My name is Ning Jiu, nicknamed Brother Jiu, and I am an outdoor anchor.
In the past three years, there have never been more than fifty people in the live broadcast room.
Until the cousin who studied Taoism came back and sent me a WeChat message:
"Nine o'clock, Old Cotton Mill in the west of the city. Don't bring too many people. They... May not be able to see you."
I thought he was joking.
Until that loom, which had been abandoned for thirty years, started spinning on its own in my lens.
Until the pair of cloth shoes hanging under the machine slowly turned in front of my eyes.
Until the barrage in the live broadcast room started to flash - "Brother Jiu, there is someone behind you."
I just realized that there are some places I shouldn't go.
Some things shouldn't be photographed.
But it's too late.
They're targeting me.
---
At midnight every night, the live broadcast room opens on time.
Do you dare to come and see it?
Reader comments
The atmosphere is good, but there are too many loopholes and inconsistencies. One moment, the mother becomes the aunt's sister, and the next moment, 9527 asks the protagonist. After the chat, 9527 is not the same 9527. If the author deliberately buried the suspense, it would be too witty, and the protagonist looks like a fool.
It's a pity that it was interrupted midway.
Why does it feel like reading this book doesn't feel like a story, but more like a diary?
The atmosphere is good, but there are too many loopholes and inconsistencies. One moment, the mother becomes the aunt's sister, and the next moment, 9527 asks the protagonist. After the chat, 9527 is not the same 9527. If the author deliberately buried the suspense, it would be too witty, and the protagonist looks like a fool.
It's a pity that it was interrupted midway.
Why does it feel like reading this book doesn't feel like a story, but more like a diary?