On the plane to his hometown, Cao Chengrui opened the strange novel "Untitled", and his eyes were full of dense words-

（1）

Tao Qiang took a deep breath, the cold air at two o'clock in the morning burrowed into his lungs, and he looked around, this is a road in the suburbs, it extends from the city to connect to the national highway, and from time to time trucks and muck trucks roar by. Judging by his tired face, there was obvious sleepiness, and every blink looked like a difficult battle with the Sandman.

"Tao Qiang!" Someone behind him called his name.

"I've been waiting for you for a long time."

"Let's go."

The two walked side by side, turning into a quiet alley on the side of the road, their figures distorted by the dim streetlights. They are all bungalows built around the 80s of the 20th century, with black iron gates and brick courtyard walls.

It didn't take long for Tao Qiang to stand still in front of a door, he first looked left and right, and only after making sure that there was no one around, did he take out the key to open the lock on the iron door. He cautiously pushed open the door, trying not to make a sound, and then the two of them walked into the courtyard one after the other, and looked around by the faint light outside the courtyard. The courtyard is not large, almost full of debris, and on the north side are two tiled houses, with the lights turned off and the curtains blocked, so that you can't see the inside of the house.

"This is it." Tao Qiang whispered, tiptoed towards the closed door, he tentatively held the doorknob and pulled outward, trying to control his breathing and heartbeat, and slowly opened the door. It was pitch black in the room, and he listened intently, but there was not a sound except for his heartbeat. Even so, he did not slack off in the slightest, and with every step he took, he had to stop and listen carefully to the sounds around him.

Tao Qiang's heart, which had gradually calmed down, suddenly rose again, and he suddenly found that there was only himself here, no one else, no other voice, only himself and the boundless darkness. Tremendous pressure came at him from all sides, squeezing his body and making it impossible for him to breathe. He struggled to remember why he was here, what he was here for, and who the man with him was. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember the man's appearance, it was a blurry face, and the owner of this face had long since melted into the darkness.

Tao Qiang opened his mouth and opened his eyes, he couldn't remember how many times he had woken up in a dream.

（2）

This small city is more than 300 kilometers away from the provincial capital, and is located in the plain area of Pingchuan. There are no mountains and not even a decent mound in the surrounding area.

If you slow down, it will only take you more than half an hour to walk from the west to the east of the city. Countless tall windmills surround the town. Wind resources here are inexhaustible. To use the old local saying: the wind blows twice a year, and each time it blows for half a year.

Just after the Lantern Festival, the town, which was still lively during the Spring Festival, suddenly became deserted, and most of the pedestrians on the streets were old people with gray hair.

The wind blew in the sand, blowing the red cannonball skins on the roadside. They fluttered and whirled uncontrollably, desperately showing off yesterday's festivities. The cold sunlight shines through the glass windows on the roof of the railway station, outlining the old shadow of the building on the ground. It's probably the liveliest place in town.

The air in the waiting room is filled with the smell of all kinds of people, as well as the smell of instant noodles. The rush starts here, year after year, for a living.

Tao Qiang rubbed his shoulders that were sore because of carrying luggage, squinted his eyes and yawned, he looked at his cousin behind the ticket gate, and his cousin also looked back at him, his cousin smiled, and then waved his hand and walked to the carriage where he was with the flow of people. My cousin engaged in "private color" in the big city, and at first relatives and friends at home persuaded my cousin that this was not the right way, but since my cousin returned to his hometown with more and more money and gifts in the past two years, relatives and friends no longer said that he did not take the right path, but envied that he had the ability to make money.

Sunlight shone in through the east window of the waiting room, jumping on the ground, and countless clouds of dust flew in the sunlight. Tao Qiang stared at the sunlight for a long time, sighed, and walked out of the waiting room. He walked towards his own typing and copying agency.

After a while, he reached the door, and as usual, he looked to see if there was any cat food in the red plastic basin next to the door, and then pulled up the roller shutter door.

There was not much space in the room, and it was full of printers, computer desks, and shelves for materials. Tao Qiang walked to the computer desk and sat down, looking out at the deserted street. The cold wind squeezed in through the cracks in the glass door, moaning in pain.

Even though he opened a copy agency at the gate of the middle school, the business was still bleak and barely enough to make ends meet. In this way, he is really different from his cousin.

The "ticking" sound of the electronic wall clock on the wall was drowsy, and he only sat for a moment before his eyelids fought.

"Boss, can you print it?"

At sunset, with a gust of wind, a man with black-rimmed glasses walked in by pushing the door open. He wore a black cotton suit, buttoned his hat over his head, and put his hands in his pockets.

"Yes!" Tao Qiang stretched his waist and stood up from the chair.

"That's a lot of pages, can it be cheap?" The man with glasses took out a brown USB stick from his pocket.

Tao Qiang stretched out his hand to turn on the switch of the socket bar, then turned on the computer and asked, "How many pages?" ”

"About three hundred pages."

"Five cents a piece." Tao Qiang pressed the mouse a few times.

"It's a bit expensive, can we make it cheaper?"

The small copy agency immediately fell into an awkward silence, and after a while, the man with glasses spoke first: "Then five cents is five cents, how long will it take?" ”

Tao Qiang looked at the wall clock on the wall and thought for a while: "It's also fast." ”

The man with glasses handed over the USB flash drive and said, "Okay, that's for your trouble." ”

took the USB flash drive and plugged it into the computer, Tao Qiang beckoned: "You sit on the chair over there, it'll be fine for a while." He said, while clicking on the USB flash drive, there is only one document stored in it, presumably it is, double-click to open it, and there is dense text in front of him, "Are you writing a novel?" ”

"Hmm." The man with glasses blushed a little, "Eh, I'm just writing to play." ”

Tao Qiang turned his head and said with a smile: "This is amazing, if I am asked to write, I can't write it, there is nothing in my head, haha." ”

The man in glasses laughed too.

"What are you writing about?" Tao Qiang withdrew his gaze and looked back at the computer screen.

The man with glasses didn't speak, sat behind Tao Qiang, raised his left hand and held his glasses, his eyes staring at Tao Qiang's back.

Tao Qiang looked at it twice, thoughtfully, and said with a long "oh" to himself: "Ghost story ......"

The man with glasses still didn't answer Tao Qiang's words, he kept smiling and staring at Tao Qiang.

The air condensed, and only the "squeak" of the printer sounded.