On a winter night, Ye Yusheng drank and played chess with his master, Mr. Nanshan, while Fu Jiuhan lit a charcoal fire.
Ye Yusheng said that young people are very angry and don't know how to wear long johns, unlike some old men.
Mr. Nanshan asked him what he saw from the chess game.
He made a very bad move.
Mr. Nanshan turned green.
Cursing and cursing.
Ye Yusheng poured himself wine. When he was full, he found a dead insect floating in the glass. He smiled and pushed him in front of Mr. Nanshan.
Mr. Nanshan's face turned even greener.
"I will learn to farm with Brother Wang tomorrow. I will farm to support you, so don't go down the mountain."
"Just relying on you? The three of us would have starved to death."
Mr. Nanshan poured out the glass of wine, leaving the worms on the side of the glass. He looked at the cup, then at the chess game, threw the cup, and walked out the door.
"You made Master angry again." Fu Jiuhan sighed.
Ye Yusheng raised his head and looked at Fu Jiuhan with a heartless smile: "Senior brother, are you willing to stay?"
He was obviously smiling, but Fu Jiuhan felt that this man seemed to be broken.
Fu Jiuhan did not answer this question. They all knew that this was a silent rejection.
"Don't be childish." Finally, Fu Jiuhan spoke, and he kept making the fire even brighter.
Ye Yusheng lifted the wine jar and poured it over his head.
"I'm drunk." He spoke in a flat voice without any emotion, but he was still smiling: "I went back to rest."
He stood up holding on to the table and knocked over the entire chessboard with his hand, as if he was incompetently complaining about some irresistible fate.
The drink slid down his eyelashes, he opened the door, and the wind and snow rushed in.
He just walked out.
"It's so cold," he said.
Purpose: Even if we already know our destiny, we must hold on to the hope in our hands
