I am just a storyteller. If I am lucky enough to hear it, I am lucky enough to be able to tell it.
Now that you are here, let me tell you a story that has been covered with dust. It has been here with me for a long time.
I heard this story from the old crow in the tree when I was passing by a lonely grave.
I still remember the scene that day - the moonlight was very good, and I watched the man groping through one mound after another, and then kneeling under an old locust tree, digging out a rotten coffin with his bare hands. I don't know why he didn't open the coffin, but he cried heartbrokenly into the coffin.
The old crow sitting on the locust tree turned its head and looked at me, so I exchanged a story with it for a bowl of rice.
The story of a little thief.
Intention: If you are destined to have nowhere to bury you, I will be your tombstone