"Wu Dalang, get the fuck out of here!"
A female voice exploded so sharply that it could pierce my eardrums. I jumped up from the bed. My brain felt like it had been hit by a hammer, and I grimaced in pain. When I opened my eyes, dim light squeezed in through the broken window lattice, illuminating the dusty room like a haunted house. A strange smell penetrated my nose - burnt bread mixed with the damp smell of moldy wood. It made me feel so sick that I couldn't even vomit even if I wanted to.
I struggled to get up, but there was a "bang" and my head hit the bed board hard. It was as short as a doghouse. I gasped in pain and cursed: "What kind of evil spirit made the bed so short? My head was smashed!" I covered my forehead and looked down. My hands were as short as half-cut tree stumps, as rough as old tree bark, and the gaps between my fingernails were filled with black mud, so dirty that they could grow crops. I was stunned for three seconds, my mind buzzing—this is not my fucking hand!
Last night I stayed up late reading a novel in a rental house. The book "Water Margin Fans: Wu Dalang's Counterattack" made me furious. The protagonist was as useless as shit, and was poisoned to death in the end. I was so angry that I sprayed in the comment area: "Is the author out of his head? This loser protagonist deserves to be raped!" But when I woke up, I ended up in this damn place? ! My heart was beating like a drum. I rolled out of bed suddenly and almost tripped over the raised floor as soon as my feet landed. Looking around, there were broken pottery pots piled in the corner, a rickety table with missing legs, and a cracked bowl on top. In the bowl lay half a dark piece of cooking cake, like briquettes. Just looking at it made me want to kick my feet...
