Every morning, I get up to eat, usually I drink a bowl of white rice porridge with a salted duck egg. I took out the egg whites and yolks of duck eggs and put them into a bowl. At first, I found it hard to swallow, but later I thought it was delicious. In this desolate desert, this may be the force of habit.
In the desert where I live, yellow sand flutters all day long, but there are also markets here. Back set is a single day, there is no market, every set is the opposite. I am a killer. This is my profession, and it is with this job that I can buy duck eggs.
However, life has not been satisfactory. There are too few people who pay to hire killers these days, and people are busy killing each other. Then I ate a duck egg for two days, and later I could even go to the market to sell the extra duck eggs. I never thought I could save so much duck eggs before. Things are unpredictable.
I go out a lot, and after I come back every night, I eat a bowl of rice and drink a bowl of wine. That wine was given to me by a friend, it's called Drunk Life and Dream Death. She said, this jar of wine, you have to drink it sparingly, because as long as you drink a bowl, you will forget everything that happened in the world. I didn't think about what happened later, and I have to forget every day, so every day I drink such a bowl. So every day, for me, is brand new.
I've lived here for almost three years since I left her down the mountain. In the past three years, there has been no passerby. Maybe it's because I forgot too soon. Later, I drank all the drunken life and the dream of death. I began to feel the pain of the memory.
In the beginning of spring in the fourth year, cacti are overgrown in the desert. But a desert is a desert after all, and one day, someone came over.
I didn't go out that day, and my life has been out of rhythm since I ran out of wine. I leaned against the door panel and looked at him. I looked at him, feeling familiar. I asked him, my friend, if we ever met. He didn't respond, he drew his sword and pointed it at my throat. I did not avoid this thorn, because I had long been unable to bear the torment of time.
Before dying, I asked him if he knew the difference between life and death.
He asked coldly, "Three years ago, I came to kill you once a year. I thought I was not your opponent. Why didn't you fight back this time?"
Drunk life and dream death have long been drunk, and I began to have memories. I looked at the killer she sent, and I said, people think life is warm and death is cold. For me, it's quite the opposite.
He retracted his sword, turned, and jumped onto the horse's back. He drove his whip away. In the dust of the sky, the sun was as dazzling as a thousand arrows.
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