Many years later, the whole world knew her name.
Everyone knows that she spent a thousand and one nights and stories one after another,
It bought a thousand and one tomorrows for the whole city.
But no book remembers to ask: Where did those stories come from?
This book is about the "before" things.
When I was five years old, my mother passed away in the middle of the story.
Scheherazade grew up with an endless question:
"Then what?"
There are a thousand volumes of books in my father's study,
The old storyteller at the bazaar is full of stories.
Camel bells ringing from afar bring news of a whole road,
The old lady in the laundry room said she had "no stories" in her life——
She sat on the threshold all autumn, waiting for the door to open of its own accord.
She put the stories she heard into her mother's wooden box:
A shell, a copper coin, an apricot kernel.
Collecting and collecting, the box is full.
——This story has no CP, no time travel, and no system:
How did a little girl who saved stories survive many years of peace?
Unknowingly, I have saved a fire bank.
Intention: Let those who are waiting for you always have tomorrow
