…
A month later, Lu Shu received a message.
He knew who it was—an enemy.
They have been watching him suffer, and when he enjoys a short period of happiness, they will take it away. Or maybe the sender is kindly reminding him that his enemies have set their sights on the man, and if he doesn't leave, the man will suffer.
...What on earth is he longing for?
Since those people dared to hunt him down, why wouldn't they dare to persecute ordinary people in a city?
“…”
Lu Shu put away his phone, finished his meal in silence, and left quickly.
He didn't dare take away the shirt and shorts, the Plants vs. Zombies toys, and the small potted plants that the man bought for him. He was afraid that if he took them away, it would bring trouble to the man. He only took away the headshots he took with the man when they were shopping half a year ago, which cost 15 yuan each, the cheapest but most precious thing.
In the photo, the man showed a hearty smile, while Lu Shu lowered his head shyly. At that time, Lu Shu still had some black hair on his temples, but now it has turned completely white.
He put the photo in his inner pocket, close to his heart.
He did not tell the man the truth. The man was a man with a strong sense of justice, but the sense of justice of ordinary people was worthless under those heavy things. Even if they shouted with all their might, it would be silently covered in the end. People only see what is under the camera, but they are not the ones who control the camera.
Even if she told the man, what would happen? The ancient martial arts family was extremely powerful, and the man's roar would only bring danger.
So, he just left a letter. It said:
[To my adoptive father:
Recently, my relatives contacted me and I am going back to my hometown. Thank you for your support in the past six months. Please don't be discouraged, you are really a good person!
My hometown has mountains and rivers, it is a very good place, you don't have to worry about it. My relatives are also very good people, they bought me new clothes and new books, and my fellow spirits who are the same age as me also take good care of me.
In short, I will live a happy life, with all the necessities of life including food, clothing, shelter and transportation! In a few years, I will come back to hug you! Please leave my clothes and books to the next child!
——Little Tree】
…
The dream is over.
His life stopped growing at the age of seventeen, but in the year he met Guang, his wounds were healed by gentle hands, and he began to grow again like a bamboo shoot that broke through the soil after rain. But it was only half a year... his growth stopped.
Lu Shu placed the letter on the man's bedside table and took a last look at the man sleeping. He was a middle-aged man in his forties, with a square face, a broad forehead and chin, and some fierce eyebrows, but he was a very good person.
...This is the last look.
Lu Shu bit his lip. He remembered that he had asked the man's name at the beginning.
"Just call me Uncle Zhao," said the man.
"Is your uncle's last name Zhao?"
"Yes. There are many policemen with the surname Zhao, and they are not the only ones who will help you. Zhao, Qian, Sun, and Li may all save you. There are many good people in this world, not just me."
"Um."
…
"Uncle Zhao, goodbye..." After closing the door and leaving that warm little home, he finally burst into tears.
This was the last time he cried. Even when he was too sick to walk, he didn't cry like that.
Clutching the photo tightly, he vomited blood again.
In fact, he guessed how serious his illness was. He already knew the word "cancer". The medicine he took was becoming more and more expensive, and his uncle's expression was becoming more and more worried.
But there is a simple calculation - just the box of medicine he took is enough for Uncle Zhao to help more people, so why does he still need to take that medicine?
If that medicine wasn't taken, more people would be saved.
Uncle Zhao can also gain more people's gratitude instead of throwing his meager salary into a bottomless pit.
Fearing he would run into Uncle Zhao, he left the city where he had stayed for a long time and headed for City H.
When he arrived in H City, he was once again in a state of dirty clothes and empty hands, and his ID was frozen, probably because of his enemies. But he didn't dare to go back to that warm city, because he was afraid that if he dared to go back, good people would be killed.
The evil people in this world often thrive like fish in water, while the good people have a hard time living.
Maybe he is really destined to live in this world with many scars.
Walking onto the street, he saw some familiar vendor stalls, smelled the aroma of roasted sweet potatoes... and heard people's disgusted looks.
"Xiao Wen, let's stay away from him. Homeless people like this are sick. Don't let him infect you..." The adult pulled the child away from him.
He stood in front of the trash can, watching in silence.
——Now, the invisible "mold spot" has finally grown on his body again.
…
He had no documents and could only work illegally.
Most of the work was tiring and high-intensity, such as running errands for others, moving bricks at construction sites, moving goods in 40-degree heat, and going into sewers in minus 10-degree weather... Because he did not understand the law and could not read, anyone could deduct his wages. In order to fight against these bullies, he gradually learned to speak harshly and swear.
He is no longer a son of an aristocratic family. If he wants to survive, he must throw himself into the dirt and mingle with all kinds of people.
But even so, his body could not bear the intense physical labor, and he began to vomit blood soon. The bosses were afraid to hire him, fearing that he would die on the construction site one day.
Without a job, he returned to the bridge tunnel again, curled up to endure the pain. Although it was a different city, it seemed that nothing had changed.
However, he no longer always looked up at the sky and envied his peers. Instead, he recalled again and again... that short half year of happiness.
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