mayfly era

The next day, after t woke up, his spirit and mood had eased a lot, and he raised the question from yesterday again, but his expression was completely different.

He is very calm, a calm that does not match his age.

"Boss Chen, tell me, is Mei Zhuan dead?"

Chen Li was silent for a moment, "He's not dead, but it's hard to come back."

There was a smile on T's pale face, and a cute little dimple appeared on his left cheek.

Chen Li sent T back to Xiangrong Lane, and as soon as he left the entrance and exit of this slum complex, he saw those two familiar figures, one tall and one short, looking around the corner.

Even though he was wearing black and gray clothes that could easily disappear into the crowd, his unprofessional stalking techniques and unfit figure still betrayed a lot of information—he thought that the person following him was Marshal Cong, but with Marshal Cong's resources and arrogance , he absolutely cannot use such manpower.

Chen Li turned around and stepped into Xiangrong Lane again.

In Xiangrong Lane, where the narrow alleys were crowded by apartment buildings, he took a leisurely walk, walking the two amateur stalkers around.

Suddenly, a short cursing was caught in his ears, it was from the tall follower.

"Amateur and not professional." Chen Li gave the two of them a zero in his heart.

At this time, a familiar figure appeared in Chen Li's vision.

The man was thin, wearing an old black long overcoat with a white shirt underneath.After being away for many days, the dark circles under the eyes of this gentleman have lightened a lot, and he is much more energetic, and he looks like he is about to go home.

Chen Li stepped forward and stopped him, "Hi, Mr. Writer."

The writer was suddenly stopped, he shrugged his shoulders unnaturally, his expression froze for a moment, but then he smiled politely, "Boss Chen, I didn't expect to meet you here."

Chen Li nodded, watching the writer quietly, without speaking.

"If you don't mind," the writer dragged out the end of the sentence, speaking awkwardly, "if you don't mind, come to my house and have a glass of water?"

Chen Li didn't mean to be polite at all, but nodded and said, "Excuse me."

The writer didn't expect Chen Li to be so straightforward, and scratched his head in embarrassment, but had no choice but to take this young man who didn't know what politeness was, back home.

The writer's home surprised Chen Li.

The apartments in Xiangrong Lane are very small, and the writer's home is no exception. There is only one bedroom, and the office, bedroom, and living room are all in the same space.

But unexpectedly, the writer turned his home into a fairy-tale cottage.

Round leaf curtains, polka-dot mushroom-shaped tables and chairs, a small log bed near the window, covered with red and white checked coarse cloth sheets.Three-dimensional butterfly stickers were pasted on both sides of the window, and a soft liquid carpet was spread on the floor, with silver five-pointed stars swaying in the plastic quicksand.

"Your home...is very special." Chen Li couldn't find a suitable word of praise for a moment. Although it was beyond reproach for a man to live in such a hut, it was also a little surprising.

The writer took a bottle of home-sized sparkling water from the refrigerator, poured it into a small ceramic mug with a ribbon-like handle, and placed a quarter of a dried lemon—a very expensive dried lemon slice. , has done its utmost to entertain guests.

"Thank you," the writer put the cup on the round mushroom table, and smiled shyly, "This is the first time I have a guest at my house."

Chen Li picked up a flat iron box that the writer put on the mushroom stool, pointed to the stool, "Can I sit here?"

The writer nodded quickly, "Yes, sorry, I don't know how to greet guests."

"I visited rashly." Chen Li put the iron box on the table and sat down.

He cast his eyes on the tin box on the table, a light blue flat tin box, which looks like something that can only be bought in a second-hand market, the packaging box of the last century, the paint on the corners has been worn off , revealing a smooth metal interior.

"What is this?" Chen Li pointed to the iron box.

The writer stretched out his hand to open the box, and there was a thick stack of thin paper inside. The writer flipped through it casually, and said to Chen Li, "It's just some poor manuscripts, and I'm planning to get rid of them."

Looking at these messy paper pages, Chen Li's gaze deepened a little - he suddenly remembered the ban on paper that Chen Chuchu said.

It turns out that many people are still using paper nowadays, and this recording tool that has existed for thousands of years is still valuable today.

It's cheap, ubiquitous, easy to remember, and keeps information safe from remote theft.

People still need paper, even in today's highly developed information technology.

Seeing Chen Li staring at his manuscript silently, the writer closed the lid of the tin box shyly, "It was written a long time ago, very childish."

"How is your work in the Military and Political Department?" Chen Li raised his head and saw the writer's plump face, "You look good."

"It's not bad, everyone takes good care of me, and there are endless reports every day." The writer pushed the cup to Chen Li, motioning him to drink water.

"Do you still have time to write your novel?" Chen Li took a sip of the lemon sparkling water, the bitterness of the dried lemon and the tongue-piercing feeling of the sparkling water poured into his mouth together, and he couldn't help frowning.

"The leader said that my identity is sensitive and I can't write casually," the writer smiled, "but I can change my pen name, and he will not interfere with my creative freedom."

Chen Li thought, this tone sounded a lot like that old fritter at the beginning of Chen who was good at giving both grace and power.

"Boss Chen, you don't look well..." The writer asked cautiously, "Are you sick?"

Chen Li looked down and saw his hand holding the cup, which was still shaking uncontrollably.

He thought it was a little funny, he had accepted it calmly, but his body was still afraid for him.

Just like at that time, he obviously had bitten all the knots in his heart and spit them all on the ground, but this remnant body was still suffering from phantom pain because of the non-existent organs.

"Well, the weather is bad and I have a cold." Chen Yue said lightly.

The writer said "ah", "Then I shouldn't have poured ice water for you."

Chen Li picked up the cup and took another sip. The air bubbles pierced the tip of his tongue, making it crispy and numb. The dried lemon slices had a strong bitter and sour taste, which was not good to drink.But at least it's not the same chemical flavor.

"It's okay, my friend is your reader, he asked me to ask when the great writer will be serialized again." Chen Li said.

"I'm conceiving a story," the writer's tone suddenly became excited, and sparks appeared in his listless eyes, "Do you want to hear it? If possible, please give me some suggestions."

Chen Li nodded, and he glanced out the window. The two amateur stalkers were no longer there. Five minutes ago, they were still squatting there smoking vaping cigarettes.

It seems to be impatient to wait.

"This story is called Happy Plant," the writer cleared his throat, "beginning at the end of an era."

"Through a life-and-death struggle, the surviving people flew into the universe, wanting to start a new life, but because of a 'lie', people wandered endlessly in the universe, and finally died in the universe."

"But this is not a complete death. The material fragments of human beings and the fragments of human thinking drifted to a distant planet after an incalculable amount of time," the writer said here, showing a strange smile. Thinking plants."

"Then, people feel the suffering of being harvested and chewed as food, and live endlessly until human thoughts completely disappear in the long-term suffering."

"The pain disappeared, and everyone became a happy plant."

After the writer finished speaking, he looked at Chen Li with a satisfied expression.

"It's very romantic." Chen Li said.

"But it's not a novel," the writer sighed. "Nobody would buy a novel like that."

"Why?" Chen Li was puzzled.

"Because the times are already bad, and no one wants to read a worse story."

"I don't understand these things." Chen Li shook his head.

"Perhaps I should write about a time of material abundance... where fresh lemons were available everywhere, where water and food were no longer a concern for everyone, where there were real human rights and equal laws, rather than solid, superior laws And down the barrier."

"Will someone buy your novel?"

The writer shook his head with a wry smile, "No, it can't even show up."

After Chen Li finished drinking the sparkling water in his glass, he said to the writer, "Thank you for the hospitality, you can look forward to that day, maybe it will come soon."

The writer looked at Chen Li in surprise.He had only met this young man a few times, but he couldn't help but believe in this young man in his heart, feeling that every word he said would not break his promise.

He looked stern and clear, with an aura of repelling others thousands of miles away, but he made people feel so safe and reliable.

What kind of person is this, and what kind of life does he have?

When the writer came back to his senses, Chen Li was no longer in the room, only a clean cup was lying in the sink next to the refrigerator.