Tao Yimeng Three Thousand

The first few chapters may not be interesting, but from the fourth chapter it may be a little interesting, "Daoyi Meng Sanqian" The doctor said Jiang Xiaobai has three months left. After lying in bed for five years, he had already become accustomed to the pattern of the ceiling. It was not until that moonlit night, half of which was obscured by the locust tree, that an ancient book called "Three Thousand Years of Dreams of the Way" crashed into his consciousness - it did not promise immortality, but only gave him a body that could get out of bed, like a grand flashback. He spent five days reuniting his scattered friends into a ball of fire. In the smoke of the barbecue stall, they called him a "missing person", but secretly changed the wine glass to warm water; in the afternoon at the cafe, the unspoken feelings finally fell gently to the child's laughter. He spent ten days becoming a "little tail" by his mother's side. Bargaining at the vegetable market, the fragrance of beans by the well, and my mother quietly tucking her into bed late at night. It turns out that these daily routines stolen by illness hide the heaviest worries. For the last fourteen days, he climbed onto the leaky roof. The sound of the tile knife hitting the old wooden beams, mixed with the father's cough and the mother's instructions, became the most solid sound in the smoke. At the end, he lay next to his mother, listening to her heartbeat like he did when he was a child. "Mom, I'm sleepy." "Go to sleep, mom is here." When consciousness fell into the white space, the book was gently opened. It turns out that the so-called farewell is never the end - in the three thousand worlds, there are still countless regrets waiting to be filled with tenderness. But this time, he was no longer the one waiting for the end.