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A lame person is not called a lame person at first. The cripple was called a cripple after a bullet entered his thigh. It was late at night. Snow. There is a small lantern standing next to the door of the Japanese restaurant. The light bulb swayed in the wind and snow, creating a dim glow, like a half-boiled egg yolk, as if it would dilute and disappear in the water if not careful. The snow was falling so hard that I couldn't even distinguish the faces of the people walking across from me. When the car approached the restaurant and the light reflected half of the right ear of the man who got out of the car, the cripple hidden in the alley between the restaurant and the opium hall emerged from the snow. He raised his hand from his clothes. There was a mirror box covered under the clothes. He fired all the bullets into the body under the light. Then he threw away the gun and started running. It seemed like he ran for a long time, but he didn't run out of the long Datong streets.

Just after the Spring Festival of 2002, before the first lunar month, my father died. There are three days until my birthday. My dad promised me that on my eighteenth birthday, he would give me a U. S. Marine Corps Zippo lighter. He said it was my coming-of-age gift. My dad used to beat me to death if he caught me smoking. He said that if I smoked before the age of eighteen, I would be beaten to death. After the age of eighteen, as long as you are not a smoker, smoking together seems harmonious. My dad died three days before my birthday. My eighteen year old gift is gone. My Zippo is gone. 2 Two versions of death There are two versions of my father's death.