Are There Any Books That Are Particularly Interesting?

470 以 It's Too Cliché to Pledge One's Body to Each Other. I Suggest Removing the Father and Removing the Son. Qiyu Is Delicious8k WordsCompleted 297Reads9.8Score—Shelves

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You can enjoy this book [as a gift]

471 八 I Was a Primary School Student Cultivating Immortality in the 1980S Immortal Tyrant Body TechniqueUrban68k WordsCompleted 55Reads5.8Score—Shelves

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I have read this book a lot

473 晚 Dinner Party: Since Then, We Have Become Objects of Observation Rabbitbug6668k WordsCompleted 22Reads8.5Score—Shelves

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Debt Becomes a God｜Lin Sanjiu, Black Panther Smuggling Map, Cat Salute, Raleye's Aria, 'Existence Tax? '... Set a new one... Lord of Chaos｜Cthulhu, King in Yellow｜Hasta, Messenger｜Nayar Latotip, Lord of the Doors｜Yog-Sothoth, Star of Judgment, Ghroth, come on! It's not mindless! 👌🏻👌🏻

478 女 After Nuwa Wakes Up, Who Will Lead the Class of the Three Realms? Xiuer's LifeAncient Romance444k WordsOngoing 2.5kReads5.8Score153Shelves

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Highly recommend this book, it's so beautiful.

479 根 Root Prisoner: 101 Fantasy Loves Qian Long Bang TianUrban354k WordsCompleted 22Reads5.8Score—Shelves

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Especially the first part, after chapter 5, the chapters are wonderful. 🎉🎉🎊🎊The trilogy of the "Two Worlds and Three Lives" series: One Life (campus growth) + Two Lives (science fiction) + Three Lives (a collection of modern urban love stories), with novel themes and multi-line linkage! 🍇🥭🍉🍓🥝🍒👍👍🍓🍒🥭🙈

482 猎 Hunting Cat Hua Nian SiModern Romance694k WordsOngoing 30Reads—Score—Shelves

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Go try this

486 给 A Hymn That Gives Courage to Those Who Mourn Three Signs of the King's OrderEastern Fantasy251k WordsOngoing 226Reads5.8Score106Shelves

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"Why... Life is so fragile?" "Because life is as bitter as a song..."

487 冬 Winter Solstice Horror Mud Immortal26k WordsCompleted —Reads8.6Score—Shelves

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Money is falling from the ceiling, it's scary to think about it

489 东 Ashes of the Five Northeastern Immortals Lone Moon 00Mystery248k WordsOngoing —Reads—Score—Shelves

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Chen Jianguo stood at the door, his back suddenly tense. Hongying glanced at Jianguo, with the corners of her mouth slightly raised, she picked up the enamel jar and took a sip of water, taking her time. "Auntie, you have to ask Jianguo himself about this. But let me tell you, that girl is quite handsome - she is as tall as Jianguo, has two pigtails, she doesn't like to talk, but she looks like she has endured hardship. Ma San bullied her, Jianguo protected her, that's all." "Where are you from?" "It seems to be from Fuyu. I didn't ask which village specifically." "How old is she?" "She looks younger than me, almost like Jianguo." "What do you do?" "Auntie," Hongying put the enamel jar on the table and smiled, "you are trying a case. He is Jianguo's friend. Besides, you ask so many questions, and the girl is embarrassed when she finds out." The old lady leaned back in her chair, with a complicated expression on her face. She was thinking in her mind - she was from Fuyu, had a rural registered permanent residence, had no job, and had been hunkered down in the waiting room for several winters. Normally, she wouldn't look down on any of these conditions. But today is different. Today this girl asked her second son to fight Ma San - she didn't ask him to do it, but Jianguo did it for her. The old lady gave birth to three sons and a daughter. The eldest, Jianye, had troubles since he was a child. The third, Jianjun, kept silent but knew what he was thinking. Jianhua, the youngest, was the most favored. Only the second child, Jianguo, never let her worry about it for a day since she was a child. He skipped school, quit work, and hung out in front of the station all day, which made him go to the grain store for a week. She scolded him and beat him for seventeen years, but it was of no use. But today, someone asked him to fight for her. He wasn't playing around with the neighborhood kids, but with Ma San, the gangster who had been hanging out in front of the station for five or six years, hiding from everyone. In order to protect the girl, he was punched. His arm was bruised and the corners of his eyes were swollen. He didn't run or get scared. She had called him "worthless" for so many years, and today she suddenly felt that there was something in this child that she had never seen before - not worthiness, but tolerance. Treat someone with care, to the point where you dare to confront someone who is more ruthless than yourself. The old lady leaned back on the chair and looked at the second son standing at the door - his blue cloth coat was torn, his eyes were blue, his head was lowered and he did not dare to look at her. She suddenly felt that the child seemed to have grown up a little. It's not the size, it's the eyes. His eyes used to wander when he looked at people, but they no longer wandered today. She withdrew her gaze from Jianguo, picked up the enamel jar and took a sip of water, swallowing down the emotion she didn't know how to express. Then she stood up, walked to the stove, took out a bowl of warm corn batter from the pot, and placed it on the table. "Eat. You've been working out all day, aren't you hungry?" Chen Jianguo came over and sat down at the table. When I picked up the bowl, I saw that the paste was no longer hot and was just right in my mouth. He lowered his head to drink and muttered "Hmm" vaguely. The old lady didn't ask any more about the girl. But her eyes paused on Hongying's face - the glance was short, but Hongying understood it. What the old lady means is: tell me more some other time, don't let Jianguo hear. Hongying picked up the enamel jar, drank the last sip of water, put the jar on the table, and slightly raised the corners of her mouth, indicating her agreement. Chen Jianhua writes homework under the lamp. She is the youngest child of the Chen family. She is fourteen years old and is in the second grade of junior high school in Changchun No. 7 Middle School. The school is located at the intersection of Nenjiang Road and Xiertiao Street in Zhanqian Street. It only takes less than 20 minutes to walk there from home. No. 7 Middle School is a completed middle school, with both junior and senior high schools. The teaching building is an old house left over from the Japanese puppet period, with gray brick walls and iron roofs. The floors in the corridors creak when you step on them. In winter, there is a stove in the classroom, and the students on duty have to go there half an hour early every morning to collect ashes, chop firewood, and light the stove. The classroom is filled with smoke, making it difficult to open one's eyes. Jianhua's deskmate is named Wang Fang. Her father works in the depot and is in the same workshop as Chen Jianjun. The two have a good relationship and often go together after school. Sometimes Wang Fang comes to Chen's house to do homework, and sometimes Jianhua goes to Wang's house to do homework. But today they are not going to do homework. When school was over, Wang Fang pulled Jianhua to the edge of the playground and whispered in her ear: "No one is in Zhang Yan's house today. Her sister sent her something from Beijing." Jianhua asked what it was, but Wang Fang refused to say and just laughed. That kind of smile isn't funny - it's the kind of smile that holds a secret inside and can't wait to share it with others. Jianhua felt itchy and went to Zhang Yan's house with Wang Fang after school. Zhang Yan's house is on the third floor of an old-fashioned railway employee building on Zhanqian Street, with two bedrooms and one living room. Her father is in the locomotive maintenance section, and her mother is a salesperson in a grocery store. Today her father went to Shenyang with the car, her mother worked the night shift, and she was the only one at home. The three people gathered around Zhang Yan's dining table. The curtains were tightly drawn and a candle was lit on the table. Zhang Yan took out something from the drawer - a piece of cardboard, as big as the bottom of a basin. The cardboard was covered with a layer of white paper. The paper was old, slightly yellow, and the corners were frayed. The white paper is densely written with words, from "one" to "ten", from "jia" to "gui", as well as scattered words such as "yes", "no", "male", "female", "life", "death", "good", "bad", "return" and "go". There was a small plate placed in the middle of the cardboard. The plate was made of white porcelain, and there was a thin crack on the bottom of the bowl. The plate was upside down on the cardboard. There was a red arrow drawn on the bottom of the plate. The arrow was drawn with nail polish and had faded to dark red. "Die Xian." Zhang Yan lowered her voice, "My sister sent it from Beijing. It's very popular in their school now. It can ask questions - answer whatever you ask. It can tell you what your score is this semester." Wang Fang rubbed her hands in excitement. "Really?" "You'll know if you try it." The three girls stretched out their fingers and pressed them on the bottom of the plate. Zhang Yan's fingers are the whitest and her nails are cleanly cut; Wang Fang's fingers are fleshy and there are small pits on the knuckles, which are scars from frostbite when she was a child; Jianhua's fingers are the longest and their fingertips are cold. When she is nervous, her fingers will get cold. Press the three index fingers side by side next to the faded red arrow, not too hard or too light - if it is too heavy, the plate will not move, but if it is too light, you are afraid that it will not move. The flame of the candle swayed gently in the breeze that filtered through the cracks in the curtains, casting long shadows of the three people on the wall. "Die Xian, please come out," Zhang Yan whispered, her voice was very low, as if she was afraid of being heard by the neighbors next door, "Die Xian, please come out. Please answer my question, and please turn around once you come." The plate did not move. "Die Xian, Die Xian, please come out. Please answer my questions. Please take a turn when you come." Still didn't move. Wang Fang retracted her hand and flicked her wrist. "Did your sister lie to you?" "Impossible. My sister said it must be sincere. You can't just think about it, you must have a real thing in mind." Zhang Yan looked at Jianhua, "Jianhua, you have something on your mind. Seriously." Jianhua thought for a while, and something came to his mind. It's not a matter of not finishing the homework today, it's a matter of her second brother. When she came home from school today, she saw that her second brother had a bruise at the corner of his eye and his blue cloth coat was torn. Her mother was scolding him, while her eldest brother and sister Hongying were talking to him. She sat in the corner and listened for a while, and finally understood - the second brother had a fight with Ma San in front of the station, over a girl. She had never seen that girl, but she only heard Sister Hongying say that she was "very handsome and doesn't like to talk." Thinking of the girl, she placed her fingers on the bottom of the plate again. "Die Xian, please come out. Die Xian, please come out." The plate moved. It wasn't the wind that blew it - the curtains were drawn tightly and the flame of the candle didn't move at all. The plate slid slowly and silently across the cardboard. The three girls took a breath at the same time. You looked at me and I looked at you. No one dared to take their hands off the plate. Zhang Yan's eyes widened, Wang Fang's mouth opened into a circle, and Jianhua's heart beat loudly - she could feel her own heartbeat ringing in her ears. "Did you move it?" Zhang Yan asked Wang Fang in a low voice. "No! I thought it was you who moved it." "It wasn't me." They both turned to look at Jianhua. Jianhua shook his head. The three people looked at each other, their fingers still pressed on the plate, and no one dared to take it away. The plate slid again by itself, from "ten" to "nine", and from "nine" to "eight", as if to test whether they dare to continue. Wang Fang's face turned pale. Jianhua swallowed and spoke, his voice a little trembling, but still intact. "Die Xian, Die Xian, are you Die Xian?" Die Zi paused at the word "yes". The pause was so short that they thought it was an illusion. Then it started spinning—not slipping, spinning. The dish slowly and unhurriedly made a complete circle on the cardboard. The circle turned very round and stable, unlike the arc that the three girls' fingers could control. "What... What's your last name?" The plate slid to the word "Hu" and stopped. Zhang Yan's fingers began to shake, and the plate shook with her. The bottom of the plate rubbed against the cardboard and made a thin rustling sound. The crack on the white porcelain plate looked particularly clear under the candlelight, like an old scar that had just healed and then cracked. Wang Fang's voice has changed its tone. "Hu... Mr. Hu San? Are you the Fox Fairy?" As soon as she finished speaking, there was a slight noise from the corner of the room. It wasn't the wind that blew it - the curtains didn't move at all. It was on the old wooden box stacked by the Zhang family in the corner, and an open book turned a page by itself. The sound was very soft, as if someone had scratched the paper with a fingernail. The three girls turned their heads to look at that corner at the same time. The dim candlelight couldn't reach there, and only a vague outline could be seen. Zhang Yan's throat seemed to be strangled by something and she couldn't make a sound. Wang Fang's fingers had already left the plate, and she was huddled in the chair, holding her knees with both hands, and her lips were trembling. The plate is still moving. It's still moving on its own. Two of the three people's fingers have already left, and only Jianhua's fingers are still on it. She could feel the plate vibrating slightly under her fingertips - not slippery, but vibrating, as if there was electricity running up from the bottom of the plate, crawling up her arms along her fingers, towards her heart. The plate slowly slid over the words on the cardboard, one by one, pausing every time it passed a word, as if identifying them one by one: "" - stop. "Death" - stop. "Return" - stop. "Go" - stop. Finally, the plate stopped at the edge of the cardboard, and the arrow pointed to a location that was not on the cardboard—Jianhua's own direction. The arrow pointed straight at her chest. Jianhua jerked his hand away. The plate turned over and hit the cardboard with a crisp sound. The crack opened a little more, from the bottom of the dish to the edge. The candle went out. There was no wind - the curtains were drawn tightly, the door was closed, and no wind could come in from outside the window. The candle just went out, as if someone had pinched it out with two wet fingers. A thin wisp of gray smoke emerged from the candle wick, drifted in the darkness for a while, and was swallowed by the darkness. In the darkness there were only the gasps of the three girls, and the one word that Zhang Yan finally said after holding it in for a long time: "Ah." The voice was so small that only the three people huddled in the room could hear it. It wasn't a scream, it was a sound of breath squeezed out after the throat was pinched. It was thin and sharp, like a small animal whose tail had been stepped on and squeaked in the corner. The night is already very deep. The sky in front of Changchun Station was still an endless gray, and the clouds were very low, covering the moon and stars. The street lamp swayed in the wind, and the dim yellow light shone on the icy road, illuminating the cracks on the ice as if the earth had opened countless eyes. In the alley of Sandao Street, someone's dog suddenly barked twice and then stopped. The carp sculpture in the circular pool in the square in front of the station was silent in the darkness. The ice skate in the fish's mouth hung longer and longer, shining cold white under the dim light of the street lamp. There was a clanging sound from the shunting yard in the distance, one after another, like a huge tin drum being beaten. In the old Chen's house, Chen Jianguo was lying on the kang, with the quilt covering his chest and his eyes open. The bruise at the corner of his eye no longer hurt much, but he was still thinking about what happened during the day. I don't miss Ma San, I miss Xiulian. She helped him at the door of the luggage room, and the strength of her fingers was transmitted through the blue cloth gown. It was very tight and stable. She handed him the handkerchief, with a small crooked flower embroidered on the edge. When he returned the handkerchief to her, his fingers touched hers, which felt cool. Is she cold in the waiting room? The radiator has already gone cold. She should be able to withstand the tofu puffs and fried dough sticks she ate today, but what about tomorrow? He turned over. Turned over again. Then he heard a sound - very soft, coming from outside the door, like someone walking barefoot on the floor of the hall, step by step, as light as a cat. He strained his ears to listen. The footsteps reached his door and stopped. Then there was a very soft knock on the door, not like a knock with a finger, but like a fingernail scratching on the wooden board. "Second brother." It was Jianhua's voice, very low, with a hint of crying, "Are you asleep?" Chen Jianguo sat up. "No. Why aren't you sleeping yet?" The door was opened a crack. Jianhua was wearing the floral pajamas, his hair spread on his shoulders, and he was holding a pillow in his hands. She stood at the door without turning on the light. The moonlight shone in through the cracks in the curtains and shone on her face - her face was white, her lips were a little trembling, and there was something in her eyes that he had never seen on his sister's face. It's not fear, it's something deeper. "Second brother," her voice was trembling, "I just... I just played Die Xian with my classmates. It was at Zhang Yan's house." Chen Jianguo lifted the quilt. "What fairy?" "Die Fairy." She hugged the pillow to her chest and clenched her fingers tightly. "We asked it what its last name was. It pointed to the word 'Hu'. Second brother, that's the fox fairy. Mr. Hu San." She sniffed, "Later, Zhang Yan's book turned a page by itself. The candle went out. The saucer was still moving on its own, pointing at me." Her voice became quieter and quieter, until the last word was almost inaudible. Chen Jianguo looked at her, looking at her childish face that didn't belong to a child. He didn't say, "That's all fake," nor did he say, "What are you thinking about?" He just moved the quilt aside and patted the edge of the bed. "Come in. Close the door." Jianhua got into the room and closed the door behind his back. She sat on the edge of the Kang, holding the pillow in her arms and lowering her head. "Second brother, do you think Die Xian is real or fake?" Chen Jianguo thought for a while. He remembered that dream, Xiulian stood on the platform, rolling her eyes, with rats squatting in her eyes. He thought of Aunt Liu's hands squatting under the altar table to grab rice. He remembered that Mrs. Sun got up in the middle of the night and dug a three-foot-deep hole with a shovel. He remembered the immortal tune Xiulian sang in the freight shed. When she sang the last line, she closed her mouth. "I don't know if it's true or not," he pulled the quilt toward her, "but don't play with it anymore." "No more." She put down the pillow, got into the quilt, and huddled next to him. Just like when she was a child, she didn't dare to sleep alone when there was a thunderstorm, so she would knock on his door with a pillow in her arms. He was ten years old and she was five. Now he is seventeen and she is fourteen. Some things have changed, and some things have stayed the same. In the hole in the north corner, the gray mouse poked its head out. It tilted its head, looking at the faint light coming from the crack in the door of the cabin with its bright black eyes, watching the fourteen-year-old girl walking into her brother's room holding a pillow, watching them no longer making any noise, watching the door slowly closing. It blinked, retracted its head into the hole, squatted in the darkness, and recorded the night with its head, which was older than all living people.

490 我 My Cat Is Your Tigress Lone Moon 00Sci-Fi & Apocalypse584k WordsCompleted —Reads—Score—Shelves

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Chen Jianguo stood at the door, his back suddenly tense. Hongying glanced at Jianguo, with the corners of her mouth slightly raised, she picked up the enamel jar and took a sip of water, taking her time. "Auntie, you have to ask Jianguo himself about this. But let me tell you, that girl is quite handsome - she is as tall as Jianguo, has two pigtails, she doesn't like to talk, but she looks like she has endured hardship. Ma San bullied her, Jianguo protected her, that's all." "Where are you from?" "It seems to be from Fuyu. I didn't ask which village specifically." "How old is she?" "She looks younger than me, almost like Jianguo." "What do you do?" "Auntie," Hongying put the enamel jar on the table and smiled, "you are trying a case. He is Jianguo's friend. Besides, you ask so many questions, and the girl is embarrassed when she finds out." The old lady leaned back in her chair, with a complicated expression on her face. She was thinking in her mind - she was from Fuyu, had a rural registered permanent residence, had no job, and had been hunkered down in the waiting room for several winters. Normally, she wouldn't look down on any of these conditions. But today is different. Today this girl asked her second son to fight Ma San - she didn't ask him to do it, but Jianguo did it for her. The old lady gave birth to three sons and a daughter. The eldest, Jianye, had been worried since he was a child. The third, Jianjun, kept his mouth shut and knew what he was thinking. Jianhua, the youngest, was the most favored. Only the second child, Jianguo, never let her worry about it for a day since she was a child. He skipped school, quit work, and hung out in front of the station all day, which made him go to the grain store for a week. She scolded him and beat him for seventeen years, but it was of no use. But today, someone asked him to fight for her. He wasn't playing around with the neighborhood kids, but with Ma San, the gangster who had been hanging out in front of the station for five or six years, hiding from everyone. In order to protect the girl, he was punched. His arm was bruised and the corners of his eyes were swollen. He didn't run or get scared. She had called him "worthless" for so many years, and today she suddenly felt that there was something in this child that she had never seen before - not worthiness, but tolerance. Treat someone with care, to the point where you dare to confront someone who is more ruthless than yourself. The old lady leaned back on the chair and looked at the second son standing at the door - his blue cloth coat was torn, his eyes were blue, his head was lowered and he did not dare to look at her. She suddenly felt that the child seemed to have grown up a little. It's not the size, it's the eyes. His eyes used to wander when he looked at people, but they no longer wandered today. She withdrew her gaze from Jianguo, picked up the enamel jar and took a sip of water, swallowing down the emotion she didn't know how to express. Then she stood up, walked to the stove, took out a bowl of warm corn batter from the pot, and placed it on the table. "Eat. You've been working out all day, aren't you hungry?" Chen Jianguo came over and sat down at the table. When I picked up the bowl, I saw that the paste was no longer hot and was just right in my mouth. He lowered his head to drink and muttered "Hmm" vaguely. The old lady didn't ask any more about the girl. But her eyes paused on Hongying's face - the glance was short, but Hongying understood it. What the old lady means is: tell me more some other time, don't let Jianguo hear. Hongying picked up the enamel jar, drank the last sip of water, put the jar on the table, and slightly raised the corners of her mouth, indicating her agreement. Chen Jianhua writes homework under the lamp. She is the youngest child of the Chen family. She is fourteen years old and is in the second grade of junior high school in Changchun No. 7 Middle School. The school is located at the intersection of Nenjiang Road and Xiertiao Street in Zhanqian Street. It only takes less than 20 minutes to walk there from home. No. 7 Middle School is a completed middle school, with both junior and senior high schools. The teaching building is an old house left over from the Japanese puppet period, with gray brick walls and iron roofs. The floors in the corridors creak when you step on them. In winter, there is a stove in the classroom, and the students on duty have to go there half an hour early every morning to collect ashes, chop firewood, and light the stove. The classroom is filled with smoke, making it difficult to open one's eyes. Jianhua's deskmate is named Wang Fang. Her father works in the depot and is in the same workshop as Chen Jianjun. The two have a good relationship and often go together after school. Sometimes Wang Fang comes to Chen's house to do homework, and sometimes Jianhua goes to Wang's house to do homework. But today they are not going to do homework. When school was over, Wang Fang pulled Jianhua to the edge of the playground and whispered in her ear: "No one is in Zhang Yan's house today. Her sister sent her something from Beijing." Jianhua asked what it was, but Wang Fang refused to say and just laughed. That kind of smile isn't funny - it's the kind of smile that holds a secret inside and can't wait to share it with others. Jianhua felt itchy and went to Zhang Yan's house with Wang Fang after school. Zhang Yan's house is on the third floor of an old-fashioned railway employee building on Zhanqian Street, with two bedrooms and one living room. Her father is in the locomotive maintenance section, and her mother is a salesperson in a grocery store. Today her father went to Shenyang with the car, her mother worked the night shift, and she was the only one at home. The three people gathered around Zhang Yan's dining table. The curtains were tightly drawn and a candle was lit on the table. Zhang Yan took out something from the drawer - a piece of cardboard, as big as the bottom of a basin. The cardboard was covered with a layer of white paper. The paper was old, slightly yellow, and the corners were frayed. The white paper is densely written with words, from "one" to "ten", from "jia" to "gui", as well as scattered words such as "yes", "no", "male", "female", "life", "death", "good", "bad", "return" and "go". There was a small plate placed in the middle of the cardboard. The plate was made of white porcelain, and there was a thin crack on the bottom of the bowl. The plate was upside down on the cardboard. There was a red arrow drawn on the bottom of the plate. The arrow was drawn with nail polish and had faded to dark red. "Die Xian." Zhang Yan lowered her voice, "My sister sent it from Beijing. It's very popular in their school now. It can ask questions - answer whatever you ask. It can tell you what your score is this semester." Wang Fang rubbed her hands in excitement. "Really?" "You'll know if you try it." The three girls stretched out their fingers and pressed them on the bottom of the plate. Zhang Yan's fingers are the whitest and her nails are cleanly cut; Wang Fang's fingers are fleshy and there are small pits on the knuckles, which are scars from frostbite when she was a child; Jianhua's fingers are the longest and their fingertips are cold. When she is nervous, her fingers will get cold. Press the three index fingers side by side next to the faded red arrow, not too hard or too light - if it is too heavy, the plate will not move, but if it is too light, you are afraid that it will not move. The flame of the candle swayed gently in the breeze that filtered through the cracks in the curtains, casting long shadows of the three people on the wall. "Die Xian, please come out," Zhang Yan whispered, her voice was very low, as if she was afraid of being heard by the neighbors next door, "Die Xian, please come out. Please answer my question, and please turn around once you come." The plate did not move. "Die Xian, Die Xian, please come out. Please answer my questions. Please take a turn when you come." Still didn't move. Wang Fang retracted her hand and flicked her wrist. "Did your sister lie to you?" "Impossible. My sister said it must be sincere. You can't just think about it, you must have a real thing in mind." Zhang Yan looked at Jianhua, "Jianhua, you have something on your mind. Seriously." Jianhua thought for a while, and something came to his mind. It's not a matter of not finishing the homework today, it's a matter of her second brother. When she came home from school today, she saw that her second brother had a bruise at the corner of his eye and his blue cloth coat was torn. Her mother was scolding him, while her eldest brother and sister Hongying were talking to him. She sat in the corner and listened for a while, and finally understood - the second brother had a fight with Ma San in front of the station, over a girl. She had never seen that girl, but she only heard Sister Hongying say that she was "very handsome and doesn't like to talk." Thinking of the girl, she placed her fingers on the bottom of the plate again. "Die Xian, please come out. Die Xian, please come out." The plate moved. It wasn't the wind that blew it - the curtains were drawn tightly and the flame of the candle didn't move at all. The plate slid slowly and silently across the cardboard. The three girls took a breath at the same time. You looked at me and I looked at you. No one dared to take their hands off the plate. Zhang Yan's eyes widened, Wang Fang's mouth opened into a circle, and Jianhua's heart beat loudly - she could feel her own heartbeat ringing in her ears. "Did you move it?" Zhang Yan asked Wang Fang in a low voice. "No! I thought it was you who moved it." "It wasn't me." They both turned to look at Jianhua. Jianhua shook his head. The three people looked at each other, their fingers still pressed on the plate, and no one dared to take it away. The plate slid again by itself, from "ten" to "nine", and from "nine" to "eight", as if to test whether they dare to continue. Wang Fang's face turned pale. Jianhua swallowed and spoke, his voice a little trembling, but still intact. "Die Xian, Die Xian, are you Die Xian?" Die Zi paused at the word "yes". The pause was so short that they thought it was an illusion. Then it started spinning—not slipping, spinning. The dish slowly and unhurriedly made a complete circle on the cardboard. The circle turned very round and stable, unlike the arc that the three girls' fingers could control. "What... What's your last name?" The plate slid to the word "Hu" and stopped. Zhang Yan's fingers began to shake, and the plate shook with her. The bottom of the plate rubbed against the cardboard and made a thin rustling sound. The crack on the white porcelain plate looked particularly clear under the candlelight, like an old scar that had just healed and then cracked. Wang Fang's voice has changed its tone. "Hu... Mr. Hu San? Are you the Fox Fairy?" As soon as she finished speaking, there was a slight noise from the corner of the room. It wasn't the wind that blew it - the curtains didn't move at all. It was on the old wooden box stacked by the Zhang family in the corner, and an open book turned a page by itself. The sound was very soft, as if someone had scratched the paper with a fingernail. The three girls turned their heads to look at that corner at the same time. The dim candlelight couldn't reach there, and only a vague outline could be seen. Zhang Yan's throat seemed to be strangled by something and she couldn't make a sound. Wang Fang's fingers had already left the plate, and she was huddled in the chair, holding her knees with both hands, and her lips were trembling. The plate is still moving. It's still moving on its own. Two of the three people's fingers have already left, and only Jianhua's fingers are still on it. She could feel the plate vibrating slightly under her fingertips - not slippery, but vibrating, as if there was electricity running up from the bottom of the plate, crawling up her arms along her fingers, towards her heart. The plate slowly slid over the words on the cardboard, one by one, pausing every time it passed a word, as if identifying them one by one: "" - stop. "Death" - stop. "Return" - stop. "Go" - stop. Finally, the plate stopped at the edge of the cardboard, and the arrow pointed to a location that was not on the cardboard—Jianhua's own direction. The arrow pointed straight at her chest. Jianhua jerked his hand away. The plate turned over and hit the cardboard with a crisp sound. The crack opened a little more, from the bottom of the dish to the edge. The candle went out. There was no wind - the curtains were drawn tightly, the door was closed, and no wind could come in from outside the window. The candle just went out, as if someone had pinched it out with two wet fingers. A thin wisp of gray smoke emerged from the candle wick, drifted in the darkness for a while, and was swallowed by the darkness. In the darkness there were only the gasps of the three girls, and the one word that Zhang Yan finally said after holding it in for a long time: "Ah." The voice was so small that only the three people huddled in the room could hear it. It wasn't a scream, it was a sound of breath squeezed out after the throat was pinched. It was thin and sharp, like a small animal whose tail had been stepped on and squeaked in the corner. The night is already very deep. The sky in front of Changchun Station was still an endless gray, and the clouds were very low, covering the moon and stars. The street lamp swayed in the wind, and the dim yellow light shone on the icy road, illuminating the cracks on the ice as if the earth had opened countless eyes. In the alley of Sandao Street, someone's dog suddenly barked twice and then stopped. The carp sculpture in the circular pool in the square in front of the station was silent in the darkness. The ice skate in the fish's mouth hung longer and longer, shining cold white under the dim light of the street lamp. There was a clanging sound from the shunting yard in the distance, one after another, like a huge tin drum being beaten. In the old Chen's house, Chen Jianguo was lying on the kang, with the quilt covering his chest and his eyes open. The bruise at the corner of his eye no longer hurt much, but he was still thinking about what happened during the day. I don't miss Ma San, I miss Xiulian. She helped him at the door of the luggage room, and the strength of her fingers was transmitted through the blue cloth gown. It was very tight and stable. She handed him the handkerchief, with a small crooked flower embroidered on the edge. When he returned the handkerchief to her, his fingers touched hers, which felt cool. Is she cold in the waiting room? The radiator has already gone cold. She should be able to withstand the tofu puffs and fried dough sticks she ate today, but what about tomorrow? He turned over. Turned over again. Then he heard a sound - very soft, coming from outside the door, like someone walking barefoot on the floor of the hall, step by step, as light as a cat. He strained his ears to listen. The footsteps reached his door and stopped. Then there was a very soft knock on the door, not like a knock with a finger, but like a fingernail scratching on the wooden board. "Second brother." It was Jianhua's voice, very low, with a hint of crying, "Are you asleep?" Chen Jianguo sat up. "No. Why aren't you sleeping yet?" The door was opened a crack. Jianhua was wearing the floral pajamas, his hair spread on his shoulders, and he was holding a pillow in his hands. She stood at the door without turning on the light. The moonlight shone in through the cracks in the curtains and shone on her face - her face was white, her lips were a little trembling, and there was something in her eyes that he had never seen on his sister's face. It's not fear, it's something deeper. "Second brother," her voice was trembling, "I just... I just played Die Xian with my classmates. It was at Zhang Yan's house." Chen Jianguo lifted the quilt. "What fairy?" "Die Fairy." She hugged the pillow to her chest and clenched her fingers tightly. "We asked it what its last name was. It pointed to the word 'Hu'. Second brother, that's the fox fairy. Mr. Hu San." She sniffed, "Later, Zhang Yan's book turned a page by itself. The candle went out. The saucer was still moving on its own, pointing at me." Her voice became quieter and quieter, until the last word was almost inaudible. Chen Jianguo looked at her, looking at her childish face that didn't belong to a child. He didn't say, "That's all fake," nor did he say, "What are you thinking about?" He just moved the quilt aside and patted the edge of the bed. "Come in. Close the door." Jianhua got into the room and closed the door behind his back. She sat on the edge of the Kang, holding the pillow in her arms and lowering her head. "Second brother, do you think Die Xian is real or fake?" Chen Jianguo thought for a while. He remembered that dream, Xiulian stood on the platform, rolling her eyes, with rats squatting in her eyes. He thought of Aunt Liu's hands squatting under the altar table to grab rice. He remembered that Mrs. Sun got up in the middle of the night and dug a three-foot-deep hole with a shovel. He remembered the immortal tune Xiulian sang in the freight shed. When she sang the last line, she closed her mouth. "I don't know if it's true or not," he pulled the quilt toward her, "but don't play with it anymore." "No more." She put down the pillow, got into the quilt, and huddled next to him. Just like when she was a child, she didn't dare to sleep alone when there was a thunderstorm, so she would knock on his door with a pillow in her arms. He was ten years old and she was five. Now he is seventeen and she is fourteen. Some things have changed, and some things have stayed the same. In the hole in the north corner, the gray mouse poked its head out. It tilted its head, looking at the faint light coming from the crack in the door of the cabin with its bright black eyes, watching the fourteen-year-old girl walking into her brother's room holding a pillow, watching them no longer making any noise, watching the door slowly closing. It blinked, retracted its head into the hole, squatted in the darkness, and recorded the night with its head, which was older than all living people.

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