The craftsman looked at the stuffy oil bottle, and the little lama understood. He was a little puzzled: "Did the guru finally admit that he was thinking?" ”

He looked at the strange irregular shape carved out of the stuffy oil bottle, which seemed to be no different from when it had first started a year ago.

The craftsman pointed to the ground, and in the midday sun, the little lama saw the shadow of the strange stone carved by the stuffy oil bottle, and the shadow turned out to be the shape of a person, just like the sitting posture of the stuffy oil bottle on the stone just now. He must have looked at his shadow every day during his lunch break, and then followed the first chisel that the shadow began.

Wu Xie stood next to the stuffy oil bottle, silently accompanying him in another way.

The little lama smiled, and he was happy from the bottom of his heart for the stuffy oil bottle.

The craftsman on the side seemed to be a little emotional, and he asked the little lama: "How are you cultivating Buddhism?"

The little lama smiled and did not respond. The craftsman continued: "Many people say that girls have no heart in the beginning, so no one can hurt them, so the devil sent out boys, and the pursuit of handsome men gave them hearts, and when they had hearts, everything in the world became capable of hurting them. So, we let a person have a heart, maybe so that we can better hurt him. ”

Wu Xie heard their conversation, and from this moment on, he had a new understanding in his heart, looking at the delicate back of the stuffy oil bottle, Wu Xie felt that there was one thing, he could do it for the stuffy oil bottle, and only he Wu Xie could do it.

That night, the stuffy oil bottle was taken into the room that had been closed for ten years, and met his mother.

For him now. Everything still seemed too hasty for him to understand.

Baima did not fully wake up, and when the medicinal properties of the Tibetan sea flower faded, she was only three days away from real death. However, she had waited too long for these three days.

The stuffy oil bottle didn't get any information from Baima's mouth.

He didn't even hear his mother call his name, not even a single one.

He didn't feel the slightest connection to the world that others had said, that his mother had brought him.

The only thing he felt was his mother's slowly recovering breathing, and his pale face only regained a slight color of blood, and then turned to desolation in an instant.

All this still seems too hasty.

Does Baima know all this?

As she had agreed, she woke up from her long slumber and had lost any chance to open her eyes. But she knew that when the lamas woke her up, as promised, her son would be by her side.

It must be a flesh-and-blood child, perceiving the joys, sorrows and sorrows of the world, and she can feel the warmth of her son.

His breath, his heartbeat, he really came.

She tried all the means to buy these three days for herself, although it was not enough, far from enough, she wanted to see all the fragments and moments of this child's growth. But three days, three days of silence, only the sound of heartbeats and breathing, was all she could do.

The stuffy oil bottle grabbed his mother's hand, he didn't know why he did it, he felt that all this was still too hasty.

But he felt an emotion that he had never felt before, and he felt that he was grasping the last trace of himself in the world, the last trace of what he was willing to think.

No one came into this room, no sound came into this room.