
Tranquility in an Ning Town
About This Novel
My name is Chen Mo, and I live in a perfect cage called "An Ning Town". Here we work at sunrise and rest at sunset. Everyone is a familiar neighbor with the same smile. At first I thought this was a blessing, until I found a yellowed photo deep in the drawer - in the photo, I was lying in a cold tiled room, with red writing scrawled like blood on the back: "Don't eat Uncle Wang's noodles, it's a shroud." From then on, the peaceful life began to peel off its paint. Uncle Wang, who sells breakfast, repeats the same sentence every day with empty eyes; his neighbor, Grandma Li, peels beans as accurately as if measured with a ruler. I tried to escape, but the wheel always brought me back to the old locust tree at the entrance of the town; I tried to warn others, but before I could say anything, the other person turned around stiffly like a puppet with its strings cut off. This is not life, this is acting. All of us are playing the role of "living people". That rainy night, I sneaked into the noodle shop warehouse and saw the truth - the piles of "noodles" were white shrouds soaked in soup, and the distorted faces of the missing were crowded in the gaps. They are not dead, just "sealed". Now, "she" who plays the role of my girlfriend is standing at the door holding a bowl of hot noodles, with the corners of her mouth raised in a perfect arc. "Ah Mo," she said softly, "the noodles won't taste good if they're cold." The heat rising from the bowl blurred my vision. If you eat it, you can continue to have this gentle dream; if you overturn it, you have to face the "audience" who controls everything behind the scenes. I clenched my chopsticks.
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