Subtitle of this chapter: "Out of the Courtyard"

"Dududu, the host triggers historical random events, this system is evaluating..."

"Dududu, the evaluation has ended. The s value has not been increased yet, and the historical trunk has not changed yet."

"Dududu, the second system task is being generated..."

"Master Ball, what second system task? My first system task has not been completed yet."

"This system needs to be updated offline, please wait...

”

"Master Ball...Master Ball! Don't leave. After you go back to update, I will die as the host!"

“biu!”

It was November 7, 1920, Eastern Time, and four days have passed since Yuan Yan was arrested. (I wrote ninety chapters in three days, and only one sentence is used for four days.)

His physical condition was getting worse and worse. Not only did the wound start to suppurate, but the symptoms of sepsis became more obvious. However, our Master Yuan still didn't wait to release his news.

Now even the Master Ball has left him...

"Discharge"

Medical staff walked in, they stripped the Chinese, shaved their heads, and fixed him on the push bed with metal belts. The dazzling light made him dizzy, and they also auscultated him, a man wearing a mask stitched the injection needle on his arm.

When he woke up, he was wearing a bandage on his head and felt disgusted. He lay in a small room like a well. Day and night after the operation, he felt that the past was not even the edge of hell.

The ice in his mouth did not feel cool. In those days, the Chinese hated themselves; they hated themselves as a person, hated themselves for the need to relieve urination and defecation, hated themselves for listening to others' tricks, hated themselves for beard transplants on their faces. He endured those extremely painful treatments strongly, but when the doctor told him that he had sepsis before and was almost dead, the Chinese felt sad for their destiny and cried out.

Physical pain and nightmares were either insomnia or nightmares that could not allow him to think of abstract things like death. Soon after, the doctor told him that he was beginning to improve and he could go home to recuperate soon.

Unbelievable that day actually came. No one came to pick him up, so he had to walk slowly towards Brooklyn alone.

The Chinese were a little tired and hungry when they left, so they walked into a small restaurant on the street.

There were a few young men eating and drinking, clamoring, and the Chinese began to ignore it. A very old man squatted on the ground against the counter, motionless like something. The long years made him shrank and polished his edges, just like a rock polished by flowing water or a proverb that several generations of people tempered. He was black, thin, shriveled, as if he was beyond time and in eternity.

The Chinese looked at his black felt hat with enthusiasm, his curly hair in his ears, and his black suit like mourning clothes. He remembered that he wanted to trick the Jews hard, and thought that in this era, Jews like this were hard to see anywhere except New York.

He sat down at a table by the window. The sky was getting darker and darker outside, but the smell and noise of the city came through the iron bars. The owner brought him sardines and roast beef one after another. The Chinese drank a few glasses of red wine with the dishes. He sucked the smell of wine bored and looked around lazyly.

The dim electric light was hung under a beam; the other table had three customers: two looked like employees from a small factory; the third looked vulgar and the hat was not taken off and drinking. The Chinese suddenly felt something had been rubbed on their faces. Next to the thick glass, there was a small ball made of bread on the stripes of the tablecloth. That's it, it was just someone threw it at him on purpose.

The person next to the other table seemed to have not paid attention to him. The Chinese were a little puzzled. When it didn't happen, they opened the newspaper I just bought, and it seemed to cover up the reality. A few minutes later, another small ball hit him, and this time the hired workers laughed.

The Chinese told him that it was not worth making a fuss, but it was ridiculous that he had just recovered from a serious illness and was caught in a fight by a few strangers. He decided to leave, and as soon as he stood up, the owner came over and begged him in panic:

"Mr. Yuan, those young men are drunk, don't pay attention to them."

The Chinese are not surprised because the owner can call out his surname, but they think that these remedies will make things worse. At first, the hired workers' provocation was only targeted by an oriental person, or it can be said that no one is; now they target him and his surname are all known. The Chinese push the owner aside, facing the hired workers, and ask them what they want to do.

The rude man stood up staggeringly. He was only one step away from the Chinese, but he shouted loudly, as if he was far away. He deliberately pretended to be drunk, and this kind of artificiality was an unbearable mockery. He was full of swearing, while cursing, he took out a long dagger and threw it up. He watched it fall and caught it, and forced the Chinese to fight him. The owner trembled with a voice that the Chinese had no weapons. At this time, something unexpected happened.

The Jew who was squatting in the corner threw a shiny dagger at him, which fell right at his feet. It seemed that the atmosphere in New York determined that the Chinese should accept the challenge.

The Chinese bent down to pick up the dagger, and two thoughts flashed through his mind. First, this almost instinctive action made him advance and fight. Secondly, this weapon not only did not act as a protective effect in his clumsy hands, but gave people the reason to kill him. Like all men, he only saw others playing with knives on TV in his life, but he knew that the blade should rush inside during assassination and the knife should be picked from bottom to top.

In China, this kind of thing is absolutely not allowed to fall on me, he thought.

"Let's go back." The other party said.

They went out of the back door, and if the Chinese had no hope, he at least had no fear. When he crossed the threshold, he thought, when they pierced the injection needle into his arm for the first night in the hospital, if he could fight with a knife in the alley and die in a fight, it would be relief, happiness and joy for him. He also thought that if he could choose or yearn for his death at that time, such death was exactly what he wanted to choose or yearn for.

The Chinese, who are better at using pens, mouths and keyboards, hold the daggers he is not good at using and walk towards the darkness.

(Full text ends)

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I would like to pay tribute to Borges and his favorite short story "Southern" with this article, and to the patient who knew that the author would "write" "Southern (chu) Fang (yuan) when he saw the "septicemia" meme.

Do you know what the most exciting thing about writing this broken book is that the hidden meme was revealed by the patients.

Unfortunately, there are still some jokes that no one has mentioned, such as the names of the mother and daughter of the Dragoon.

This novel has been written for three months, so it is time to end...

Sorry! I forgot to put it on the shelves, not to ask for eunuchs. By the way, will anyone want to kill me when I see the "full text"? I really beat me to death but I can't see the back.

The following continues with the main text:

At the same time, the Embassy of the Republic of China in London.

"Brother Zhizi, is the Twelve Sister still unwilling to eat?"

"Shaochuan, Shaochuan, you see what you have come up with. If she asks you to send a diplomatic note, then you can send it, but you must ask her to agree to return to China and send it again... You don't know the temper of their female generals in the Tang Sect. And you are not going to send it now."

After hearing this, Gu Weijun could only smile bitterly and shook his head and said, "This is really my fault. I didn't expect that the Twelve Sister is the same temper as her fifth sister."

Shi Zhaoji was really angry, so he continued to complain: "Okay, now American newspapers say that the boy has sepsis. The twelve sister said that she would go back to the United States for whatever time... to meet him for the last time. If she didn't let her go, she would have a hunger strike. Shaochuan, what should you do about this?"

Hearing this, the great diplomat of the Republic of China turned even more bitter, and he frowned and thought for a long time. He accidentally turned around and saw the "Le Monde" flying all the way, and made up his mind.

"Hey... let her go." He saw Shi Zhaoji's dissatisfied expression and immediately spoke, "Brother Zhizhi, don't worry and listen to me first."

"Okay, you said."

Gu Weijun sorted out his thoughts and then said slowly: "According to the newspaper, this boy will not live long after suffering from sepsis. If he really dies, he will be able to lose his feelings for the Twelve Sisters..."

Shi Zhaoji became a little anxious when he heard this: "What if he were you?"

Gu Weijun did not answer this question directly, but pointed to the newspaper and said, "Brother Zhizhi also read the two articles he wrote, right? How does it feel?"

Shi Zhaoji pondered for a moment and said, "This boy is indeed extraordinary and has extraordinary talent. I feel ashamed of myself. Moreover, in my opinion, you are the only one in our diplomatic circle, Shaochuan, you have this insight and talent."

Gu Weijun shook his head and said, "I'm afraid I'll be stunned by it too. So..."

“So what?”

Gu Weijun stood up and said with a sigh: "So if Mr. Yuan really survives the disaster, even if we ask Mr. Xinhui and Mr. Xiangshan to blame him, we will still fulfill their marriage!"

Shi Zhaoji understood what the other party meant after a moment of thinking, but he immediately began to shake his head.

"Brother Zhizhi, do you think this son's talent is not worthy of the Twelve Sisters?"

"No, Shaochuan, you don't know. I just received a telegram from Tiyun. His younger brother Harxia is about to arrive in London."

"What...what is he here to do?"

"What else can I do? Of course I am here to pick up the twelve sisters back to China to get married!"

"What is the moral of a fiancé coming to pick up his fiancée back to China to get married?"

"What other things are not concise? Look at Brother Yu, this is probably the idea of ​​Mr. Xinhui. He has so many friends in North America for so many years. Can the Twelve Sister and Mr. Yuan hide this from him?" (Note 1)

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Chapter completed!