In the evening, it rained. The rain in front of the eaves seemed to drop on my heart, and the monotonous sound drove me crazy. I looked at the empty flower hall, and I didn't know where to put my heart. I pulled the screen open and cut off the space. The room was small. I sat quietly on the couch next to the bed. The electric light gave the room a faint shade of purple (that's the color of the screen). There was only melancholy and desolation before me, but in the distance it seemed as if a voice was calling to me, a joyful, life-filled voice; I faintly saw the smiling face that lit up everything. "Sacrifice is the greatest happiness," I seemed to hear again, still in the same familiar voice. I waited, I longed. However, the voice was quiet, and the smiling face was hidden. I was left with the monotonous sound of rain and a gloomy scene.

A wave of irritability came and grabbed me. I can't bear the silence. I felt my heart churning. My head was tingling faintly, and the soft sofa was now uncomfortable. I stood up and closed the screen. I walked back and forth in this big room for a while. I'm going to go to bed when I'm tired of walking.

But I began to feel that something was gradually rising from the bottom of my heart. My head burned badly. It felt like my whole body was going to explode. I staggered to my desk, sat down on a wicker chair, spread out the manuscript of the novel that I had not taken with Mrs. Yao, and continued writing where I had left my pen the day before. The more I wrote, the faster I wrote. I wrote like crazy. I was dripping with sweat and kept writing. It was as if someone was hitting me with a whip in the back, and I couldn't put my pen down. In the end, the old coachman, who had injured his leg and could no longer pull the cart, was caught in the yamen for theft, and the blind woman, accompanied by a neighbor's child, went to see him and promised to wait for him to be reunited from prison.

……

"Six months, six months are very fast, and they pass in the blink of an eye!" The old coachman thought happily that he had not forgotten the sight of the woman looking back at him with her blindness. He wanted to laugh, but tears flowed down his eyes.

……

I wrote until two o'clock, and the rain had not yet stopped, but my novel was finished.

I dropped my pen and my eyes hurt so badly that I couldn't open them anymore. I staggered to the bed, and without undressing, I fell asleep on the bed. I didn't even think to turn off the lights.

In the morning, I was woken up by Lao Yao.

"Lao Li, why haven't you gotten up yet? It's past six o'clock! He laughs.

I opened my eyes and felt that the room was very bright. My eyes were still uncomfortable, and I closed them again.

"Get up, get up! This week, we went to visit the Wuhou Temple. Zhaohua also went. She's almost dressed. "He walked over to the bed and urged me.

I opened my eyes again and said, "It's still early!" When to go? "I'm still rubbing my eyes.

"Go now! Hurry up! He replied. How! Your eyes are swollen, you must have slept again last night. No wonder you didn't even turn off the lights. I talked to Zhaohua about you just now, and we all felt that you didn't care about your body like this, and it didn't work. You don't look good. You should go to bed early at night. Indeed, you should get married. He laughed.

"I've finished my novel, and I'm not going to stay up late anymore. You can rest assured that you don't have to worry about me about getting married," I replied with a smile.

"It's almost forty, and if you're not in a hurry, you have to be in a hurry," my friend jokingly said. But he immediately changed his tone and asked me, "Are you done with your novel?" ”

"Yes, it's done." I stood up.

"I'd like to see what you write! I forgot to tell you that Zhaohua actually cried when he read your novel last night. She waited to see what was coming later. She didn't expect you to write so fast. You give me the manuscript and I'll bring it to her. What happened to the coachman and the blind woman? Are they all braided? I see that is how your novel ends. I don't agree with that. First, small people, small things, second, tragedy. Neither of these is to my taste. But I admire your skills. I have a big problem with myself, that is, my eyes are high and my hands are low. I don't have the talent for this, I always brag about it, and I can't improve. ”

"Don't be sarcastic. How do you look at my kind of article? I didn't expect to bring your wife to tears. Please bring the original manuscript of the latter point, and let her read it slowly and return it to me. I walked over to the desk and handed him a stack of manuscripts on the table.

"Okay, I'll bring it to her." He saw Lao Wen slapping his face and adding another sentence: "I'll go in first, I'll come back early when you wash your face and eat." ”

At half-hour he went into the garden with his wife. I was taking a walk in the open space in front of the flower stand. Her face looks better than yesterday, perhaps because she has rubbed powder today. The sick face is completely gone. A smile that seems to be brighter than the sun is on his face. She wore a cheongsam with a light green ground (as light as white as it was white) with small dark green flowers and a gray velvet shirt with balloon sleeves on it.

"Mr. Li, I'm really sorry that the poetry woke you up today. We didn't know you finished your novel last night. You must have slept very little," she said with a smile.

"No, I've slept enough, and if you don't call me when you chant poetry, I'll get up too." I'm still saying kind things.

"Lao Li, you are obviously kind words. I called you several times before I woke you up, you slept so sweetly," Lao Yao said with a smile next to him.

I couldn't tell, I knew I was a little embarrassed. I saw her smile and say to her husband, "Let's go." Mr. Lai didn't know if he would have to delay. ”

"I'm all right, let's go," I quickly replied.

There were three cars waiting for us outside the second gate. As usual, I got into the street car that I had hired outside, and my driver didn't go as fast as theirs, and after only six or seven streets, my car was left behind. I saw their private chartered car disappear around the corner of another street. Then my car caught up with them again. Mrs. Yao's thick hair glowing in the sun appeared in front of me again. Old Yao was turning around and talking to her loudly, I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I could see his satisfied smile.

As I was about to leave the city, my car was more than half a street behind. As soon as my slow train reached the intersection, it was stopped by a group of coolies in coarse cloth shirts. They came in from outside the city in groups of two, carrying large stones, and passed in front of me one after another. There were about thirty or so people. They were also escorted by four or five men in uniform, with guns and whips. They were all shaved heads, with only a handful of hair on top, their clothes dirty, and they didn't even wear a pair of straw sandals under their feet. I sat in the car and didn't pay attention to the procession, I thought they were all the same age, the same faces, their eyes sunken, their cheeks sunken, their faces gray, their heads buried, their backs hunched, and their foreheads sweating. They walked over in silence. I accidentally caught my eye on one of the faces, and it stopped there. I exclaimed. My scream, though not high, made the face turn toward me. The man was carrying the front end of the pole, and now he stood still, looking up at me slightly. It's still the same long and delicate face, but thinner, dirtier, and sickly. The moment he looked at me, his eyes still showed a little brilliance, but they were immediately dark. He moved his lips, as if he wanted to say something to me, but he couldn't, and only raised his right hand slightly. The dry hand was covered with scabies between the fingers, some of which had festered. He used his right hand to scratch the left hand that was on the pole. His scratching made me feel like I was tickling him.

"Let's go! What do you want to do? A rough voice swore beside him. Then the whip struck him in the face, and he screamed "oops", and immediately a diagonal red mark appeared on his face, from the root of his ear to his mouth, and the blood was about to flow out. He hurriedly covered his wounds with his hands. Tears came and went from his half-dead eyes, and he didn't touch them, but buried his head and walked slowly.

"Yang—" I only then spat out a word, the pain was like a stone plugging my throat, I struggled for a long time, and suddenly called out "Mr. Yang".

He had already walked over and looked back at me hurriedly. He left without saying a word. I want to get out of the car and pull him back. But it was just a whim, and I didn't do anything and let my driver pull the car across the street.