Tired.

Such a night, such a quiet, such a cold, such a tiredness.

He didn't care if there was anyone behind him, and he didn't care what that person wanted for him, and whenever he ended a life, fatigue overturned him, along with the desire to live.

He walked all the way, stumbling all the way.

Along the way, anyone who grabbed the glass and stabbed him in the chest could do it, but the night was so detailed that he had to live.

Tired, but also tired.

Some people say: In the face of death, you can learn to live.

It's just that he has faced too much death, gradually becoming numb, and quietly making life helpless.

There are so many times with others that he forgets how to live an ordinary life. He wants to vent, he wants to drink, but after the alcohol, his mind is still deeply branded with all kinds of faces, he wants to relieve stress, he wants to prostitute himself, and after the love, he falls into a deeper hollow.

In fact, he didn't know how to live.

He also wanted to tell people, but such people did not.

Lin Fan?

It's just a friend on this road of killing, how can those crazy voices be confided?

So he slumped in the haystack.

Didn't return home, casually soft enough to be in the haystack of a stable.

The tent of the stable was slit, and the concealment still could not block the faint starlight, and the brightness fell on his face, and when there was no one, there was a little more melancholy in the eyebrows.

We keep calling him "he" because he doesn't even have a name.

There is no name and no surname, because he has no relatives.

No one will ever know how he survived in this seemingly comfortable world, how much blood he swallowed in his mouth, how much unspeakable bitterness he swallowed in his belly, and how much blood of life he had in his hands, no one else would know.

He lay down, his hands quietly brushing over his face, trying to hide his eyes.

It was probably such a quiet night!

At the beginning of the morning, after there is light, he will leave, on the one hand, to escape He Jiefeng's possible relatives and friends, and on the other hand, it is also to dodge Lin Fan.

Every time he finished an order, he would hide for a few months, although he would still be found by Lin Fan after all, the peace of those months was enough.

During these months, he would do anything ordinary people would do. In the morning, you will eat a three-penny scallion pancake for breakfast, buy some vegetables, leafy vegetables or potatoes at the market, and catch a few fish in the river in the evening. His way of cooking fish is really good, when he uses a knife, he can even pick out every bone, wrap the fish in a little flour, and after frying it in an oil pan, the aroma will splash everywhere.

This kind of life is absolutely mediocre, but he enjoys it very much, until Lin Fan appears again and breaks everything.

It sounds like this, Lin Fan is really his disaster star, and he really should drive him away!

He had never thought of it that way.

After all, that was his only friend.

He had closed his eyes, and he had a slight idea of tomorrow in his mind.

Taking advantage of the early morning, he first went to the seventeen-mile shop in the east of the city, where the Huitong Money Village opened early, as in the past, Lin Fan would deposit a sum of money into his account, usually, a large amount of money. Then, down the east side of the city, passing by two or three markets, you will reach the livestock market. He was ready to pick up a donkey and staggered to the next perched city.

What's in the next city?

He didn't know, he was curious.

Quietly, and a little lonely.

No matter what or where the next city is, there will be no crowd waiting for him.

He didn't think about it, didn't let sadness take over him, and soon fell into a dream.

Nightmare.

There was only blood in the dream, and there was no wailing, because even if he died, he would not scream. Yes, in the dream, he died. Died under a scarlet dagger. The knife came easily from behind him, and it was resting on his neck, and with a slight slash, blood oozed from his throat.

This is the third time that I have dreamed like this.

Sometimes I think back, maybe it's fate, fate, he is going to die in a red short knife.

But there was not a trace of fear.

Because this life is not meaningful, it is not worth losing it.

That's what he decides.

In the dream, his throat had been cut, his eyes were like dead fish, and he twitched slightly in a pool of blood, and he knew that a sense of powerlessness would spring up next, and then the scenery around his eyes darkened.

Suddenly, the dream changed.

There was still a man lying in a pool of blood, with only fatigue and death in his eyes, but his face was not his own.