Chapter 61 The frozen earth mermaid in my heart felt that the children should be missing one...
Yu Chen had never deliberately compared the similarities and differences between the wooden stake bird and the white feather.
In his opinion, although these two people have similar experiences, their personalities are completely different.
Perhaps due to the limited details of the dream, his impression of the wooden stake bird only stayed on the hazy atmosphere of the twilight and the arms that were awkwardly covering their faces in silence.
He was a man whose edges had been smoothed out by life.
Like the shadow cast by dusty frosted glass, it is so gray and numb, weighing heavily on people's hearts, making it painful to breathe when they think of it.
But Bai Ling was a completely different person.
He is a proud and unyielding little eagle, with a broken body, but he can burst out with powerful tenacity.
He is lively and frank, and can always stand up quickly after falling down. There is a wild vitality in him that is fascinating.
In the dim nursery, Yu Chen leaned against the shelf, gazing deeply at a pot of roses in front of him that were sprouting branches.
Roses growing in the wilderness have rough leaves covered with thorns, but they often cannot bloom due to lack of nutrients and water.
In this age of pursuit of quick enjoyment, few people have the patience to spend years carefully nurturing and waiting for the flowers to bloom.
This has become a point of criticism for wild roses, but it also makes them precious.
But Yu Chen vaguely remembered that the pot of flowers he gave away in his dream was not well cared for.
It has been placed in the corner of the shelf, quietly taking root in the soil, stretching its branches hard, trying to get the nutrients sprayed by the water mister. Its rough leaves, mixed among the colorful flowers, are so stubborn, distant and inconspicuous.
During one of his visits, Yu Chen happened to catch a glimpse of its branches that were about to stretch out of the rack.
Like the outstretched hands of a dying man.
Yu Chen took out the pot of wild roses that refused to bloom, but it turned out to be ungrateful and pierced his hand.
The mermaid's blood dripped into the flowerpot.
When it came again, it saw him and grew double-petaled flowers regardless of everything.
So impatient, as if wanting to prove something to him.
The mermaid could not understand the language of flowers, so he roughly guessed that it should be a proud snort.
——With nutrients, I can also bloom.
The frozen soil in the mermaid's heart was loosened by the thorny branches.
He smiled, revealing a hint of appreciation without leaving a trace. What a lovely and unyielding thing! It should grow under the bright sunshine and enjoy the natural dew, instead of being locked up in a small and cramped nursery and lost among flowers.
The mermaid remembered that the children who were playing chess said that their rooms were very damp and there was always an unpleasant musty smell.
The child should be in need of a pot of flowers.
The mermaid touched the leaves of the wild rose with her finger, leaned over, and whispered to the flower: "I hope you two get along well."
Then he wrapped it in transparent cellophane and held it in his hand.
In that dream, Yu Chen went to the appointment in this way.
His thoughts turned back to the past, and Yu Chen gently stroked the branches of the wild rose. The sharp thorns scratched across the palm of the hand, causing a series of tremors in the peripheral nerves, making people involuntarily think of the hand of the wooden stake bird.
Rough, prickly, calloused hands. If you hold it tightly, the cracked wound will pierce you and make you bleed like a river.
But he didn't do that at the time.
His breath became slightly disordered, and he suddenly clenched the stem of the wild rose, letting the blood from his palm flow down and fall into the flowerpot.
He whispered softly, his voice resonating in the small incubator like the prayer of a sinner:
"This time, I will definitely catch you."
·
What happened at the secret police station still had an impact on Bai Ling. Late at night, he was dragged into a dream in the quagmire, struggling but unable to free himself.
Soon, he realized that it must be a memory.
Just before death.
The sky was grey and the rain was falling heavily. He stood in the puddles, with a clogged manhole cover under his feet, and the water seeping up soaked his shoes.
Fortunately, I wasn't wearing socks.
This was his first thought. Then he recalled more details. No... In order to save money, he didn't buy socks at all.
Looking up, the pedestrians around me looked numb and hurried, holding umbrellas and trying their best to get home before it got completely dark. Strangely, everything in sight was in black and white.
It's like walking into an old movie by mistake.
He looked at the shop window and saw his own face reflected in it, which was also gray and blurry, especially his white hair that looked like dead grass and was faded and ugly.
Looks older.
A pedestrian inadvertently raised his umbrella and muttered, "You old wooden leg, get out of the way."
The wooden bird hit the ground and took two steps back. Accidentally, he saw himself in the mirror again. He quickly lowered his sick face, thought for a while, then pricked his finger and smeared the squeezed blood on his cheek.
In this way, the qi and blood seem to be much better.
The wooden bird was very satisfied and felt an inexplicable sense of pride in its heart. You see, he always finds a way. These are the wisdom of the poor.
Today is the date for the appointment.
He was in a good mood and got up early in the morning to iron his shirt. Since he didn't have an iron, he used the bottom of a heated kettle instead. Put a towel under it, and then iron it with a sizzle, and the collar will be straight.
No one could tell that there were two patches on the hem.
However, I was not so lucky when it came to wearing shoes.
The Woodpile Bird found the pair of sneakers that looked the least old and stuffed the wooden feet in first. It has rained a lot recently, and the wood has absorbed moisture and swelled slightly, but this is not a problem, just use a knife to trim the edges.
The trouble is the good foot.
In fact, it can’t be called a “good” foot now. He didn't know which blood vessels in his body were blocked again, and the instep of his foot was swollen. He had no choice but to grit his teeth and stuff his shoes into his feet. He then took three painkillers and walked around in them in the hope that the shoes would expand a little.
The Wood Stake Bird shrugged his shoulders and thought optimistically: "Maybe I have gained weight."
Finally pick up the leather jacket.
The woodpecker would jokingly call it a little ragged jacket because its outer leather is brittle and tattered as if it had been scratched by a cat, which does not look good at all. He thought about it, then turned it over and wore it with the good side exposed.
Everything is ready and the Stake Bird feels pretty good.
Even though he put in some effort, his life now is pretty good compared to the days when he was twenty years old and wandering around the square. At least he still has a shelter, and if Mr. D is easy to get along with, he doesn't mind inviting him over for a chat.
Of course, if the other party dared to curse and show disgust, he would definitely snatch the guy's crutches and throw them into the sea.
Mr. D seldom reveals his private life. All he knows is that he is often ill and needs to use a cane to get around.
What? He’s just an old man.
The wooden stake bird said this, but in its heart it felt relieved, or rather, felt very fortunate.
This is better. You are old and I am disabled, so let's not look down on each other.
The meeting point is scheduled at the station near Central Street.
The wooden bird limped across the street corner, stepping on the water lightly, and was so excited that it almost flew away.
Let him see what kind of old guy can beat him in chess for twenty years... Along the way, Muzhuniao's eyes followed all the old men who passed by, but none of them met his imagination of Mr. D, a gentleman, elegant, and rational.
After turning a corner, you can see the station.
At this moment, there was a public bus parked in front of the station. There was an endless stream of people, one wave squeezing down and another rushing up, like endless waves.
When the wave receded, the gray-white bus slowly started, and the floating breeze blew away a strand of golden hair.
The eyes of the wood bird widened slightly. In this heavy color scheme, only that person was colorful.
The other person was holding a pot of beautiful flowers, standing tall, with a graceful and brilliant face, which made people think of the steepest sculpture in the flower bed of the Military Festival.
After use, the soldiers will put covers on the sculptures and carefully store them in the warehouse.
Such things seemed extremely out of place at the bus station in the slums, so much so that even after the bus had driven away, people would still lean on the windows and try to watch.
Woodpeckers also like beautiful things like this.
If it were more than 20 years ago, he might have approached her and started a conversation. But his mission now is to find Mr. D, an old gentleman who can play chess. I took out the terminal with a broken screen and there was an unread message on it:
[Desserped]: I'm here, that's me holding the flowerpot.
The Wooden Bird's heart stopped for a moment. It stood in the shadow of the street corner, staring blankly ahead. The broken umbrella in his hand fell to the ground, and fine raindrops fell like needles, flowing into his red and swollen eye sockets.
You must be mistaken.
There must be something wrong.
The wooden stake bird lowered its head deeply, and the first thing it saw was the dirty tip of its own shoe. It was stained with sewage sludge and was extremely filthy, not even worth showing off.
Why is this happening…
Why, now?
If only he were still young. At the age of nineteen, he had been young and handsome. If he had looked like that, he would have been able to walk out without any worries, confidently put his arm around the other person, and take him out for a drink.
So disappointed.
He is only disappointed with himself now.
Wearing a torn leather jacket, with swollen hands and feet, and looking sick, appearing in front of others will only scare them.
The woodcutter tried its best to hide itself in the shadows, opened its pale and chapped lips, raised its head, and let the rain flow into its eye sockets, drowning out the tears in the corners of its eyes.
He was only a hundred meters away from the station, but he couldn't take a step forward.
Twenty years have passed. From the broken leg, injury to disfigurement, so much time has passed that he has become accustomed to the disfigurement of his appearance.
But at this moment, the wooden stake bird couldn't help but think -
You could have had a better me.
"Huff, huff, huff..." He bent down deeply and coughed violently, almost coughing out all his internal organs.
Passersby cast disgusted glances at it, and the Woodbird dodged in panic, forced to take two steps to the side of the street. Originally, he wanted to just leave without saying anything, and even prepared to reply with a message, saying... just saying that he was busy and couldn't come...
The wooden bird leaned against the cold and damp wall, took a peek from afar, but its pupils suddenly shrank.
He witnessed with his own eyes that a speeding vehicle splashed water all over Mr. D.
But Mr. D still did not leave. He just brushed off the water droplets on the bag of flowers and stepped back a little, but not too far.
The Woodcutter knew that Mr. D was afraid that it would not see him when passing by and would miss him again.
His lips were bitten blue and he rushed into the rain with tears in his eyes.
Don't wait any longer, don't wait any longer, please just leave.
The other grabbed his hand and whispered to him with a gentleness that the wooden stake bird had never felt before: "Is it you?"
Mr. D's eyes are deep blue, but there is no highlight. He can't see.
The wooden stake bird was like a sick bird whose wings were grabbed. It violently brushed away the hand and staggered backward.
"Not me."
"Who are you?"
"I... am a vendor at the station."
Mr. D seemed to suddenly realize something, raised his chin slightly, and said politely, "I'm waiting for someone, and he hasn't arrived yet. Do you have anything you want to sell me during this time? Maybe I can use it."
It is indeed an appropriate word.
Even when dealing with rude strangers, he remained respectful.
The fingertips of the wooden stake bird were sunk deep into the palm of my hand, making it almost impossible to breathe.
I like it very much...
The person in front of him, who was thousands of miles away from Mr. D that he imagined through the Internet, was exactly the same good person.
The wooden bird searched all over its body with trembling fingers, and finally, in silence, it dug out a medal from the depths of its pocket.
It was the only intact part of his body.
"I have a medal... I want to sell it. It's very cheap, only ten dollars. No... you can name any price."
Mr. D lowered his eyes: "Is this your own medal?"
"right……"
“Why sell it to me?”
The stake bird said softly, "Because there is gold on it."
The gold on the soldier's medal shines brightly, representing the immortal character of the soldiers. Although that glory has long been lost in the past and cannot be retrieved, the medal still shines.
Only it can prove its value a little bit.
Mr. D seemed to be thinking: "Is that so..."
The wooden bird did not get a positive answer from him, so it just stretched out its hands stiffly, at a loss. He stood on the street and begged the other party to buy the medal in a low voice, which attracted strange looks from passers-by. Those people looked at him with shame on their faces, and bitter tears were about to fall from their eyes, but they dared not.
As a soldier, selling your medals is no different from selling yourself...
It's all about losing dignity.
But when the wooden bird raised its head and looked at Mr. D with tearful eyes, it seemed to see respect in those lifeless eyes.
At this moment, Mr. D suddenly stretched out his hand and shook his hand: "Thank you for all your contributions to the country."
A hot tear fell uncontrollably on the back of Mr. D's hand, which was covered with veins.
The old soldier, with a voice hoarse from the war, said in a panic, "It's raining really hard, isn't it?"
The wooden bird didn't know at that time that Mr. D had woken up in his dreams countless times at midnight, hating his own indifference.
Is it so difficult to grab the wings of a broken-legged falcon and hold it in your arms?
Yu Chen asked himself repeatedly.
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