I never imagined that this person could be so real in front of me. His shoulders, his back, his hair, and the strange and familiar aura of his body, they were within reach, and they were hugged tightly by me as if I would never let go. Death is just a lie, and the departed will come back to us at some point, and I believe it, to the point of wanting to bite the shoulder.

"You're still so cold, exactly the same as before." I was sobbing in convulsions. From the arms to the throat to the eyes, they all went out of control. I was so scared, afraid that as soon as I let go, he would drift away in front of me like sunlight or dust.

"You're still hot, too. Even though I know you're going to freeze. He didn't speak, he didn't react when he was hugged, and I seemed to hear the answer in my head rather than in my ears.

"You're not going to go again, are you?"

"You're all back."

He still didn't speak. I lifted my head off his shoulder and against his forehead, where there was no temperature, like a winter quilt or desk.

It's not him. I know. He won't ignore me. Even if you ignored me before, it was a pretend. After three minutes of installation, it can't hold on, and will immediately turn its head.

Maybe it's not him who comes back, it's just me, a shadow in my dreams.

"You're so cruel. He didn't even want to give me a dream. I trembled, out of anger or despair, or both, and involuntarily pulled at my back. It hurt, I felt it, my fingers digging deep through my clothes.

I know I'm always talking to myself. So, in my room, in my dreams, I still remind myself not to deceive myself.

But I don't want to. I know I'm dreaming. I know that man dies and cannot be resurrected. I knew I wouldn't see him again in my life. But I still wanted to see him. People can't always be that strong. For a dream of nothingness, I need to accumulate a long, long, many, lot of courage. Even a shadow, I can't watch him dissipate again.

Perhaps it was I who thought so, and his head tilted slightly, and the warm smile finally appeared on his face. And his face was still cold, like the sun jumping on the frozen lake. Finally, he reached out and hugged me. I've thought countless times about what I'll say and do when I meet him again. Apologize, repent, don't talk nonsense, don't spit out, and don't cry when you see it. There have been many things over the years, but compared to the cold and deep world, the place I stayed in was still warm, no matter how bad. I should listen, listen to him, and keep my mouth shut. Whatever he says, I have to refrain and accept it.

But he didn't speak, and he wouldn't even call "brother". The boy wasn't him, or rather, wasn't all him. The dream gave him back to me, in a short time. He is not real, but the closest thing about dreams and reality is that no one can fully control them, they can only go with the flow, from nowhere, to nowhere. It's full of possibilities, and like the "now", it's all about what hasn't happened but what could happen. On that basis alone, I can temporarily believe that he is more than just an illusion in my mind.

I know that my time is very short, and the time we will be separated after this meeting will be long, long. But at least for now, he's not going to go away. Do something, do something. However, I was still very sleepy in my sleep, still very cold. At the end of the year, in a person's room, even in my dreams, it was cold, so cold that I wanted to hug him. Perhaps, all I wanted was to hug him. Just like in the winter when I was a child, when he was close to me to get me out of bed, we were so close that I could hear his breathing, his heartbeat, hear the subtle movement of his ankles and arms in the quilt, the gentle friction between his toes, the thin rustling, like a bird outside the window brushing its feathers over the dense leaves of the trees in the summer, the light shattered wherever it could shine, through the gloom of the curtains, so that I could smell it on the floor, like I could smell him, very close, so that I believed that maybe this life and this life will not be separated, It makes me wonder if growth, aging, and death are inevitable journeys in life, and I can just stay here and spend my whole life, coming and going as a child.

Is it already a thing of the past? For now, at least, the dusty walls of my hometown shake in the setting sun, spin and twist with it, and the world shakes like a spinning top that keeps turning. I didn't have fear or panic, I couldn't arouse excitement and expectation, I just stayed by his side in the reality and illusion that I couldn't see, in the distance where I could hear him and smell him. Time is not so important anymore, it is like the peanuts I used to sit on the sofa and peel off the glass table, the outermost layer of rough, undulating, wrinkled skin fell off in the rubbing, the dust and the shell shook off the fine particles, I approached the dark red layer of skin, the hemp room, the red tent, there lived a white fat man living in it, he would always read this riddle that had been guessed at the beginning, which made me anxious and shy, and I wanted to tear off the astringent red, and I felt the bitterness in my mouth when I came into contact with them, There was a fat white man living in the hemp house, the red tent, and he was still chattering, and I was still patient, and it was only when I had completely uncovered and torn off the red skin, leaving not even a trace, that the not-so-white kernel of my fingertips turned smoothly in my hand, and I gazed at it, played with it, threw it on my head and caught it, but I no longer wanted to eat it, and I could no longer imagine that it would be swallowed by me. So, just like that, I played with it, he watched, and sometimes I would think of it as a playmate, but more often it was peanuts that were treated as toys. That's time, I think, at a very young age, when he's around me. When we were tired of playing, we leaned on the sofa and fell asleep in various postures that we didn't have to think about, like a hemp room without a red tent. The wind blew through the unclosed windows, and the scraps on the table were scattered whirringly, seemingly falling to many corners and never to be picked up again. It is not the eyes, not the ears, but the toes that are still huddled together in the face of fatigue, and the faint gap between them holds all that is happening that cannot be perceived, and quietly pulls up the dark green curtains for us with the wind, and urges the whole body to move forward.

I know we're moving forward, even if it's just me and him. The sound of the wind was replaced by a whistle, the axles of steel were constantly turning, and a train with an endless mist, sometimes enveloping itself, sometimes slowly spreading out, revealing the dark outline of the train, and so it always ran over the tracks and drove forward. We were in the middle of it, curled up in cramped seats, covered with a shallow quilt, still tired, still cold, and could only lean closer, closer. The blinds were pushed up and down by someone, and the sun and gloom switched over and over again, on our faces hiding under the covers. I was thirsty because of the long period of dryness, cold, and exhaustion, but I didn't reach for some water on the messy table. I don't need water now, what I need is to put my face on his face, to better feel the light and shadow that lingers when the blinds are up or down, to feel the sound of everything as it moves forward, and the breath of sleep that can remain in our breath, by which we are depicted, smeared, chorus, solidified, sculpted, blended into the smoke floating above the tracks and sleepers.

When I woke up again, I was curled up in the quilt that couldn't be thinner, alone. I only seem to be wearing a tank top and shorts, so I'm colder. He had his back to me, dressed in a long black robe, with his hands in his pockets, like an adult. Wearing that orange hat, it looks particularly abrupt and unfamiliar.

Going?

He was really moving around, leaving the carriage we were in, not in a hurry, as if he were going to a place that he would go to every day. I knew that one day it would be like this, so I continued to curl up in the quilt and remain motionless, just as he was still far away, still not saying a word. But staying where I was seemed to make me colder, and it seemed that the cold had moved me to go barefoot, without caring about anything, to go forward with that layer of quilt and go after him. That's when I knew I was going after him. The old, dirty carpet was much harder than expected, but the dusty felt made the soles of my feet feel comfortable and made me feel like I could catch up with him. The dwelling lights and shadows formed a dappled forest on the ground, and I stepped over them without stepping on anything sharp or small, like stepping on a cloud, stepping on a dream.

Finally, I grabbed him by the shoulder as he stepped out of the car, and the gloves, which were back on my hands, gave me more confidence that I could hold him. But in an instant, he landed on the platform as if he had penetrated my palm. The white mist in the locomotive chimney was rolling and filling, and most of the platform was obliterated in its solemnity, like a haunting chorus, and the repeated sound filled the space as far as the eye could see. He didn't look back, didn't say goodbye, didn't leave any words, just walked into the depths of the mist. Something was lifted by the end of the robe, it could be the wind, more likely the sound of the rails or the smell of sleepers. Perhaps knowing that the car could move at any moment, or perhaps fearing that he would disappear in the next second as far as I could see, I closed my eyes and jumped out of the door.

The moment I jumped out, I began to resent myself, resentful hesitation, resentment hesitation, resentment that I had only reached out now, wearing the gloves he gave me, but still couldn't catch him, or even catch myself. The process was too long, and I had even longer time to chew on those resentments, swallow them, and digest them to replenish my blood and body and mind. But the body tells me that I am still in an unknown space-time tunnel, here is only me, there has always been only me, as if a birth or death that has been endlessly stretched, only I am suffering.

Maybe it's been too long, and in the air, I feel tired in my arms and want to move my legs. So, I tried to open my eyes, but I saw nothing but the hollow white. After my body moved instinctively, something knocked on the door of my head, and my brain shook with the world that gradually became white, and the slow fall did not stop, but I was not sure if I had stopped. There was a human voice behind me, not mine, not his.

It's the girl.

"Let's go back. One can't dream for too long, or it will float to the ceiling. ”

Get back? But what about going back?

"Way, what's wrong with you?"

Someone was wiping my face with a piece of paper. Yes, asleep, thinking, I cried again. Her movements were light and fast, and my body was heavy, as if I was being held down by something, and I couldn't breathe. There have been several times when I was sick and had a fever, and I became an immobile piece of flesh, able to sense what was happening, but unable to open my eyes. The whole world was as silent as white at this moment, like a small room where I lived alone, cramped and cramped, surrounded and squeezed by the walls, and the cold spread wantonly. Unless you fool yourself, there's no way to get anything back if you lose it here. Everything will come to naught, not even the cycle of pushing the stone up the hill over and over again, there is no such stability. Why do people live, and why do they die? There is no hope in life, and there is still nothing left in death, where should people go?

"Don't be afraid, Wei Wei, I'm here. Why don't you wake up? She reached into the quilt and gently squeezed my shoulder. There was a rapid feeling of weightlessness, and I seemed to be a person suspended somewhere, with uneasy fear, gradually descending and falling back to some certain place.

When I opened my eyes with a sniff, my sister helped me up and put a hard pillow behind me so that I could lie down comfortably. How do you cry when you fall asleep? Got a nightmare? She pulled out another piece of paper and tried to hand it to me. I didn't answer, but subconsciously touched my legs and belly under the quilt. There are only close-fitting autumn clothes and pants.

"Rascals! What are you doing with your clothes and pants! ”

This was my first reaction when I woke up, as if I had brought back to reality the resentment and anger I had hidden in my sleep, accompanied by the shame of being discovered or prying eyes. I hate it when people look at me and cry. Crying is the most humiliating, still in front of my sister.

"White-eyed wolf." She threw the paper she was about to hand me in my face, along with a whole pack of tissues in her other hand. When he was done, he turned his head and walked out of the dark room in a huff.

What the hell am I doing?

There was no hesitation this time. After crying and rushing out of the covers to catch up with her and hug her, I was even more disappointed in myself. Every time, I knew that she was for my good, but I still deliberately provoked her again and again, and I dripped tears on her shoulder.

"Get back under your covers." She sniffed, "How many times have I told you, don't run around without shoes, it's not in your own home." You'll never listen. If it weren't for the strings, I wouldn't have bothered with you at all. ”

She hadn't mentioned strings for a long time. I didn't know what to do other than cry and apologize. It's been a long time since I've been so angry that she shed tears, today is still the New Year, and what I just said is simply not human. I'm a scoundrel, she's right, she's a white-eyed wolf, and she's never meant to have so many obligations to me.

She went back to my room with me, probably trying to send me back to the quilt.

"My brother took off your clothes and pants for you, and I just made a bed and a quilt for you. If you don't believe it, you can get dressed and go down and ask him, he is playing mahjong with his grandfather. She pushed me back into bed and wrapped me in the quilt again. It was very cold outside, and I shivered after only being dressed like this for a while.

"Next time, no one will care about you, and you will be scolded if you do, who will suffer this crime in vain? It's good to watch you lying outside stupidly like this, freezing to death and pulling down. ”

I cowered and wiped my tears with my sleeve. Seeing me like this, she frowned, knelt on the edge of the bed, straightened up, grabbed the tissue that had fallen to the side of the bed, and pulled me a new one. Take this rub. She said. How big an adult, and still being a captain, that's all.

After I wiped away my tears, she handed me the sweater. I slipped it on, and she sat quietly on the edge of the bed, listening to the sound of static electricity. The sun had completely sunk, and there was only a little surviving light in the room. She watched me in the dark.

"I'm dreaming."

I confessed and told her the whole dream. She didn't say anything, got up and went to the head of the bed and put her arms around my neck. I thought she was going to pinch me, probably because I thought she had the qualifications to pinch me hard, and it wouldn't be over until I was half dead. But she didn't, just rubbed my face with her furry sleeve.

"I'm talking a little mean. It wasn't meant to be raised. Weyvey will always be my brother. ”

"Don't apologize. I'm not good at all, and I don't deserve to be your brother. I lifted my hand above my head, and she held on tightly. It's a little cold, and I'm so uncomfortable.

"Sister."

"I'm here."

"Beat me up. I'm so badly beaten. ”

"It's good to know." She smiled, "Write it down, and we'll have a chance to settle accounts together in the future." ”

"Then you must remember."

"I can't forget it."

"But ......"

"What's wrong?"

"It's so boring to be alive. But I'm so afraid of death. ”

"Oh."

"When I think about people dying, I don't want to move."

In fact, you shouldn't say this kind of thing, "New Year's Day". If Dad had heard, he wouldn't have whipped me like he used to, but he would have told me to shut up. I first thought it was fun to die, but now I don't have that kind of childishness.

I'm so scared now.

"We're not going to die, we're going to live for a long, long time."

The room was extraordinarily quiet, as quiet as a dying ward. She still put her arms around me, but harder. The cheeks pressed against my face, making me feel warm and moist.

"What about living longer? Or die. ”

"Then, I will accompany you and accompany you to the end. Wei Wei will go first, and my sister will come to you alone, is it okay? ”

"Don't! Sister, you have a life of your own! Don't waste any more time on me! I shouted again, but not violently, but a little pleading in a fierce way, "Please, you don't have to protect me anymore." ”

"My sister is very happy when you say that. Wewe has grown up after all. She pressed her chin to my head, "though sometimes it's still annoying." ”

"You must prefer strings."

"I like both of you."

"So who do you prefer?"

"Why do you have to ask this?"

"You answer me."

"I like you better."

"Liar."

"I kid you not."

"Then you must think that the strings are very good, and I don't use them at all, so you want to help me. Just like Tang Seng will always be towards Zhu Bajie, a stupid apprentice. ”

"You said it yourself." She laughed out loud and grabbed my face with her hands from the back of her head, "Come on, I'll help you make your face bigger, so you can look like an old pig." ”

I snorted, not much like a pig.

"But I just like you more, especially as a kid, but I never told you. You are always quiet. It won't be like him, he rushed over and hugged me when he saw me, and he wouldn't let go no matter how he shouted. He's so active. I like quiet guys. As she spoke, she tugged at a handful of my hair as if she were doing research, "Don't think you're inferior to Xianxian, and don't think that all your merits are his." He is always him, you are always you, your personalities are different, there is nothing wrong with that. It's true that adults always praise him, but Wei Wei is very good, and there are things that only you can do, and Xianxian can't do it. ”

"Yes, such as making you angry, such as shrinking in the quilt and refusing to get up, such as crying and crying whenever something happens, I don't have any idea at all."

"So what? A person who does not even value his own life will not value the life of others. You're a lot braver than you thought you would, and you've proven it to everyone time and time again. It was because you told me your dreams and those words that I felt that Wei Wei had really grown up. "She rubbed my hair like a vegetable wash, but fortunately she had washed her hair seriously before she came back today, and it wasn't very greasy, probably that's why she rubbed it so happily, "Wei Wei, 'No matter how sad it is in this incomprehensible world, this world is still beautiful'." A year ago, you told me that you were going to quit the literature club and go to the football club to join the varsity team, do you know what I thought? ”

"You're not happy, not only did I run away, but I also bothered you to help me quit the company."

"Not really! I dragged you to the literary club because I was afraid that you didn't know what to do. But you have your own decision, and you choose to get back on the pitch, do you know how happy I am? It was on that day that I believed what I had just said, that the world is beautiful. ”

She tugged at my ear, like teasing a well-behaved Shiba Inu.

But I don't know why I want to get back on the pitch. It's not to inherit my brother's dream, it's not like it's because of Lao Ye's strong invitation, and it's not like it's because of Miller - he's more like playing for me. Is it because I like football? All I can say is "ok", I don't like it that much. Sometimes it's hard to explain one's actions, while others give a lot of meaning to things that they can't figure out. However, as long as I can make my sister happy, I am willing to keep playing. Although it is already in the last half year.

I definitely won't tell her these thoughts now, but maybe I can talk to her about it later.

"Anyway, today seems to be the first time my Wei Wei hugged me, or from behind, I was so angry that I was going to die, but it seems that as soon as you hugged me, I immediately quieted down, it's amazing......"

While she was talking, my phone rang, it was a video call, Miller calling.

"Sister, sister, sister, you can help me pick it up! I'm going to wash my face! ”

I threw my phone to my sister and hurriedly lifted the quilt. Wear shoes! She didn't forget to tell me before she clicked the connect button. Don't worry, I'm wearing it this time, though I'm also in a hurry. I can't let him on the other end of the line see that I just woke up with red eyes.

So, for a long time, I didn't think much about life and death.