Text: Hualuo)

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As soon as I was born, I killed my own mother. My father brought my mother back from the Central Plains twenty years ago, and since that day my mother has become the most beautiful woman in the village. Even when she was on the verge of death twenty years later, my mother's beauty was unshakable by all the girls in the village, and my father was so convinced of this that he not only hated me himself, and did not even give me a name, but even encouraged his brothers and my only sister to hate me together. I believe that my sister is truly grateful to me, because because of me, she has the opportunity to become the most beautiful woman in the village, and she can marry the only family in the village with nine ploughing cows. It's just that she can't show this gratitude in front of everyone, everything about her is brought to her by her mother's death, and she doesn't dare to express any joy about it. On the day of his mother's death, his father drank all the wine in the house, leaving not a drop of the sacrifice to the dog god. When he had finished drinking, he started beating me, kicking me from one side of the room to the other like a broken sack.

Only when my sister was there would try to stop him from doing so, but my sister got married when I was six and she was fourteen. The family had nine ploughing oxen and three houses, and they didn't have to wear the same clothes all year round or sleep in the same bed. My sister's beauty seems destined to be ruined by someone, either him or someone else, but it will never be me. As the family huddled into bed, in addition to the disgusting smell of my father's alcohol, the rancid smell of my own wounds, the strange and disgusting smell of my brothers, I could distinguish my sister's unique scent as if it were nothing. I was the only one who could lean next to my sister and feel her body temperature to fall asleep. I've seen my eldest brother want to do the same thing, but he was slapped hard by his sister. My sister said, "If you dare to touch me, I will die." That night I hugged my sister with all my strength, as if she was going to leave, until my eldest brother grabbed me like a rag and threw me out of the house. I licked my wounds and listened to my sister's cries. She's really leaving, I said to myself.

I have a total of four older brothers and a father. After his mother died, he lived in the same bed under the same roof. The first time I saw red was when my mother died, and I felt like I was born with red, and my mother's blood was sprinkled all over my body, but strangely enough, she didn't splash a drop on herself. You were a monster, and then my father said to me, "Your mother died because she gave birth to you, but you lived with a smile on your blood, why didn't you cry to me, why didn't you die because you were the one who died?" and then he kicked me into a corner where I couldn't go far, as usual. I curled up my body, didn't let myself make a sound, didn't let myself make any movements, protected myself from being hurt as little as possible, and I started learning from birth.

I don't blame my father, he traveled to the Central Plains decades ago and brought back his mother, maybe there is a thrilling story. It's just that no matter what kind of story it is, it will end, but it is not necessarily that they will live happily together from now on, and their father is not a prince. So the mother's end point was this small thatched hut in the remote Miao village, and after living for 20 years, she said goodbye when she gave birth to her sixth child. It was I who ended my father's love, just like a drunken father watched his brothers end the love that his sister had not yet had a chance to appear.

Since then, my sister has never spoken to me again. Maybe she hated anyone in the family, including herself.

In the years between my one and six years old, I tried to find the feeling of motherhood in my sister. Before I could make it, my sister had no choice but to leave. She married very peacefully, and since then her life has been laundry, cooking, and giving birth. Let's hope she won't have a child like me who will bring death. I'm an ominous person. I didn't pretend to be dead on the day my sister got married, I was stubbornly punched and kicked by my father and four older brothers, I got up when I had the strength, and when I didn't have the strength, I lay down with my eyes wide open, maybe I just wanted to prove that I still feel pain. After they were tired and stopped, I slowly climbed out of the house, shaking my body into the boundless mountain. I admire myself for being able to do this, maybe I'm really different. There are wild beasts and poisonous snakes in the mountains, but they always feel much safer and quieter than at home.

Injured animals also have their own places to rest and heal, and I chose a tree hole that is not too deep. Curled up with the wounds that he could touch, he felt like he was a beast and should not have been born in a human family. So I get hurt, and the way I heal comes from the instincts of the beast.

When the hollow of the tree where I was hiding suddenly became a little darker, it was the second time I saw an exciting red. He was tall, almost two heads taller than my father, who was the most powerful in my heart. He stood in front of me like a mountain, reaching out and caressing my wounds. His voice was a bit like the big bell in the village that made a summoning signal, and it didn't have the smell of his sister's concern. For him, it's more about the curiosity of why a child is hiding here with a serious injury. "Little one, how can you be so small, how can you be hurt like this?" I said, "I like your hair." ”

He had fiery red hair, bright and really like a fire burning on his head. After I was born without a memory, my own blood did not give me any stimulation, and I often watched it flow down my forehead, chest, arms, or any other part of my body, as if I were looking at the water of a mountain spring, and I felt like I had nothing to do with myself. I stretched out my hand and touched his hair, and there was an illusion of passing through the flames, warm as if bathed in a mother's body. "Won't you hurt?" I asked. It was a little easier to say what I wanted to ask my mother back then. With so much blood and red hair, don't you really feel pain? Did you bring me into this world to be the object of your hatred?

"It hurts, and who is born to forget it?"

"So, why is your hair red?"

"Because there's a fire burning here. He opened his hand, and the fire shone brightly.

I said, "I love your hair." ”

He picked me up and left me scratching at his hair freely. He told me a lot of things for me to remember. It wasn't until later when a flame grew in my own hands that I understood what he wanted me to recite every day. His whole person is like a fire, and every inch of his skin has to reveal that red charm.

From the day my sister got married, I was already grown. I didn't play dead again in the process of being beaten. Only the weak would run away like this, and I watched them and remained silent until they stopped. My body grew uncontrollably, and when I was ten years old, I realized that I hadn't been beaten for half a year when I was able to conjure flames out of thin air from my hands.

I was so enchanted in the woods, among the wild beasts, that I didn't notice when they looked at me with fear, when I pushed the five of them into the forest in search of a howling wolf, or when I dragged my sister's two frantic ploughing oxen into the pen? My father was still an alcoholic, and my brothers were still filthy and crowded together, but my sister was missing. The beasts also began to fear me, and no wild wolf or leopard dared to rush before me. Because I can already send out the light and fire they fear most at my fingertips.

My father finally died when I was sixteen. He himself must have gone with my mother when I was born. Although his life was not brilliant and did not give his mother any happiness, I can't deny that he really loves his mother, and that kind of love transcends life and death, but it can't withstand reality. It's been ten years, and since my sister got married, I finally have nothing to do with this family at this moment, because my father died. The first time I used a spell was to set my house on fire and burn it to ashes in an instant. The brothers' faces were pale, but no one dared to say anything. I'm just trying to destroy my traces here, but not against them. I left without looking back, leaving all resentment and sorrow behind.

"If you wish, follow me, and let's find someone with fiery hair, who is as beautiful as this one. "I opened my hand, and the burning flames did not deter this little wolf whose mother had just been killed by me. It glared at me, whimpering in its throat, completely unaware of what was happening, but not afraid of the fire in my hand, perhaps because his mother had not taught it the horror of fire before she died. "You're a poor fellow, too. I said, "Come with me, and I'll protect you." ”

Postscript:

This is the end of the story of the fire spirit beast god Mo Chi'an, and in the end, whether this little wolf was successfully tamed by him at a young age, I don't know, after all, his path has just begun. I have written several articles, but there is almost no taste of love in this one. Ten years of traces and ten years of heart refers to the ten years from the age of six to sixteen, from the first encounter with Li Yang Ya to the ten years when he left home to start looking for him. But the content was brushed over by me. What I want to write is just something strange that I don't understand. I had absolutely no idea what it was.