7227——Pseudo-History

He said his surname was Wang, he had just become a teacher, and he was the same age as me. At that time, the setting sun was dyeing the West Queen Mother Pond into a glass of blood-colored wine. He is sitting on the abandoned stone fortress of the ancient Qiang people, like a sculpture forgotten by time. He said that what he carried in his backpack was not textbooks, but something older and heavier. "Some fragments," he looked at the continuous snow-capped peaks in the distance, his voice as vague as Sanskrit, "some pseudo-history that has never been recorded by history. Do you want to hear it?" At that moment, the mountains were silent, as if all the gods and spirits held their breath, waiting for this story to unfold.