The system runs away at the beginning, I regard the way of heaven as my father

"Aunt, I'm going home."

At the gate of the yard, a little boy, almost as tall as him, was carrying an empty backpack and waving his hand while talking.

"Slow down."

"Okay."

He looked at the sky. The sun was already slanting above the branches. His eyelids began to droop. He had gotten up too early and his body was too thin. He could hardly hold on any longer.

And his own nest is located near the end of the village.

There was a big bare locust tree in front of the door, and on it was a big crow with shiny black feathers.

"Go away..."

The kid wanted to chase it away, but then he looked up and said with a smile: "If you stay here, you can't fly away. I don't have a companion anyway."

As he said this, he ran into his small shabby house, found a pile of hay, and fell asleep.

Days go by.

The little kid was still the same, getting up at midnight every day, rain or shine, and coming back at dawn.

He has such a small body, but I don’t know where he gets the energy to be so persistent every day.

Perhaps, he just wanted to be more useful and make his existence more meaningful.

In this way, the baby didn't grow much, but the patches on his body became more and more, colorful, a real patchwork quilt.

And the big black crow that landed outside his house did not fly away, but just built a nest and stayed there.

In addition, in this village of about a hundred households, there is only one child, Xiaowa.

It was said that eight or nine years ago, a fairy came from somewhere nearby and took away all the children in the village, and ordered that no more children were allowed to be born.

As for the little baby, he was not taken away while still in the womb, but later on, he still became an orphan.

On this day, the sky was dimly lit again.

The little boy was still walking on the dew, carrying the big basket on his back. His steps seemed a little laborious, but this time, there was a big black crow around him, flying up and down non-stop.

At this time, two farmers came rushing up.

"Uncle, what's wrong?"

"Hey, something happened in the village, and you are the only young man left. Please help and be a filial son and grandson. Put down the backpack first."

The little kid returned to the village in a daze.

On the mountain behind the village.

About two or three hundred people came in an orderly manner, all with sad looks on their faces.

Seeing the little kid coming, they all made way for him.

"Grandpa, grandma, uncles, what's going on?"

What appeared in front of him at this moment was a medium-sized earth pit, just big enough to accommodate two people. On the side, there were two corpses covered with straw mats. No one could see their figures, but the smell of blood was strong.

A few dark-skinned men were burying the body nearby.

At this time, a dark and thin old man squatted down and sighed: "Little kid, you grew up eating food from many families."

"Now that your uncle and aunt in the east of the village are gone, it's time to bury them and cry at their graves."

"According to the rules passed down by our ancestors, if there are no descendants to mourn at their graves, their souls will be eaten clean by wandering ghosts and they will not be able to be reborn."

"Hey, when you cry at the grave, just say you are their son."

"Now that your uncle and aunt know that they have a successor, they can follow the ghost messenger with peace of mind."

Gradually, the sun rose to noon.

There are only a few lonely graves in the back mountain, a little kid here, and a big black crow.

In an instant, the crying was deafening. The crying was so plaintive, the cries were continuous, the tears were flying, and it was impossible to sob.

The old man just said that you only need to cry for two days, and stop when you are tired. Someone will bring you food.

at night.

The little kid was wrapped in a tattered blanket, still crying in front of the grave.

Suddenly, a shout came from the foot of the mountain not far away.

"That kid, what is he howling for in the middle of the night?"

There is a one-meter-wide path between the back mountain and the village for merchants and travelers to pass by.

"My father is gone, and my mother is gone too," the little kid cried.

"Ah, what a world this is." The man sighed and rode away.

Just two days later, before the little boy had time to go down the mountain, three more corpses wrapped in straw mats were carried up the mountain.

"Kid, this is your aunt's family at the end of the village. They are all gone." The skinny old man sighed.

"Go on crying. You don't have to cry so hard."

"In two years, when you are ten years old, I will take a bag of bran and give you a good name, a first-class good name."

As for the little kid, he just nodded woodenly.

He was really sad. Although he was young, he knew what death was. Children's emotions were not as rich as adults', but they were purer and more real.

And just like that, he started crying again.

At night, some merchants passed by, riding their donkeys slowly.

"What are you doing so late at night, little kid?"

"Dad is gone, mom is dead, and the family is broken up." A childish voice came with sadness.

After hearing this, the travelers just shook their heads. In today's world, it's good enough if they can take care of themselves.

As time goes by.

The little kid seemed to have settled down in the back mountain, because every two days someone was sent up the mountain to be buried.

"Master, what happened?" He couldn't help asking, with a white silk on his head.

"Ah." The thin and dark old man sighed.

"You know, all the young men in our village were taken away by the fifty-mile immortal."

"You aunts and uncles, you just went to visit, and when you came back, you became like this."

The little kid thought for a moment, "Can I not go?"

Seeing this, the old man just shook his head and said, "Nothing."

Time just passes, day by day.

There are more and more graves on the back hill, and it looks a bit messy, like a mass grave.

And the weather is getting colder.

There are dead branches and fallen leaves everywhere between heaven and earth, making it look bleak.

"My father, my mother..."

In the cold wind, the little kid continued to cry at the grave. His face was red from the cold and his snot turned into ice chips.

At this time, several more people were carried up, including the thin and dark old man.

Now, there are only about ten households left in this village, which used to have more than a hundred households.

This time, the kid couldn't help but lift a corner of the straw mat.

The corpse inside looked like it had been skinned and boned, just a pile of limp, rotten flesh. It was horrible to look at.

"This..." He was so frightened that he couldn't help but shrink his body.

Another month passed and it was almost the end of the year. The little boy finally didn't get to eat the big fat pig at the end of the year because all the villagers had died.

The last family had their bodies brought up by people from the next village for burial.

At this moment, the cold wind was howling and goose feather white snow was floating between the sky and the earth.

The little boy stood alone among the graves. His tears seemed to have dried up, but he still cried with difficulty.

"That kid, what are you doing again?" A caravan began to turn back, as they had passed by here before.

"Dad is gone, Mom is gone..."

"What? How many fathers do you have? Enough to keep you dead for half a year?"

The caravan passed by in a hurry, and the snow became heavier.

At this time, twelve figures slowly emerged from the snow.

They were covered in turbans, in human form, without facial features, and seemed to be made of a mass of mercury-colored fluid. Their entire bodies were filled with an incredible aura.

"This kid is quite interesting."

"There is no spirit in his eyes, but there is spirit in his heart. You can try to induce him to cultivate the word of the heart."

As they were talking, they surrounded the little kid.

At the same time, he said: "That's right, eat at a hundred families' table and cry at a hundred families' graves."

"From now on, I'll call you the crying grave kid."