I'm a nostalgic person, and I like old people and old things. Pen | fun | pavilion www. ｂｉｑｕｇｅ。 So I always like to find some elderly people and listen to them tell me about the past. But I've heard a lot, and that's it.

Until that year, I remember it was the evening of early summer in the year 05. I went to Taihang Mountain for a trip and fell asleep on the bus, and then my mobile phone and wallet were picked up.

I was walking down the street alone, and I didn't have anything of value on me. Then I met the man. Because he was the only one who had a good time lending me his phone at night.

I called home, but I was still worried, I didn't even have a card on me.

He looked at me and gloated a little and said, the half-grown hairy baby dares to come to this place alone without knowing anything, and he doesn't steal from you.

It's getting late, it's time to get out of this mess, boy, is there a place to go?

I honestly shook my head and said no.

He said, "Go to my place and have a cup of tea, this place is very lively at night, don't disturb people."

I don't know why, where is this dilapidated little county town lively. But I readily agreed. There was a place to drink tea, which was undoubtedly a blessing for me, and I smiled at him gratefully.

He said, let's go, follow me and don't lose it.

I followed his footsteps, turned around and around, and in about 20 minutes, came to a small alley.

I don't know why, when I saw this small alley for the first time, I felt inexplicably uncomfortable. The indescribable feeling is like a weighing stone on my heart.

Walking into the alley, you can smell the burning smell even if you pinch your nose. It's like something that has been burned.

On both sides of the alley are shops one by one. After a closer look, I suddenly regretted following him here.

I don't see anything with electricity here, including electric lights! The dim hut has a white lime brush at the door, and a big word "Shou" on it. I had some tingling on my back.

The man's footsteps didn't stop. I saw the dim light flickering in the door of a shop on the side of the road, flanked by two red, white and green paper figurines. He smiled weirdly at me.

I began to pray in my heart that this person would take me to a place where I was normal.

Sure enough, it didn't disappoint me.

The man stopped in front of a shop and turned back to me in a gesture of please.

I didn't react yet, and I looked at the square sign "Cold Seven Coffin Shop" on the shop in a daze

I don't know what kind of wood the signboard is made of, but it looks like an old thing. It's antique, it's strange, and my first feeling turned out to be like this.

I followed him into the house, and on either side were two translucent green coffins, which I grew up in the countryside and had seen red coffins, black and white (not painted). It's the first time I've seen jade-colored.

Seeing that I was a little curious, the man said a little proudly, "These two coffins are good things!" I've only gotten two in fifty years of life! ”

I looked at him in amazement, this man is fifty years old? Who?

He laughed, five or seven years, to forty-eight this year, what, isn't it right to say fifty?

I shook my head and said no!

I'll cut you a pot of tea, and after that, he went into the back room himself.

I thanked me and looked around the room. What caught my attention was a painting on the wall of the main hall. A square size, framed squarely in the center by an equally antique wooden frame.

I was interested in the man in the painting, an old man with messy hair, wearing a ragged jacket with a rag on his shoulders and a bicycle in his hand. I rode it when I was a kid, but because I have short legs, I had to insert my legs diagonally to ride it.

The old man was half-squinted, as if he was lazily asleep. On the right handlebar is a bamboo tube with the thickness of an adult's arm.

"Bang Bang Bang ~ sesame oil!" When I was a child, I would be woken up by the sound of bangs every morning. But it's not annoying. Then the grandmother would dig out a bottle of sesame oil tied to a red rope, and go out of the house with a smile and call out to the person who knocked on the stick.

The whole painting is very clean, and it can be seen that the owner here often wipes it. Underneath the painting is a patina-clad incense burner, with three incense sticks burning with green smoke. Underneath the incense burner are some common offerings.

I suddenly wondered about the identity of the owner of this place.

Seeing me looking at the drawing, the man poured two cups of tea with a sizzling teapot. A burst of fragrance, I can smell it, very authentic Xinyang hair.

"That's my master!" He put down the teapot and looked at the painting, as if he was reminiscing about something, and only after a long time did he turn back and smile at me.

I can't describe the way he looked at the painting, more vicissitudes than all the old people I've ever seen, what kind of precipitation it must be. He's a man with a story.

He asked me, where are you from, and I said Henan. He said Henan, I said Shangqiu. I thought he would ask me which township and which village next.

He took a sip of tea, a little like talking to himself, "I used to be from Xinyang!" ”

I'm a little confused, what was once?

I forgot how I started talking to him. But every year after that small talk, I would take a few days out to go to him, and he said, "I remember!"

Until today, ten years later, I have run for three, and he is nearly a sixtieth year. Today I sorted out what I had written down and wrote it down.

Because I didn't remember the first time, so it's all from memory, starting from the following, this story is considered to have officially begun:

I was born in five or seven years, the seventh child in the family, and my father didn't think it was troublesome, so he took the name Leng Qi. The people on the road call me a cold boss, the knowledgeable ones call me a cold master, and the people close to me call me Lao Qi.

Many years ago, in a certain place in Henan, older people may have heard the phrase "Leng Qi coffin shop, burying people and ghosts"

I was three years old in the worst year of the three years of natural disasters, and I almost starved to death. When my father was about to throw me into the ditch of the small river at the head of the village (where all the adults and children were dying of hunger at that time), my father met my master. My master saved me with two catties of stick noodles.

My master's name is Liu Zhenguang, also known as Liu Yuanqing, and his ancestral home is Anhui. Xuandao empties Yuan Mingyi, this is the seniority of my master. In this way, I am a Ming character generation.

My life was given by my master, so let's start with the day my master appeared.