The old man locked the door tightly and motioned Lu Zhiye to sit inside.
"It will take a while for them to finish this. You can take shelter in my room first."
The old man poured Lu Zhiye a glass of water. Looking at the steaming bowl, Lu Zhiye asked with a smile, "Aren't you afraid that I'm a bad guy? I'll betray you later?"
The old man waved his hand and said nonchalantly, "It's rare for an old man like me to meet someone who is interested in what I write.
It can be regarded as fulfilling my wish.”
Suddenly, a violent cough was heard from inside the room, and it sounded as if the lungs were being coughed out.
The old man's face changed and he hurried into the inner room.
Lu Zhiye followed. In the dim room, there was only a table and a bed.
An old lady with silver hair was lying on the bed, coughing heartbreakingly.
The old man kept patting her on the back, but it was of no use.
Lu Zhiye suddenly understood why the old man was willing to sell his treasure.
After a long time, the old lady finally recovered and lay down on the bed exhausted.
The old man wiped his tears, walked out of the house, squatted at the door and said nothing.
He and his wife have endured all these years, but now they really can't bear it anymore?
Thinking that his wife's greatest wish was to see their son again, the old man beat his chest in pain.
With the last hope, the old man looked at Lu Zhiye hopefully: "Do you still want my books?"
Lu Zhiye nodded, took out twenty yuan from his pocket and put it on the table.
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