mayfly era

"What did Young Master Mei do?" Chen Li asked in a low voice.

"Suddenly the superiors removed the surveillance on him, and I was tracking him on the street... The surveillance cameras in Central City haven't been changed in 50 years, and I'm almost blind."

Chen Li frowned, a little dissatisfied, "Why did you withdraw?"

"How do I know, the boss said 'don't panic and follow the street', but he doesn't panic, after all, I'm the one following people." Shang Han's tone was even more dissatisfied.

"Here we come." Smoker reminded.

Chen Li turned his gaze to the door. The position where they were sitting had a great view, and they had a panoramic view of the entire bar.

The automatic door of the bar opened, and the light at the entrance just turned to a cool color.

A young man walked in hastily with his head down. His thin figure passed from the milky white street lamp outside the door into the blue-purple light inside the bar, like a ghost.

He didn't turn his head to look at anyone, but walked all the way to the bar and sat in exactly the same position as last time.

After a while, the smoker sat beside him carelessly, lighting a cigarette by himself.

Chen Li put on a black peaked cap worn by the bartender in the shop, groped into the bar, and stood not far from the two of them, pretending to pack the glasses.

"Teacher, I heard they call you that." The smoker took a puff of smoke, his tone casual.

The writer nodded, and his unique voice sounded in the ears of the two of them again. It was so gentle that it was a little sticky, which did not match the cold and gloomy appearance, "What should I call you?"

The bong shook the combustible cigarette between his fingers, "As you can see, I am a smoker."

"Then call you Mr. Yan." The writer is not only gentle, but also very polite.

"any drinks?"

"I don't drink alcohol, please order me a glass of sparkling lemonade."

"Going to a bar without drinking is like watching someone dance without putting money in his boots."

The writer smiled politely, "So I generally don't watch people dance."

Smoker ordered a glass of sparkling water for the writer in the menu area on the table, and a glass of oat beer for himself, "What else does the teacher like to do besides writing books?"

"Sleep, there is a different world in the dream."

"Then do you like this world, or that world?" asked the smoking gun.

At this time, oatmeal beer and sparkling water were served, and Chen Li quickly took a look at the writer's appearance and inherent expression. From his experience, this writer should have never killed anyone.

The writer was stunned by the question of the smoking gun. It seemed that no one had ever asked him this question. He thought for a moment and said, "People probably don't like the world they live in."

"Because there are things in this world that you can't solve, right?" The smoker's face was blurred in the smoke, his deep eyes seemed to be able to see through people's hearts, and the fog in the clouds seemed deeper.

The writer thought for a moment, then nodded cautiously.

The bong took out the anti-flame can and put it on the bar, knocked the ashes slowly, the smoke dissipated, and his amber eyes became clearer and sharper.When the writer didn't open his mouth, he didn't mean to speak. He just stared at the writer with those beautiful and sharp eyes, and could see all the subtle expressions and movements of the writer.

"I don't know who you are, and I don't know what you think." The writer said.

"I don't know who you are, and I don't know what you think." Smoker repeated his words with a smile, "But I have read your novels, and I have read a few of them. It's not up to par."

No writer can withstand face-to-face criticism of his work, and it is a very popular work, but the writer is not angry, but opens his mouth slightly, showing a slightly surprised expression.

"You write the novel, but you don't write the story, do you?"

The surprised expression on the writer's face was even stronger, but he still suppressed his expression and shook his head, "You can't say that."

"You are an orphan," said the bong, the moment the sparks were extinguished at the end of the cigarette, his eyes flickered a few times, "It just so happens that I am too."

"There are a lot of orphans in Central City," the writer said softly.

"Only in this book, you didn't describe a baby sucking breast/milk. Is it because some people don't like it? In your eyes, breast/milk is sacred, but in his eyes it is dirty and unsightly... He forced you to delete it, didn't he?" Smoker's ears were filled with the dry voice of typhoid, but the similar content came out of his mouth, but it was full of exaggeration and provocative force, which made people scalp Numb.

The writer was stunned, his blue lips twitched a few times, unable to speak.

"Teacher, we only have half an hour, I don't want to waste money." The smoking gun pointed to the beer mug on the table.

"I, I have known him for a long time, and he used to be the person I relied on the most."

The writer's hand rested on the table, his fingertips twitching weakly.

Smoker didn't expect to start with such information, and involuntarily showed a distorted expression.

The writer understood his expression and shook his head quickly, "It's just my wishful thinking that I'm entrusting my feelings and imagining a relationship... This will also help my writing."

Yan Qiang nodded thoughtfully, he understood that this kind of feeling has always been true and false, and the relationship between the writer and Master Mei may not be that simple.

"But recently, he seems to have changed. I feel very strange, but I can't tell whether he has changed or he is like this."

The writer's words make Smoker feel like he is in the Gender Relations Bureau or Marriage Mediation Office, "Teacher, why don't you tell me bluntly, whether he threatens you, forces you or threatens you, I don't want to hear long and stinky unrequited love novel."

The writer's face was a bit embarrassed, and after a while, he showed a wry smile, "...I was scared, I never knew he was a lunatic before."

"It's not a good thing to offend a madman."

"I know, I'm hesitant too," the writer sighed, "so I took a gamble. If you don't come to me, I will continue to feed the tiger with my body. If you come to me, I will seek protection."

"If I were Master Mei, you would have been dead the last time you stepped into this bar."

"He probably doesn't want me to die yet. I'm still useful to him."

"But not now."

"Yeah, not anymore, maybe I should write a suicide note for myself before I go out today." The writer looked bleak, and his pale face looked even more haggard.

Smoker looked at the writer's troubled face, and showed a playful smile, "Do you really don't know him...or do you know him too much?"

"I know him before, but I don't know him now."

"When did his change start?"

"I realized it was a month ago."

"It was also when you started writing "The Unsolved Case of Missing Girls." The smoking gun lit another cigarette.

The writer hesitated for a moment, then nodded, "He said he wanted me to help him write such a story, and he decided on a weekly live broadcast time for me. I...I have always listened to him, but I didn't expect him to... "

"How did you find this place?" The hand holding the cigarette with the pipe tapped the table.

"He always comes here, at first I thought he was picking up the little boy, then I found out he always comes alone and leaves alone."

"You followed him?" Smoker was a little surprised, and couldn't help but look at this weak writer differently.

"He probably wouldn't have imagined that...I followed him around this bar...for a long time," the writer's eyes became more and more dazed, "He did something so strange that I thought it was a dream, absurd The dream to the extreme, I repeatedly told myself that it was an illusion, and I didn't wake up until the fire burned into my world."

The smoking gun did not urge, but asked after listening to the writer's sleepy words, "What did you see?"

"I saw..." the writer took a deep breath, but his body still trembled involuntarily, "I saw people around him without facial features, hiding in cars, black cars, Those 'people' looked like they were made out of something... I thought I was having a nightmare."

"and then?"

"Then I saw him, and he fought with those without facial features." The writer pointed to Chen Li, who was wearing a peaked cap.

"I just said that it's better to change clothes than not change." Smoker muttered.

"I was very scared, and found that Mei Zhuan was no longer in the car. He was hiding on the other side, concentrating on what he was doing..." The writer kept adjusting his breathing, but he couldn't restrain his trembling. He seemed to be about to vomit , eyes more red.

"He was driving. He was standing on the ground, but he was still driving!"

Smoker's expression gradually became serious, "What do you mean?"

"His movements are all projected on the 'person' who sat in the driver's seat instead of him." The writer barely finished this sentence, then covered his mouth, his face was full of pain, and cold sweat poured down.

"you sure?"

The writer stiffened his neck and was too uncomfortable to speak. He wanted to stand up and rush into the bathroom, but someone pushed him down and handed him a packing bag. A calm voice said, "Spit it out."

Chen Li came over at some point. He looked at the writer who was vomited pale, turned his head and said to the smoking gun, "I almost understand, just wait for the result from the boss."

Smoker frowned, pointed to the writer beside him who was vomited faintly, "What should he do?"

Chen Li turned to the writer and said, "I know you don't want to be bound by secular bureaucrats, but if you want to save your life, go to the Military and Political Department."

The writer's red eyes widened, and his pale face was full of surprise.

"Cy Old Yan, Master Mei is heading to your side."

Typhoid, who had been silent in the earphone for a long time, suddenly spoke, conveying a sad news.

No matter how strong the nerves are, people will feel uneasy if they are approached by the protagonist of the story just after hearing an unimaginable story.

"I'll go out for a while," Chen Li's tone remained calm, "You take care of the writer."

Smoker nodded, and he moved his lips. It was a silent "caution"—the writer must not know about Master Mei's arrival, otherwise troubles would suddenly arise.

Chen Li bent down and got out from the bar, he fumbled through a gap and stuffed it into his pocket, the movement was so fast that the eyes of ordinary people could hardly detect it.