Chapter 7 19831On a sunny night in February, the typewriter continued to push the truth. The fog of heather pipe floated to the withered tree and silently cried to me about the circular square next to Baker Street. The iris badge on the knight's arm shines slightly, and the unmanned carriage rings late at night. Victoria's visit to evil in the moonlight, the bloody opening disappeared, the pistol was blackened, and the cane melted the wax figure. Who didn't attend? The illusion spear of the symbol on the jewelry box. The shield evidence leading to his pile of dead lanes was perfectly buried, mocking the corners of Scotland Yard. If evil is a magnificent and cruel movement (then justice is a deep and helpless melancholy), I will write its ending myself (then I will light the twilight in the ashes). The morning sun dries the last sad line (then raindrops will wash away the dark high walls). Black ink is safe (turn off the lights and the red curtain falls). The truth can only be placed on the soil without footprints, in the abrupt faint fragrance of flowers, and on the clothes that are deliberately conspicuous. Everyone wears a mask for different reasons. Lying has only one name. It's called the desire to cross the swamp of human nature. Who can really not be dirty? We can forget and forgive, but we must know the truth. In the last picture, the iron bed was finally put together, and the soft leather heel was finally put together. I heard footsteps. He pushed open the door, and the night wind shook the kerosene lamp for a while. The typewriter stopped at the murderer's name. I turned around, and the night sky at Westminster Abbey began to boil, and gorgeous death bloomed in my chest. I tasted this last sweet truth and smiled and recalled that justice was just a quiet violin playing in the times.
Listen to my mother.
Children, do you have many question marks? Why are others reading comics there, but I am learning to draw and play the piano, others are playing games, and Kao is carrying my ABC on the wall? I said I wanted a big plane, but I had an old tape recorder. Why do you listen to my mother? When I grow up, you will begin to understand this passage. When I grow up, I will begin to understand why I run faster and fly higher than others. Everyone will see my cartoons in the future. I sing all the songs at home. Mom's hard work will not let you see the warm recipes in her heart. Hold her hand and sleepwalk together when you are free. Listen to her. Don't let her get hurt You want to grow up quickly and protect her beautiful white hair and happiness. The magic of angels is warm and kind. In your future, music is your trump card. Use your trump card to talk about love. Well, I don't want to teach you bad. Let's listen to your mother. Let's fall in love later. I know your future path, but my mother knows better than me that you will start writing in your schoolbag like other students, but I suggest that it is best to write about your mother. I will study hard. How can I say from my mouth that I don't want you to lose? So I hope you study hard. You should take good care of the sweater your mother knitted for you, because I will tell him that I still have it on Mother's Day, and I'm going to see Chow Yun Fat, so that you can show off to your classmates that the future is your father. I can't find it. Don't give away the love letters you wrote as a child, because you will pick them up in Caochang in two days, and you will begin to like pop songs, because Jacky Cheung is going to sing goodbye.
Thousands of miles away
The eaves of the house are like cliffs, and the wind chimes are like the sea. When Yan returns, there will be an accident. You walk away quietly. The story can't be separated from the fog outside the city, and the dialogue can't be seen clearly. You can't hear the wind. I woke up from my dream and opened the window sill. The future is as thin as cicada's wings. Who will tear me down and send you thousands of miles away? You are silent, black and white are silent, and the years of love may not be too far away. I will send you away. No, it's hard to guess how to wait for life and death while you are still playing the piano. When you hear the sound of tears, you should go into the forest to find pear flowers. Just a line of moss. It is raining outside the mountain. My temple is gray (I'm waiting for you). Your perfect love for you comes from poetry in the rain. I am wet now. I am still on the surface of the lotus, but you don't come back. The flowers you said are covered with years. The past is blank.
Compendium of Materia Medica
If Hua Tuo is cured, learning Chinese characters from foreign countries will stimulate my national consciousness. Semen Strychni, Semen Cassiae, Fructus Xanthii and Lotus Seeds, Dioscorea bulbifera, Sophora alopecuroides and Fructus Toosendan will save face and rewrite history in my way. There is nothing else to do. Read some words after me. Watch me grab a handful of Chinese medicine and take the next job. I'm very proud. My expression is very leisurely and my movements are very relaxed. Can't learn. The neon sign is intact, waiting to wake up in the gorgeous city, and the expression is long and jumping. I probably used calligraphy books to spread heroism, waved block letters to punch the end of the dialogue, and lay down to see who was good. Whatever pills Dan is trained into, velvet pieces can't be too thin. You can't copy the music of Guiling Ointment, Yunnan Baiyao and Cordyceps sinensis like this. Listen to me, Chinese medicine should copy painstakingly. More bitter, open the Compendium of Materia Medica and read more good books. Toad, Sue and Earthworms have turned over the sufferings of these grandfathers in the Jianghu. We can't lose. This is light. This is light. Sing together. This is light. Hey, let me make a prescription to cure your obsequious internal injury. China has power that others have not known for thousands of years. Squat, squat, squat, squat, squat, squat, squat, squat, squat, squat,
retreat
The sky is as dark as crying, and there is no freedom after leaving you. Sour air sniffs out our distance. Tapered tail is like breathing, it can't stop. The yellow diary in the drawer exhausted the memory. Smile is in summer, your past and mine are forgotten clockwise after lack of oxygen. Careless tears are unnecessary. I know there is nothing wrong with you and me, but we have forgotten how to step back and our promises, but time has hollowed us out. I know we are not wrong, but letting go is better than the most beautiful love memories to be continued.
Heart Rain
The green leaves of oak trees and the fence of white bamboo really want to tell me that she is like a painting here. The image of stubble in the mirror of last Christmas card began to disappear from her. I'm still playing dumb and agreed to learn how to make scented tea for me. There is a phone in the student's empty dormitory, but she can't wait for the rain in her heart to pour down and not get wet. Her hair and tears blurred the worries on the postcard. There is no time difference, but the rain in my heart is pouring down, but she has never been caught. The cold wind passed through the branches in the yard and cooled the flowers in my hand.
White windmill
The white windmill quietly turned the real feeling to the distant place of dreams. The sweet sea water and complicated tears looked at you, holding my hand and laughing stupidly, hoping for no end. It's good that we can come this far, because I don't want to end this happiness too soon. Unfortunately, there is no blessing, but loving you is not lonely, and I won't let you cry again. Can you walk back to the finish line and hold me tight and say you don't need commitment? You said that if I was alone, I would be more free. I don't know what you said. Anyway, I won't let go and carry you to the end. Can you not think too much? Will you go hand in hand to the end in the future? You said you shouldn't meet again, just for a moment. Thank you for letting me hear your voice, because I will wait forever.
Rosmarin
Your mouth is slightly upturned, sexy and hopeless. I can't imagine such a heartbeat. All you want is soft drinks, and the bubbles will rise. I will drink all your hobbies in one bottle. The most important thing here is excitement. You are sensational, hug. The candlelight is burning, and your eyes are out of focus for a few seconds. About your dance, you are lazy and twisted. You can't stand your smile fluttering in the wind. You smell of rosemary. You are a mint-flavored coquetry. You are in love with me. Your elegant signal moves lightly like a cat, spreading around the sweetness of love. It's just rap that your mouth is slightly upturned and sexy. I can't imagine such a heartbeat. Everything you want is to please a confident and proud bright lipstick. What omen? The atmosphere is subtle because I love you. I know the aura is subtle, because I love you.
Chrysanthemum stage
Your tears are weak and hurt, and the pale moon bends and hooks. The past night was too long and condensed into frost. Who is in the attic? The cold and desperate rain gently beat against the scarlet window. My life was blown to paper by the wind, and my dream turned into a wisp of incense in the distance. Your face is gone with the wind. Chrysanthemums are everywhere, which hurts your smile. My heart turned yellow and my heart was broken. The north wind is chaotic. It's still early at night, and your shadow keeps cutting, leaving me alone on the paired lakes. The flowers have fallen to dusk, and the brilliant and withered world is doomed. Don't kick down the ladder and tear up the autumn heart. I'm afraid you'll never get ashore. Whose hooves are crazy? My uniform growled and the vicissitudes of life were slightly bright, and you sighed softly all night, so tactfully.