The mountains are vast, and white smoke curls up from time to time.
The older generation said that this was the smoke from the mountain god's cooking pots. When they said this, their expressions were pious and their tones were cordial and awe-inspiring.
I just don't believe it. Rumors are nothing more than rumors, they are old and disturbing. What's more, every sunny day, the mountains outside the village can be vaguely seen floating around, like a scorching veil, and it is even more clear in the dark. The molten gold-like light is like a raging river, washing away the shadows of the mountains, which is magnificent and solemn. At that time, I fled to a mass grave due to a severe beating, and the ghostly fire and phosphorus reflected the dark green on my skin under my clothes. The falling feathers of crows were gently brushing against me. There were numerous bones around me, and the golden light in the distance was shining brightly like in the sky. I will never forget it.
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The prototype of this article was vaguely remembered as a short story I saw in a magazine when I was in junior high school. I liked it very much, so I added branches and leaves, and wrote it down in the notebook. Now that I have found it, it is very damaged. Even the name of the original article is not clear. I only think that the protagonist's name has only changed one word. Please remind all readers who have read it, which article I changed...
Intention: