When I was three years old, I was pushed down a steep slope by an invisible force in the vegetable field next to the cemetery. I almost died among the sharp rapeseed piles, but my mother fought to save me.
But from then on, my temperament changed drastically as soon as the sun set. I cried all night long, "I want to go back to herd the cows." The cockcrow only returned to normal at dawn. My soul seemed to be hooked, and the medicine and stone had no effect.
My mother searched for my husband's ghost, burned a paper man as a substitute, and tried all kinds of folk methods, but she still couldn't bring back my soul. Late at night on the sixth day, I lost all breath and was on the verge of death.
At the moment of despair, the usually gentle father protects his daughter with scissors, and sends out the most severe curse into the void, fighting to the death against the lonely ghost with the love of flesh and blood.
The rooster crows and dawn breaks, and I miraculously survive.
This is a dust-laden childhood horror story, and it is also a human miracle that used love as a blade to snatch my life back from the gate of hell. It turns out that the deepest parental love can really suppress the evil spirits in the world and protect my stability for the rest of my life.
