When he was alone at home, he often slept until the afternoon and often sat on the sofa in a daze. Gradually at night, he wanted to read all kinds of interesting story books, but he could not find one in the huge study room.
He thought that when telling stories to his children, he should take out the stories hidden in his belly bit by bit.
Climbing up this staircase and jumping to that, there is no book with funny cartoon characters printed on the cover, no fable about the three little pigs, and no fairy tale about Cinderella and the white swan.
He picked up a pen and decided to write a story by himself. He wanted to write a story about a caterpillar turning into a butterfly, but the caterpillar died out of control. He was sad for a long time.