal. The old man was still there, but in a different position, head down and feet up, limbs together, upside down like a bamboo pole. The scrivener stuck out his tongue again, this old man is really sick! To his relief, the meal he had put down at noon was gone, and the old man had finally eaten it. This time he learned to be obedient, put down the meal and turned to leave, and there was no way to communicate anyway.

The next day was still the same, the old man turned a blind eye to the arrival of the scrivener, and took care of himself in all kinds of strange poses, one posture that could last for half a day. The scrivener tried to do all kinds of communication, but unfortunately it was useless, and the old man treated him as air. The scrivener box is not annoyed, and still insists on delivering meals every day. This kind of day is half a month after that.

The weather was very cloudy and cool on this day, and it began to rain lightly at noon, and the fine raindrops hit the body and were unusually cool. The rainy season has passed, but that doesn't mean it won't rain. The scrivener stood under the eaves and watched the falling raindrops, he had just returned from lunch, and he was wet and cold, and that cold could penetrate his skin and penetrate into his bones. He shuddered. Suddenly remembered a question, what should the old man on the mountain do on such a cold day? What does he eat and where does he take shelter from the rain?

The scrivener can no longer sit still, although he doesn't know each other, but it's also a human life, at such an age, can withstand the rain? He brought all the food he had brought and walked to the top of the mountain without an umbrella.

The rain moistened the mud and rocks, and the path became unusually slippery. The scrivener box is still carrying food in his hand, and the process of going up the mountain can be described as climbing with a rolling belt. Sometimes it's better to fall on your own heels than to protect your food. As a result, he became miserable, and when he reached the mountainside, he fell into disshapet, and was covered in mud from head to toe, and became a complete mud figure.

The scrivener wipes a handful of mud on the face, but it has no effect, because there is more mud on the hands. He ignored it and continued to climb step by step. The usual 30-minute journey took two hours. When he climbed to the top of the mountain, he had an urge to hang the old man and beat him, not because of him, he could suffer this sin! There was no one in the original place, so it is estimated that the old man went somewhere to take shelter from the rain.

"Hey, what about people?" The scrivener shouted while looking for it. The area of the broken temple is not small, and it is very time-consuming and laborious to find them all. There are still a few houses at the back of the ruined temple that have not completely collapsed, and it is estimated that they are there. The scrivener went straight to the back, and sure enough, he saw the old man in a room. This guy was squatting at the door watching the rain, and only then did he reveal his true face, with a protruding forehead, a high nose bridge, deep sunken eye sockets, black and yellow skin, and thick and slightly curly hair, typical of native Indians.

The scrivener trotted into the house. It seemed to be a large hall, with traces of carvings and statues still there, the round, pointed roof had collapsed by three-quarters, and the remaining quarter was also overhanging, and the dome was covered with cracks, and the rain was flowing down the cracks. This posture may collapse at any time. The scrivener has been wondering if he can run out as soon as the roof collapses.

The rain was still falling, and the scrivener put the food in front of the old man, turned around and left, afraid that the roof would suddenly collapse. The old man still didn't say anything, and let the scrivener leave.

The light rain was not heavy, but it was resilient and did not stop until the evening. The scrivener wrapped the dinner and continued to deliver it to the mountain. This old man is really weird, why is he always in the mountains alone. If it weren't for meeting himself, he would eat and drink.

The trail became more difficult to walk and was unusually slippery. I don't know how many times I fell and how long it took me to climb up. At this time, the sky was pitch black, and a light rain fell from the sky, hitting the body cold. The scrivener found the hall where the old man settled in the dark, put down the food, and the person was already tired, squatting on the ground and drinking hot air in the palm of his hand.

The old man was sleeping in a corner of the roof, in a strange position, with his limbs outstretched, grasping at a crack in the dome and clinging to the wall alive a large spider. The scrivener is amazing, how did the strange old man do it? If you can't grasp it and fall down after sleeping like this, you must not fall to your death. In the evening, when he was eating, he met Guard Tang and told him about the strange old man, and Guard Tang said that it should be a kind of kung fu called "yoga", which is very popular in India.

Looking at the old man above his head, the scrivener showed a dignified look for the first time, yoga is so powerful? No less than Chinese martial arts! He had the intention to wake up the old man, but after thinking about it, it was better to forget it, in case he disturbed people, it would not be good to fall from above. He slowly exited the dilapidated house and walked down the hill.

The next day the sun was shining and the air was washed clean by the rain. Mountains that are not usually visible are also revealed. The scrivener lay on the bed and slept once, yesterday was rained twice, and he began to have a fever at night, and now he is dizzy. By noon the condition was getting worse, he was chills but his skin was very hot, and he was having a high fever. Thinking that the old man on the mountain had no food to eat, he still insisted on bringing food to the mountain. The virus and antibodies in the body are fighting fiercely, and the fight between good and evil is inseparable, and the direct consequence is that the body continues to have a fever.

The scrivener box is top-heavy, and his physical strength is sucked away by the high temperature, and he walks staggeringly. He thought that he should go to the regiment headquarters to find a military doctor, if this situation was placed in Savage Mountain, he would definitely die for life. The strange old man was not in the main hall, but returned to his original place to bask in the sun, with his hands on the ground, his head down, his legs bent in reverse on the back of his hands, and his whole body coiled in a reverse circle.

The scrivener put down the food, perhaps because the movement was too loud and disturbed the other party. The old man opened his cloudy eyes. The scrivener was not in the mood to talk to him, so he turned around and walked back. Before he could open his legs, he was suddenly grabbed by a dry hand at the collar. The scrivener subconsciously turned his head to look, it was actually a strange old man, who was still squatting in the corner just now, and ran behind him in the blink of an eye, what a speed.