On Sunday, I finally rested and didn't talk about work, just about Fengyue.

Get off work at 8 o'clock, take a shower when you get home, wash away the fatigue of a day and a night, sit in the living room and watch a TV commercial for a while, it is a wok, it sells a stir-fry pot, put iron nails will not scratch the bottom of the pot, fry the iron nails, and then fry the eggs, it will not stick to the pan at all.

It is a magical good pot, the original price is 1999 yuan, and in the end it is only 298.

This ad did a bad review.

Shopping ads that don't count a few discounts are not good ads, and the audience who buys your advertised products has a few good brains.

At about 10 o'clock, a friend called to say that he was going to the mountain to kill wild boars, so he went to a hillside in the south of the mountain, and when he didn't see wild boars, he saw six or seven starling dogs, and the starling dog muttered with the same sad face as Zhang Xuan.

There were seven or eight young men present, and my friend invited a former pig killer, who is now pasting floor tiles on the construction site, and facing a black-haired wild boar of more than 100 catties is enough to give face.

The wild boar was put in the pigsty in advance by the owner of the mountain forest, and a dozen or so people ran to the pigsty with knives and sticks.

Today is a good day in the sun, and it is not a good day for this wild boar to be killed.

Zhang Mian didn't go to the pigsty, just looked at the starlings who kept running under his feet, looking at their sad faces, maybe he was a starling dog in his previous life, otherwise how could he feel sorry for each other when he saw them.

A few desperate howls of pigs, the sound of which appeared many times in Zhang Mian's childhood.

Because Zhang Mian is an authentic Tu fourth generation, his grandfather is a pig killer.

When Zhang was young, he saw his second grandfather and fourth uncle killing pigs countless times, and the white knife went in and the red knife came out, and he was used to seeing this kind of bloody scene.

But today, until this black wild boar was killed, Zhang Mian did not have the slightest interest.

It is impossible to change the fate of a pig, only indifferent.

The wild boar that was killed was pulled out of the pigsty by a few young men, and the pig died a terrible death, with its tongue sticking out of its mouth and its sharp fangs next to it.

The next step is to put the wild boar in a cauldron to scald and pluck the hair.

The pig's head was cut, the stomach was broken, the internal organs were removed, and in less than an hour, a pig was dismembered.

The young men who saw the pig killing for the first time shouted cruelty in the whole process of killing the pig, but their eyes did not miss a single step.

After dividing the pork, he happily went home.

This former butcher with floor tiles does have two shifts of brushes, which is basically the same as the process of killing pigs in the family in Zhang Mian's memory, and even improved in some places, it is a pity to paste floor tiles.

If Zhang Mian hadn't walked out of Zhangjia Village, he might have been the fourth generation butcher of the Zhang family, and he would also be a fourth-generation century-old craftsman.

In the afternoon, my friend drove back to Zhangjia Village from Shannan with Zhang Mian, and then rushed back to Shannan from Zhangjia Village, which took three hours.

Zhang Mian went to the toilet in Zhangjia Village, put down the pig's leg and left, his father heard that he could have been divided into the pig's head Zhang Mian but did not ask for it, regretfully dying, his gray hair rose and fell in the sun.

In fact, Zhang Mian really wanted to get the pig's head back with his tongue sticking out, but he was afraid that his father would dissect the pig's head himself.

For his father, the third generation of Tu, it is impossible to find help from others.

Zhang Mian knew that his hand had just been injured a month earlier, and he was afraid that his father would be injured again, and in his sixties, he could not guarantee that his father would win in the face of a motionless pig's head with fangs.

After dinner with friends, we listened to old songs on the radio while taking a general walk in the community.

There is no joy or sorrow, only aftertaste.

In the morning, Niu Fangqiang, a student in the high school group, wrote a few poems about songs, chose one he liked, and ended today's diary.

Oldies are only for late night listening

It's still vaguely like the same as before

Mo Dao listened to the old man

I only sigh that this body is like duckweed