(a)

When she woke up, the sun's golden beard had already sprinkled the curtains.

In the first week after Bai Xian's business trip, for the first time, work didn't harass her like a weed. Chang Xia stared at the seemingly rattling sunlight and left her work, and she found that her brain fell on the empty lake like an empty boat.

She rolled over and buried her head in her arm, what was she doing? Work is enslaved, like a person who has been in prison all along, and after being suddenly released, he does not know how to dispose of the freedom he suddenly has.

After thinking about it for a long time, let's go to the bookstore.

Down the bustling overpass, you'll find a quiet bookstore. A dark-faced, old, ugly woman walked among the bookcases.

She remembered that she had walked in the bookcase like this, when she had a beautiful, delicate background, a heart-pounding look back, and a quiet demeanor when she listened to the piano music to Alice while flipping through the books.

Now she knows that she can no longer be like a beautiful woman, knowing her brilliance and looking around.

Now she is like a wronged child, her lips are closed in anger and grievance, and if someone catches her eyes off guard, she will cast a resentful and stern expression.

She pulled out a book from the shelf, a photograph of a female writer's life in Lundun. A black and white photo, Chang Xia is very strange, didn't the poverty of her past life destroy her appearance?

At least, judging from the photos, the silver fox-like face, the smiling eyes, and the two small dark nights at dawn. The tight-fitting black shirt and the bare collarbones that are connected upwards make people feel thin and fragile, all of which constitute a distant mystery impregnated on the paper.

She put down the book, and then pulled out the book of another female author, also a black and white photograph, she was wearing a robe, a kind of nobility and elegance in her gaze. What was she staring at. A still, engulfed world in the photograph.

"What do they have to do with you? What do these female writers, the mystery of the dark night behind them, blend with your life? Find the right language to describe who you are now! First of all, you look at the face in the mirror, the face is dark, and the arms and necks exposed outside the short-sleeved shirt are like the old lotus root in the vegetable market, dark yellow and covered with embroidery spots, close to the dawn black.

When you walk onto the flyover outside the bookstore, your figure quickly disappears unobtrusively in the flow of people.

How many people flock to the city every year, walking where there are no roots.

How many people are in the streets of the city in order to survive. You're just one of them, looking for a job in sales when you're squeezed by the fear of survival and have no way out.

You cherish the job and even love it madly. Every morning you rise up with a whip and whipped the low moans and cries, the sentimentality of the past, and drive these poor and docile sheep back to the fence, to the inner world of the body, to make them disappear and die.

So, now you're a machined person, and all you have in your head is sales, and those numbers are piled up in your brain, in your chest, and even in your limbs.

You are happy to see a little increase in sales on your monthly statements; When the numbers drop a little bit, you grit your teeth and think about how you can increase your sales next month. When you walk into a pharmacy and see customers buying other products, you are anxious and want all customers to buy only your products.

This morning, you were led to the bookstore by something, and after looking at their pictures, and for what, I heard the foundation of your mind move slowly, and at the bottom of the dark canyon, I seemed to see a huge mountain open heavy and slowly. ”

Photos, pictures of two women. What moans and tremors you caused in her heart.

You made her a memory, many years ago, under the light of the ward, the girl in the white nurse's uniform, lying on the table in the nursing room alone in the middle of the night when everyone was quiet, writing and marking on the medical records, those irrepressible murmurs. There is no monologue from the audience, and once again leans down to her world.

The girl with the butterfly flower written on it, with night lights, her dream. She came to the outside world, the city, but life, not as she once imagined, she lost her beauty———— beautiful face and beautiful imagination of life.

Sure enough, this excerpt in a windswept robe came to an end after walking out of the bookstore.

The woman with a dark face walked in the vast flow of people, the people who walked by her side would not stop to glance at her, the traffic in the city was still congested, the traffic police in yellow clothes were blowing their whistles, waving flags to stop the flow of people who wanted to grab red lights, and a bus was close to the crowd passing through.

(b)

Chang Xia sat alone in a rental room. Open the window, sit in front of the window,

Now, listen to the voice in your heart, which has been masked for too long, survived, surrounded by the hustle and bustle, and blindly obeyed without resistance.

Now, listen to your inner voice, as it once was in the Kingdom of Small Towns, listening to the call of your heart, coming from the distant shoreline, with the blue of the waves in its voice, its shrill whistling fainting.

It stepped on the breeze from the top of the tree and came quietly.

Now, listen to the firm monologue.

What exactly do you need? It asked.

This question made me think again, what do I need?

Chang Xia muttered: I can continue to do it, do sales, although occasionally have seizures, but I have become accustomed to its iron shackles. I found it happy. The sense of respect that subordinates call a manager. A sense of accomplishment when planning a successful business event.

By the way, the most important thing is money, at least, I don't worry about survival anymore. With money, I can buy a house, live, and settle down.

Is that all you need? It asked.

Let me think again. I have no doubt that I will be an excellent salesperson, and a foreign pharmaceutical company has already handed me an olive branch, and the company is also cultivating me to the position of provincial president. I'm looking for a higher income. A higher sense of value realization.

Go on. Higher Earning ...... I'm dreamy. Suddenly awakened, Chang Xia seemed to have found the dry sand at the end of the stream.

That's the crux of the matter. When I accompany customers to drink, I always hear a faint cry in my heart, in the corner. She waved her hand to drive away the cry, and today, it gathered here.

Such a life is a puppet with laughter. No soul. Everyone else will see it laugh, but I know that it has no soul.

I've gotten a lot out of sales, and that's re-pinching me like hell. Put it in a pot and boil, sweat profusely. is like the fool in "Xiaocui" in "Liao Zhai", who was cooked to recognize his father and mother. Now, it's time for me to stop.

When she and her mother were teenagers, after harvesting the millet hanging on the rice field, the summer storm passed in a blink of an eye.

She stood on the drying floor, felt a throbbing in her body, and before she knew what it was, she turned back to the room, took out her workbook, and sat down on the stone threshold, and fell on her knees. With a pencil, writing crookedly,

Since then, words have made the first imprints on her life. In my later growth work, I found that nothing can catch up with the tremor and confusion of language.

When she came out of that state-owned system, she wanted to exchange with the social giant through the dream in her hand, but the social giant simply ignored her and could not give her food and drink.

So, the dream was that it was exiled, it was banished, it sank into the silent world of night. A pagoda of reason is built on top of it. Life exists in finding a place in the outside world.