After the white moonlight cuts the black

The temperature, which has been trending below zero for a long time, has shown signs of warming up in recent days.

At noon that day, the highest temperature returned to above zero, the snow melted into water, and the grass sprouts that had been sleeping under the soil for a long time woke up overnight.

The air is extraordinarily fresh, as if blowing the fragrance of lush vegetation thousands of miles away from the city, all things lazily opened their sleepy eyes, tidied up their slumber and decay, and prepared to welcome the beginning of spring.

The hot searches exploded one after another, the server was overloaded and paralyzed, the hot search list was refreshed abnormally, and the rankings were chaotic.

For example, the purchased entries and topics are full of tacit understanding, and the individual body parts of certain celebrities are described in an amazed and festive way.

There is always nothing new under the sun.

In the keyword square of "Chu He committed suicide", a question was sent out in real time, with an emoji of holding melons: "Is it depression again?"

And this comment was quickly drowned in the rapidly stacked data.

The deserted garden of the hospital was brought up immediately, and the reporters who heard the news made a big fuss about this unusual social news.

The two-color flashing police lights were too bright to be distorted under the clear blue sky.

Wu Ya squeezed a group of people in the lobby on the first floor of the hospital, and the patients queuing up for registration yelled, "Did someone die in your family!!"

The baby in the patient's arms was whimpering, the nurse was forced to go downstairs to maintain order, and the shrill female voice echoed in the hall.

Meng Huaiming broke through the crowded crowd in the aisle of the hospital, he stepped through the window leading to the roof, and the sour and fanatical aura retreated behind him.

He saw Yan Hui at a glance, he was standing very close to the railing, the scarf was blown up, covering half of his face, his figure seemed to be about to disappear.

Meng Huaiming's heart tightened, and he stepped forward quickly, but was stopped by the person in charge of questioning: "Hey, comrade, you can't pass here."

"Swallow Ash!"

Meng Huaiming shouted loudly, Yan Hui heard everything, but did not turn back immediately, he stopped and was recounting the scene of Chu He jumping off the building, as if caught in some kind of magic barrier of different time and space.

Then he turned his gaze, at that moment Meng Huaiming almost died in his emptiness and numbness.

Meng Huaiming said to the policeman: "He is not in good health, please, please bring him here."

The policeman seemed to be confirming Meng Huaiming's identity, Yan Hui's voice was too low, before he could hear the answers clearly, he was already shattered in the wind.

The policeman nodded and finally took him away from the dangerous edge.

"In this way, because he had contact with Mr. Chu before, and there is still a record missing, I ask you to cooperate and go for a walk." He said to Meng Huaiming: "After that, you can take him back to have a good rest."

There were no less than five people on the roof at that time, which was a major hidden danger in public places, and because of Chu He's special status, although no other harm was caused, it still affected the normal order.

When Meng Huaiming and Yan Hui went downstairs, they heard the noisy discussion of patients in the inpatient department due to the lack of nursing staff.

"Who? Who jumped off the building?"

"It seems to be a star! What is his name Chu He, I have watched his TV series."

A middle-aged man with a broken leg shook his head: "Tsk tsk tsk, why are celebrities still thinking about it?"

His wife patted him on the arm: "Everyone is gone, so there is nothing to talk about."

"Why, you still don't admit what people said?" The middle-aged man frowned: "You are young, you can't think about anything, and you are still a star, just this psychological quality?"

Someone else sighed: "But it's really a pity..."

"What's wrong with the star?!" The young girl who came to visit the patient cried, "I'm not here anymore. Doesn't it hurt my back now?"

"You little girl—"

"Quiet! Quiet!" The left-behind nurse was very angry: "Don't talk nonsense, this is a social incident, don't care if he is a celebrity or not, what are you doing here, go back to the ward!"

The police led them to the car, and when the door opened, they saw that there was already a person sitting inside.

Perhaps it is not appropriate to use "sit".

He was clearly sitting in a normal posture, but he sank into a kind of extremely rickety and decadent. He was obviously still dressed in a brand name and was not stained with dust, but he seemed to be thrown into the mud, and he ate a few mouthfuls of sewage while pressing his head.

The manager Jiang Pan looked at them with a pale face, his expression relaxed slightly, and then he closed his eyes heavily.

"fine?"

Jiang Pan pursed his lips and nodded, then punched his forehead hard with his fist. He unlocked the phone with trembling hands. A large row of messages lit up on the screen. He opened them one by one and typed a reply.

The policeman glanced at his watch and looked at Yan Hui: "There are colleagues coming over later, I'm sorry, you..."

This was exactly what Meng Huaiming wanted, the three big men squeezed in the back seat was enough for him to ensure that Yan Hui was within sight.

Halfway through the car, Chu He's studio had issued a notice that Chu He had been suffering from depression for a long time and had been taking medicine for half a year...Meng Huaiming didn't look at it anymore, the atmosphere in the car was so tight that it was about to explode.

The flow of text data presents a scene completely opposite to that in the hospital, and tears flow like a river.

Discussions criticizing online violence once again raised the burning threshold, and Chu He's fans soared unprecedentedly in an instant, and words of love and pity for him filled every Weibo.

Including the promotional trailer of "You Come and Me Go", in the square without the Tag, Yanxun's fans were shouting: "Don't let the tragedy happen again!"

#Salt Smoked Depression#

#Chuhe depression#

Two side by side under the red burst, burning at the boiling point.

Jiang Pan suddenly asked, "What did he say in the end?"

Yan Hui lowered her eyes: "Thank you, and... goodbye."

Jiang Pan covered his face with his hands, and bowed down without sobbing, the silence fermented in his palms.

When they arrived at the bureau, several people took notes one by one. Because Yanhui had verbal communication with the suicide target, they were called to restore the scene alone.

He held Meng Huaiming's wrist all the way, and it wasn't until they parted that Meng Huaiming felt the pain in his wrist. The pinched circle of red marks was completely different from the calmness sunken on the surface of Yanhui.

The calmer you are, the crazier you are.

Jiang Pan needed time to process the announcements and news, and the policeman expressed his understanding. After Meng Huaiming saw that he had unmuted his mobile phone, one call after another came in.

He connected with the headset, and he repeated intermittently: "Yes, Chu He has been confirmed dead, fell from the building, yes... the family has been notified, well, I was by his side before this, and I was the only one by his side... Thank you , Thank you for your concern, thank you."

"He didn't target anyone, the reason for the Internet...can't, can't write like this...that novelist, ha, let him rub, let him rub! There is a price to be paid for the popularity!...We can't write if we use the marketing account , OK, I see, I understand."

He arranged mechanically and compactly, and he was still the best manager.

And after answering the last call, the moment he lowered his hand, the mobile phone slipped from his loose fingertips and fell to the ground, making a crisp whine.

Jiang Pan stared at the dark screen, suddenly violently kicked the phone out!

Meng Huaiming held him down, and Jiang Pan suddenly lost his strength and fell limp on the chair. A policewoman picked up his mobile phone, "Sir, sorry, please calm down."

Jiang Pan took over the mobile phone that was still in good condition, and asked for another call.

He looked at the caller ID on the screen, and if he was struck by lightning, he would be left with a handful of bones that were about to turn into ashes.

He slid to the connected button, the call timer started, and Jiang Pan said, "Uncle Chu..."

Through the headphones, Meng Huaiming could even hear the woman's hoarse cry and the uncle's trembling questions.

"Chu He, really...really gone? Xiao Jiang, I don't believe it."

"Uncle Chu." Jiang Pan said, "Really, I'm sorry."

The stern voice was accompanied by a curse, but Jiang Pan became calm at the moment. After listening in silence, he still said, "I'm sorry."

When the communication was hung up, Jiang Pan immediately contacted Chu He's family to appease Chu He's family, but after he finally ended the communication, the silence almost drove him crazy.

He suddenly couldn't adapt to the silence, and nervously asked Meng Huaiming next to him, "Will he be in pain?"

Meng Huaiming was silent for a moment, then said, "No, at that height, there will be no pain."

This is just Meng Huaiming's self-consolation. Although the building is high, who can guarantee whether Chu He has residual consciousness.

When he and Yan Hui wrote "Honey Pot" before, they knew about different suicide methods, and many jumpers would still be conscious after landing, and even turn over.

And what kind of experience they have, they don't know, these comforts are nothing but for the living.

"Do you believe in precognitive dreams?"

Jiang Pan's current mental state is obviously not right. If he was just an ordinary manager, he wouldn't be so gaffe.

But Meng Huaiming knew that Chu He was an artist he had brought with him for 17 years.

17 years is enough for a teenager to grow up.

He watched him grow from raw to mature, and saw his bones fully grow, as if he had experienced the growth of a seedling. The young man took off his sportswear and wore expensive clothes to attend various occasions. Under the spotlight, he was the one who taught him how to behave. How to smile, what kind of decent words to say.

And the young man who asked him to help write the Chinese composition finally died 17 years later, one morning at the end of winter.

"I dreamed of a crane last night, a very beautiful one."

Jiang Pan said with a sigh: "It spread its wings and flew over the city where I live, and landed on me a feather."

"I was talking to him this morning. He is really in good shape today. He said he can burn pottery, and he can help me burn the white crane in my dream."

"How could he be so happy today? I should feel that something is wrong. He is so happy, even..." Jiang Pan smiled painfully: "Even in front of me, an account that asked him to die in the background Lahei-"

"Mr. Chu, he..." Meng Huaiming cooperated with his narration. He knew that Jiang Pan was not allowed to speak now, and he didn't know what he would do. "Has he been depressed for a long time?"

"I had an attack half a year ago, and I've been taking medicine since then." Jiang Pan shook his head, with deep pain floating between his brows, his breathing was turbulent, "Now he's finally free? He smashed himself to pieces..."

Jiang Pan clenched his fists and bent down to rest on his forehead.

The recorder led Yan Hui out, Meng Huaiming got up and pulled him back, Yan Hui seemed to have lost his soul, and the whole person was at the mercy of Meng Huaiming.

He huddled in the co-pilot's position, looked over the car window, and looked at the tall buildings that were falling inward. The light pollution fascinated his eyes, and Meng Huaiming heard him ask: "...is this good?"

Meng Huaiming was so frightened that he hugged and dragged him back to the room, pressed him against the head of the bed, and forced him to look directly into his eyes.

Yan Hui looked at him blankly, as if that was really an unanswerable doubt.

Meng Huaiming stared at him.

"I respect everyone's right to choose their own lives." His Adam's apple rolled, and it was almost impossible to say: "But, if you ask for help, I will definitely hear it."

The mist in Yan Hui's eyes could not be condensed, he shook his head: "No..." His eyes diverged, and he suddenly pushed Meng Huaiming away, wanting to run outside.

Meng Huaiming clasped his waist, Yan Hui struggled violently, and in confusion, her elbow hit Meng Huaiming's cheek and jaw hard, like a painful slap in the face.

"Swallow Ash!"

Meng Huaiming used all his strength to hold him down.

Yan Hui's persistently tense will finally collapsed across the board.

He was hysterically about to crawl towards the door, Meng Huaiming suppressed him with the tumbled cup, and Yan Hui whimpered and curled up, like the last cry of a photophobic creature before it was burned.

Panting for breath, Meng Huaiming turned his head inadvertently, outside the French window facing away from the door, the azure blue color faded, leaving a pale sky.

But the floating clouds were dim, and a round of thin ice made the moon reveal a feminine face.

Three days later, the names of Chu He and Yan Xun were on the trending searches again.

Everyone felt sorry for Chu He, praised his acting skills and dedication, and wept for his untimely death.

Under the hot search of "You come and I go" is a candlelight made of data.

However, Yan Xun's scolding for using depression as an excuse was roaring like the wind and raging like a tide. In this online scolding war involving various illegal operations.

Fans and readers who tried to whitewash him lit the last match for him.

Yanxun's account was blocked, and the three authors were preparing to jointly sue him for plagiarism. The manipulative methods behind it were so vigorous that the marketing account that served him was stunned. However, under these two hot searches, a movie adapted from Yanxun's article was released. Take IP statistical entries.

Squeeze the juice to the extreme dryness, and death is unprecedentedly lively.

There is always nothing new.