After the autumn solstice, it rained a few times, and the temperature in the mountains began to drop, and during the day, it was not so hot.

I bought a lot of needles and threads and cloth along the way, piled them up in the house, and ran away again, and I had nothing to do in this valley, so I combed out all the hair that he had fallen before, made a dog doll out of cloth, and put it on the bed where he slept.

It was an unintentional move, a fun picture, but I didn't expect that this doll was cut by him and returned to me.

I looked at the cut rag like a dog gnawed and laughed for days.

I think he wants to make a dress for this dog, right?

The dog, the shape I sewn with black cloth and red clothes, is still very good-looking, since he likes red, then I will make a set.

When the garment was ready, I put it on his bed again, and when it was time to go to sleep at night, the dog returned, followed by a little man made of straw, pouting, and a note on his chest with a few words written on it:

Unaccompanied, unhappy.

At the end, the face of a dog is drawn, and there are tears hanging from it.

Is this begging me to be another companion for him?

I don't always have a word with him, and this way of communicating is not bad, doll, I will do it too.

So, I really made a doll, a little person, filled with reed tidbits picked up, a chubby doll with a smiling face and two pigtails.

Why was it made into a doll instead of a dog?

I asked myself as I put them back on the bed.

Because he asked me to do it, that straw doll, isn't that just a hint?

I always answered myself like this, and it wasn't until later that I realized that in my subconscious, the dog doll had become a representative of the way, and the newly made rag doll was just like my existence.

Deep in my bones, I still want to be with him.

It's just that I don't dare to speak, and I'm always patient and guarding me along the way.

The doll and the puppy were soon sent back, this time, I saw the doll, he was wearing a red dress and covered with a red hijab, and the puppy next to him had a red flower on his chest, smiling proudly.

My face turned red, and I didn't dare to look at him for several days, let alone say a word.

After being quiet for three or five days, he stopped me all the way and asked very seriously:

"How's that for you?"

"Consider what?"

With my head down, I snatched the door out of the door, walked into the courtyard, and retreated, wanting to enter the house, but I felt that it was too much, so I could only sit on the small bench under the tree, hugging my knees, and pretending to be asleep in the sun.

He squatted in front of me for a while, staring at me intently.

I heard his sigh and felt it, the wetness he secretly kissed on my cheek.

I am heartbroken, but also entangled, in such a situation, all I can do is pretend to be stupid.

After another three days, I saw him come back from buying red silk, and deliberately pulled a section of it, tied it into a flower, and hung it on his chest, and at dinner, asked me if he looked good wearing it.

"What are you doing with this?"

I just said that this flower, the way it looks when I wear it, looks stupid, so I quickly changed the subject.

After a few more days, he began to hang red cloth everywhere inside and outside the house, and whenever I went, he pointed to the red cloth in that place and asked me:

"Do you think this red satin looks good hanging here?"

"Silk is very expensive, don't waste it everywhere!"

In those days, I woke up and went to the mountains, sat by the stream, pulled a fishing rod, held my cheeks in a daze, and the time passed in one day.

My heart was suddenly annoyed and angry, suddenly sweet and shy, suddenly jumping and clattering, and suddenly it became a deer rambling again.

I vaguely had the answer in my heart, understood what he was doing and wanted to express, and vaguely felt that everything was my guess, and there was no accurate reason.

I should have asked him directly, but I couldn't open my mouth and didn't know how to ask.

Every time, I made up my mind to reason with him when he accosted me, but every time, I had to blush, cramped and uneasy to run away.

I'm a tangled and timid person, and the more ambitious I get, the more I run into walls in reality.

The gap between my inner self and what I showed was so big that I was ashamed of myself.

After fishing like this for a few days, the red silk in the yard was accustomed to it, and there was nothing to ask.

I was quiet all the way for many days, and every day I saw him, I was holding a pen and paper, in the house, in the yard, on the table, on the bench, stroke by stroke, writing something very seriously.

I'm curious, what he's writing about.

But I was also scared, and the words he wrote were the ones I guessed.

I didn't dare to approach him, let alone ask him, and I pretended to be a mute with no sense of existence every day, tiptoeing around.

"Don't you just look at what I wrote?"

Finally, he couldn't hold it anymore, grabbed the piece of paper directly, and handed it to my eyes.

It's a happy word, crooked, but barely recognizable.

"I don't know how to read!"

I lied to him, saying that in the palace, only favored children have books to read, and it is a blessing that no one loves me if he does not starve to death, and where can he still recognize words.

I'm talking nonsense, he really believed it.

Throughout the fall, he didn't make those strange hints anymore, but instead pulled me along and learned to read and write.

Stroke by stroke, the two of us learned from autumn to winter.

The red satin was put away and warmed in the cabin. The charcoal fire is abundant, the temperature is warm, and the newly made bookshelves are soon filled with books.

Along the way, he found a lot of books, from astronomy and geography to scripts, and occasionally two atlases would pop up, which were messy, and he tore them off before I could read them carefully.

I only remember that there are two villains hugging each other on the top, the picture is messy, the lines are dim, and the specific content is unknown, but every time, I will be irritable all the way.

If it snows, he will stuff himself into the snow, and if it does not snow, he will run into the stream and wet his clothes until they are frozen and stiff.

I thought I should know what those were, but even if I did, I wouldn't have much to say but to hide more silently.

In the last snow of that winter, he plucked up the courage to ask me all the way, and I still recognized the words he wrote before:

It is the joy of my heart, the joy of tying the knot, and the joy of my love for you.

Behind every happy word, there are thousands of words, and I want to say it, and behind every word, it is an extravagant hope that I dare not face.

"That's the word, so many words!"

And I could only smile and pretend to be an idiot.

"Let's get married!"

I think I've had enough of my idiocy and pretending to be stupid along the way, and he looks at me very seriously, waiting for my response. Read the latest chapter of "All the Way to the Tranquility Claw Book House" for free for the first time.