Red door

The 16-year-old He Yuan is immature and unsophisticated, and Luo Ye dare not give him books to read—for fear that he will fall asleep while reading and drool on the books.He rummaged through the box and took out a youth version of "Les Miserables" for He Yuan that he had read for a long time, and asked him to read it.He Yuan felt uncomfortable after reading the title of the book: "I'm already miserable."

"Look at the happiness that is worse than you." He was also afraid that he would go astray in his studies, so he instructed: "But don't be miserable."

Luo Ye sighed and went to write his own novel, a short story for a magazine.Short stories are deeply in his heart. In his opinion, novels can never be without foreshadowing. They seem too complicated and not delicate enough, but short stories are compact and long-lasting.

He writes about a young wife caring for her husband with Alzheimer's, who dies and finds himself developing similar symptoms.He sat withered in front of the manuscript paper, but he couldn't write any more.

If memory is our whole thing, and self-narratives come from our memory, is the person who has lost all memory still the same person?

He Yuan, whom he loves, is in his twenties, with a tolerant, precocious and calm appearance, but a soul like a storm.He is also his own best reader.

Now He Yuan knows nothing about himself, 16 years old, very young, naive stubbornness and worldly prejudice have not been driven out of his mind.

What is he to me?Luo Ye couldn't help but looked at He Yuan with a wry smile, only to find that there were three copies of "Les Miserables" from different publishers beside He Yuan's desk, and he was holding the youth edition in his hand, looking like his He Yuan in concentration.

"You...why do you put other versions of books when you read?" Luo Ye saw this pronunciation for the first time, "You are 16 years old, you can read teenagers, it is translated from the Japanese translation, delete it. Very reasonable reduction."

He Yuan put down the book and looked at him slyly: "Then think about it, what if someone took me out of it when they wrote your biography?"

Without thinking, he said, "Don't even think about it."

"But this is a reasonable deletion. You see, I beg/love you and sleep with you. As a minor, I always go to strangers' bedrooms." He Yuan blinked: "Don't you think that the Bad boy?"

"This is not the reason why others can remove you from my biography," Luo Ye said: "This is different, without my muse, I am nothing!"

"My muse?" He Yuan nodded triumphantly: "I like this title very much, my muse, well, my king, you can kiss my feet now."

He felt sorry for the first time he called him his muse in front of 16-year-old He Yuan.

"Don't change the subject, it's too distracting to read like this."

He Yuan let out a long breath: "I can't understand Chinese things, I have never learned French. Even the best translation can't fully express the author's meaning. Every sentence of their translation has a focus, but I If I want to understand what they all mean, I can only read as many versions as possible. By the way, your book selection is really good."

"Actually, I just bought the other two translations for collection." Luo Ye confessed honestly, "I haven't even opened the plastic package."

He Yuan said, "I opened it for you, is that ok? After all, paperback books are of average collection value."

"The first printed edition is printed for the first time," Luo Ye said with a wry smile, "but if it's you, of course there's nothing wrong with it."

"I'm sorry," He Yuan said sincerely, "I don't know, I'm sorry."

Luo Ye raised his hands in surrender: "Even if you cut my stamp, I won't be angry, okay? Go read your book obediently, I'm going to catch up on the manuscript, tomorrow is a deadline, sister Chen is going to kill me."

Luo Ye lamented that He Yuan was born with keenness, and the sensitivity for language can of course be acquired, but it is of course terrible to be born with such a delicateness.He thought of himself, and others said which edition was good, so he went to see that edition, without thinking about it at all.

Luo Ye thought of Kant, whom he had accumulated ashes, and thought that his German could still be saved.

But he had to finish the manuscript first, lest Sister Chen peeled his skin.

But as he was writing, he began to feel sad again. He was really afraid of amnesia and Alzheimer's. What if he also got this damn disease in the future?If even he has forgotten his past with He Yuan, who can remember his muse for him?

After He Yuan took over the charitable organization

A complaint from an investigative reporter who has never met before: "I can't bear to follow Hou Heyuan. He is Kant who eats three meals. If there is anyone in the world who is more frugal than him, then this kind of person can only be found in poor families with a salary of less than 1000 yuan." turn up.

He ate every meal in the staff canteen of the charity, spending no more than three yuan at a time, occasionally eating instant noodles, but never opened a bottle of soda or beer.

Yes, that's right, he smokes a lot, but I've never seen him smoke anything other than Changbai Mountain in a six-yuan soft pack.As for the last time someone said he was corrupt and smoked American cigarettes?I checked it out and found out - it was someone else's cigarette.

He inherited the legacy and charitable organization of the writer Mr. Luo Ye, but his living standard seems to be worse than before.Before inheriting the inheritance, he had a salary of 6000 a month, but now it is gone. It seems that he is determined not to use Mr. Luo Ye's inheritance.

Mr. Luo Ye's ip is very popular so far, and as a direct beneficiary, he has used all the money to help children and women who have been injured in domestic violence.

It is said that he is going to rescue stray cats, my God, does he want to be a saint?

Yes, I also went to investigate his sick father, but before inheriting Mr. Luo's property, he sold the house to keep his father alive. As for his mother, hey, how could he be so miserable? Both old people have such a disease.The rehabilitation hospital he was sent to also said that he was inheriting Mr. Luo's property and paid all the money.

Elderly people with Alzheimer's disease, hey, it is not enough to rely on their children in the later stage. The elderly will forget to eat, and some will forget to swallow when it is serious. It sounds so scary that I can't think about it.

I'll say it again, I've been an investigative reporter for many years, and I've seen a lot of all kinds of greed. Seeing such a person really warms my heart.

I heard that his family is also a domestic violence family, hey, good people, if everyone I investigate is such a good person, then even if I can’t write big news, I’m willing to lose my job if I can’t eat. "

Luo Ye’s single-family villa was also left to him. Fans wrote to ask if they were interested in building an exhibition hall for Mr. Luo. When the white dust cloth lay on the familiar bed, the idea was dismissed.

He thought: Let me be selfish just once, just be selfish once, and let's talk about it after I die.

He Yuan fell asleep sweetly in the bedroom where everything was different. In the dream, Luo Ye was an actor, but he was not very good. After returning home, he drank and scolded the screenwriter and director, scolding very literary.

Then he awoke without warning, tears soaking the silk pillowcase.

People from the hospital called him and said that his father was critically ill and he must go back.

He got on the bus to the hospital, and saw the old man sweeping the street from the car window struggling to lift the branches damaged by the storm onto the truck.Deep sorrow enveloped his heart.

He remembered how Nietzsche went crazy. It was an old horse pulling a heavy carriage. Its owner waved the whip cruelly. Nietzsche, who witnessed all this, went crazy and rushed up to hug the poor horse. Weeping bitterly: "My poor brother!"

Then he went completely insane.

"What is the wind that blows you to this tragic fate? What wind blows us to this tragic fate?"

There is a huge silent music hidden in the hospital.

He thought he wouldn't shed a single tear when his father died, but when he looked at his dying father, He Yuan felt a sense of powerlessness, his calf was trembling, just like every time his father picked up something when he was a child The fear before hitting him on the head.

But his father couldn't stand up anymore, and he couldn't hit him on the head with anything.

He is utterly old and will soon decay.

He Yuan's body is still afraid of him, and also afraid of death just like his father.

"Dad, here I come."

"I'm sorry for your child, how do you live? How do you live? You have nothing left."

He said cruelly, "I can take care of myself."

He Yuan never told him that he could inherit Luo Ye's inheritance, never.

"You have nothing, what do you do?" The father cried in pain, he cried silently, opened his mouth to say something, and then stopped breathing.

He Yuan thought, indeed, I have nothing left.Wen Ji, Luo Ye, no one can accompany me to the end.

But he thought about it, even a loving couple in the same time and space cannot live and die together, so this short farewell is just a snap of the fingers.Knowing that I will always love you, what difference does it make if we see you or not?

One day after inheriting Luo Ye's inheritance, He Yuan went alone to the coffee shop that Luo Ye took him to and bought a piece of cake.When he was a child, he loved to eat, and he wanted to eat the low-quality cakes his mother bought him, and Luo Ye also liked the high-end cakes he bought.But when he buys it himself and eats it, he finds it tasteless.

Looking at the endlessly flowing street outside the window, he suddenly felt a sense of detachment.

He Yuan thought a lot, but he didn't think about Wen Ji and Luo Ye. For example, since labor is the way to exchange for living materials, why do manual laborers put in so much labor and sweat but can only struggle at the bottom?Why is labor divided into high and low?

The cake in his mouth became astringent when it was too sweet, and he no longer liked it, but a new path opened to him.

My feelings no longer have any resemblance to yours: I laugh at the darkness and bulkiness of the cloud below me—that is your thundercloud.

———"Thus Spoke Zarathustra"