I once said I wanted Gu Yi to die.
Later, he really died.
He died in the year when I was at my peak.
It was only after his death that I found out.
His depression could have killed him long ago.
He held on for so long just to wait for me to leave.
Liu Xing has passed away.
His wife rushed from Wuxi to Beiping to invite me to the funeral.
Among his belongings, there were dozens of letters all written to me.
Yet in these ten years, I only met him seven times.
"The Ancestral Dragon is dead!"
The gates of Changsheng Platform swung open as the messenger boy stumbled and tumbled in, shouting at the top of his lungs.
Ying Zheng is dead?
"The Ancestral Dragon is dead!"
He raised the silk in his hand high above his head, as if holding some terrifying, fulfilled prophecy.
I took the silk from his trembling hands. The vivid painting on it depicted a carriage, and lying inside the carriage was the emperor I knew so well, Ying Zheng.
But.
"He is not dead!"
Looking at the young man accompanying the carriage in the painting, who bore an uncanny resemblance to a young Ying Zheng, I roared,
"In pursuit of immortality, he is no longer human!"
Husband didn't leash the dog, and concealed the fact that our son was bitten, resulting in the death of our one-year-old son from rabies.
Faced with questioning, he angrily beat me to death.
In another life, I stand in front of the black dog.
A pet store employee asks, "Do you like it?"
I smirk, hiding the bloodthirsty madness in my eyes, and say, "I like it. Are there even more ferocious breeds?"
The third year after I died in a car accident.
My parents entered into the Buddhist order, and all our assets were entrusted to my fiancé.
My fiancé, with a frail body, came to the place where the incident happened, with a pale and numb face.
Online, it is said that he has been running around for my accident these years, and has had several bouts of depression and suicidal thoughts.
Supported by his supporters, he said to the camera that even if he was broken into pieces, he would definitely seek justice for me and bring the wrongdoer to justice.
At this moment, a cold and mocking male voice came from the crowd: "Oh, are you talking about yourself?"
I was not cremated after I died.
My family dried and preserved me.
Later, they ground me into powder, mixed it with honey, and fed it to my younger brother.
It's a folk remedy meant to cure asthma.
If a random stranger were to die, you could receive seven million yuan.
What would you do?
I didn't get the seven million yuan right from the start.
The story begins with the death of the first man.
Looking at the cremator,
my husband's body turning to ashes in the raging fire,
my six-year-old son looked up, and timidly asked me in a low voice:
"Mom, did I cause Dad's death?"
I squatted down, gently hugged him: "No."
My son clung to me even tighter,
"Mom, did you cause Dad's death?"
I felt my heart contract violently in an instant,
a searing pain spreading throughout my whole body with my blood.
I picked up my son, wiped the tears off his cheeks,
"Also no."
I assured him by his ear.
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