In the autumn of 1957, Mentougou was deep in the mountains. The seventeen-year-old boy carried the Mosin Nagant and carried a knife into the valley to bleed. The wild boar fell to the ground, two heads knocked down by three shots. It was washed clean by the river, and the pig carcass disappeared out of thin air with a flip of the palm. If the people in the courtyard knew about this ability, the whole village would have to block the door of my house.
