## #057千人血

Closed city, closed house.

There will only be a lament above the glorious court, just like the lament of people every time they face death for thousands of years.

Soon, history will sweep away the sorrow, and no one will remember that it was a living human life, and no one will care about the neatly arranged names on the list of the dead.

Behind every name is a life that once ran alive. Later, it became nothing more than a number, a waste paper for burning fires.

Closed city, closed house.

A corpse, lying peacefully on the bed, no different from falling asleep.

A man puts his arms around his newlywed wife, one hand still on her lower abdomen, which is a newly-married child.

Li Yashi's knife is still in his hand, this is all the honor of his life, but fortunately, he still holds it in his hand until he dies.

Because of this knife, his neighbors were afraid of him and respected him, and because of this knife he married the girl of his heart. By the time he died, he didn't know that the woman who had become his wife because she was afraid of the knife had never loved him from beginning to end.

None of that matters anymore. Now that he and his wife will never be separated again, he no longer has to worry about his wife's dissatisfaction with his marriage and hiding other men in his heart.

If there is any benefit to death, I am afraid that those things that are usually important will be instantly wiped out and become meaningless.

Closed cities, closed houses, everything is stagnant.

If people can think about everything from death, they may be able to be open-minded and at ease.

But how many people in the world can be so open-minded, no. Because not many people know when they will die. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, the only thing that can't be is yesterday.

For the people of Sui'an Province, death was a matter of yesterday.

There was no other word to describe it except for the dead silence, and there was no trace of life in the eyes of Ye Xiaolou and the nightingale.

The weather is clear, and the cold wind lingers.

A figure suddenly crawled out of the cold wind, the figure of a girl. She fell to her knees on all fours, clumsily and greedily moving forward, crawling from the west side of Seven Mile Street to the eastern suburbs.

Behind her, several more children of four or five years old appeared, the older ones no more than ten years old.

The leading girl woke up with heavy eyes in front of her, shiny things reflected in her eyes, and she saw the light for the first time. Intrigued by the object, she reached out and stroked its smooth edges. Until the bloody wounds on the fingers were cut, and they quickly healed into rougher skin than before.

Back and forth several times, cuts, bleeding, healing. She was tired of it, and there was nothing in the house that piqued her interest anymore. Her eyes were so large that they occupied almost half of her face, like two dark holes, shining with the light she had just looked at, and her hands were those of a four-year-old girl, fleshy like lotus roots, and her body was round and round as it had been before her illness, and there was blood flowing from under her skin, human blood. She was only four years old, but she knew how to be bored, and knew that there was nothing around her that she wanted, nothing.

She didn't glance at the man lying beside her, the man she had called her father. She didn't glance at the woman on the ground, who was trying to crawl to her side before she died, clutching the red rope that had been torn from her little daughter's head.

If death could be painless, some people would not care about life, wave their hands, sprinkle a bowl of medicine, and the soul of these thousand families will be destroyed overnight.

The red rope in the woman's hand was woven in the north wind by the holy lake on the winter solstice last year, using the best red thread. At that time, the sky and the lake were blue and bright, and the water was as blue as the sky was clear. After half of her life, although she married a man she didn't like, since the birth of her well-behaved and sensible little daughter, she put the future of her life and the love that she never opened when she was young completely on her daughter. A girl has hidden her love for more than ten years, the red thread is around her fingers, every time she wraps it, she prays silently in her heart, forget the lake, forget the lake, let Ping'er be carefree and safe.

As for love, she didn't make a wish. How much of a woman's love can be carried out by her own heart? Thinking of her past, she felt sad, "I gave birth to you as a daughter, and when Ping'er grows up in the future, don't blame my mother." She said to herself.

When Ping'er contracted the disease, she begged her husband bitterly, and even forced her to die. He is categorically opposed to how a husband, as a servant, can allow his wife to do mischief, to transgress the law, or to sacrifice sacrifices.

When her husband didn't agree, she kept telling him love words in his ear day and night, saying how much she loved him, how much she loved the dying Jie'er and the dying Ping'er. The family cannot afford to lose another child.

After all, the man liked his wife, and he couldn't see that she was getting haggard, so he quietly stuffed some silver taels to the people guarding the mountain road, and took his little daughter to the lake overnight. was ruthless, and pushed his daughter, who had not yet died, into the lake.

The next morning, when he opened his eyes dimly, he saw his daughter sitting on the ground playing with a bamboo tube, and all the festers caused by the epidemic were gone. Now he completely believed that the holy lake could indeed make the dying child heal.

The couple hugged each other and cried and laughed, and hugged their daughter in the middle, they really fell in love with each other, because of a secret that they had to keep together forever, and for the first time, the hearts of these two people were tightly tied together.

The official resigned from his errand in the government and stayed at home to take care of his wife and children. Two days later, rumors began to be verified one by one, and people told him that the children who came back would have a terrible stench. The stench hurt the liver, and on the third day, the man began to be unable to swallow and vomited repeatedly.

When the woman saw this, she was worried, afraid that the man would hate Ping'er for this. So he changed a few of his best clothes to a smaller size, sewed some tight clothes, and wrapped Ping'er inside and out, Ping'er didn't cry or make trouble, and let her mother add clothes to herself.

It's just that instead of hiding it, the smell is getting stronger and stronger.

She brought cold water from the deepest well, boiled it and scrubbed her daughter's body, and the more she rubbed it, the stronger the smell became. In the end, she had no choice but to give up. She had to pretend that everything was getting better, and when the man showed a look of disgust, she pretended that she didn't smell it at all.

"What's the smell, you heard a lot from outsiders, and you came up with it yourself. She pulled Ping'er into her arms, sniffed and sniffed closer, and didn't even frown. "You see, there is no smell, and if there was a strange smell, I would have spit it out like you. ”

Despite saying this, the door of the house is opening less and less, and Ping'er has never even been to the yard, and she is locked in the room from morning to night, guarded and watched by her. She looked at Ping'er now, thinking about the past days, when Ping'er's eyes were watery, brighter than the moon shining on the lake of forgetfulness.

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