Where do we start with this matter? Now, I spread out the blank paper and start writing the first word.At this time, the ink turned into a dot, dragging out a tadpole-like tail line.I changed a piece of paper and started to write the first word again. After writing these two sentences, I opened the discarded one again, and found that the ink that had just melted away had dried up, and it looked like a huge rest, which meaningfully verified the truth that I once doubted: when a story begins At that time, countless stories are ending, or are on the way to the end. So, for a while, I also wondered whether what I am writing now is the beginning or the end.

who am I? This is the question I asked myself most often after I came to S City. who am I? I closed my eyes, lay flat on the couch with my legs straight, and began to meditate. When I woke up, among the countless faces that appeared in front of my eyes, I still couldn't see the one that belonged to me. Maybe, really, I stayed there—that vaguely deserted city. What should I call it? A? ... The people there are keen to squeeze at the top of the letters and push each other, letting the stupid and incompetent fools slide down the slopes on both sides, and the remaining short-sighted "blind people" will step on their corpses to climb up and down. Go up, so, I call it City A.

There was a girl in the city, in her twenties, who fell into a coma for a long time when she rolled under the letters, just like me now, with her eyes closed and her legs straight, until one day, she suddenly woke up and unexpectedly found herself She was still alive, a little surprised, but not hesitant, so she fled, from city A to city S, from a down-and-out reporter to a decadent DJ, hiding in a corner incognito and licking her wounds. Some people call her Ann. Some people call her Ling. I gave her a unified name, An Ling. This is a story about me and An Ling. I can't tell you the difference between me and her. It's like when you occasionally get lost and see your own shadow when you look back, but you don't know who he is.

run wildly. Without looking back, he ran wildly. Fall, then get up quickly and continue. Experience that cramped, anxious, hysterical gasp. In addition to the sound of the wind, there is another person’s breathing, which is steady and rhythmic, running closer, closer, panting closer, as if the next second is going to whiz past me, and the cramped muscles in the calves cannot be restrained The ground jumped faster and faster, and the joints of the arms were completely useless. When I crossed the finish line, I clearly heard the breaking sound when my physical strength broke through the limit. It was deafening, and then my limbs fell to the ground in pieces. I turned around and suddenly found that the runway behind me On the ground, there is nothing but the dust that is rising rapidly...

Lonely, and fear of not knowing what to do, ants gathered around me like ants looking for food... I relaxed all the muscles in my body, slowly pulled myself away from that memory, and then...finally...woke up, and continued my life in S city. Click on time to broadcast. I am very tired, my bones are falling apart, my forehead is slightly swollen, I know it is a natural reaction, and it will slowly fade away and return to normal state, but I still close my eyes full of attachment, hug the pillow In my arms, I sincerely look forward to having a gentle sleep without dreams tonight, even a few minutes is good.

Now, I am Ling. an outsider. A woman who once sank into ultimate ecstasy, and now walks on the edge of nothingness. That happened a long time ago. After moving to S city, I couldn’t find a suitable job for a long time, and I couldn’t remember what I did before. Basic sleep is also lost.I became a queer, sleepless woman, wrestling day and night with other people's woes, time and time again, filtering their memories and, in the end, appropriating them. My dream means the mistyness of time and space. Now, I am awake, and the pendulum is right in front of my eyes, effectively proving the existence of time; I am also very confused and ignorant that today's afternoon is no different from yesterday, and for a while, I can't find the direction of action.

At this moment, I noticed an abrupt circle on the calendar, which seemed to remind me that today is different from yesterday. The circle was drawn by An. I tried to recall her appearance at that time. I thought I couldn’t remember, but she was still in the same place, staying there quietly and well. When I turned my thoughts around, she moved. stand up. In my memory, An is a cheerful and lively woman with healthy ivory skin and short fluttering hair. When she laughs, her expression is as clever as a bird's, not charming but lovable.In fact, Ann is very beautiful, that's a secret I only discovered after I became Ling.Perhaps it was because I had never had a good look at her, or perhaps it was her habit of living elsewhere that made me overlook her qualities.It wasn't until one day that she suddenly became a classic oil painting in the long river of fate that I realized that I had lost her forever.

I tried my best to get a clear view of An's past appearance from the dim figure in the circle, but unfortunately, only the situation of that day was shown. Six years ago today, I moved from City A to City S with a suitcase that I had wandered with An for many years. The hobbled steps along the way made it extremely difficult for me to walk proficiently since I was a child. Like a puppy abandoned by its owner, it humbly cats its waist and crawls from one kind of emptiness to another kind of emptiness. That suitcase was heavier than ever, and it contained the ashes of my parents who were still in shock. The plane they were on had unfortunately crashed into another plane that was about to take off when it was landing on the runway in City A, and it just disappeared in my memory. In the world, so I took them away together, just to stay away from that ominous city.

Yes, it is ominous after all, just like A will always be the most ominous letter in my life. Ann didn't come with me, she insisted on staying in City A to guard her man, just like guarding a corpse that had begun to rot. I pity her very much, but I can't do anything, I have to leave her in City A, otherwise, I won't be able to wake up from the coma, although I have been confessing, and let all the objects, smells, and sounds related to her However, I still miss her crazily, just like I crazily miss my parents who died innocently. I am no longer Ann, but who can obliterate the fact that I used to be her?

Looking along Ann's shallow footprints, I went back to that funeral... This time, I accidentally saw some childhood memories: Around the age of eight or nine, my parents began to allow me to auscultate with them, and let me face those psychopaths who were eccentric and cute.But it didn't take long before my seat was taken by another strange little boy. I don't think so, and secretly glad that I don't have to pretend to be obediently sitting under the eyes of my parents, listening to those people chattering and telling stories about the sky and the sky. I didn't understand until later that it was a test of whether I had enough ability to inherit An important experiment in their career.

When they found out that I didn't inherit the natural gifts that God should have given me at all, they had to give up the idea of ​​​​training me to be a psychiatrist, and they had to choose a guy who had no blood relationship at all. To teach the essence of medicine. However, fate played a big joke on them. Not long after the funeral, good God suddenly realized the unforgivable wrong that had been done to me (or they demanded it from him) and made it right almost immediately. One evening in March, a strange patient came to visit my parents in the cemetery with flowers, but he started talking nonsense because he lost hope of healing. I didn't want them to live in the ground, so I dragged him to the rest room and tried to comfort him properly. Unexpectedly, he sadly told me the painful past that led to the attack. On that night, for the first time, I had a strange dream. The dream is full of the sufferings experienced by the patient, like traveling through the film reels of the time-space tunnel, repeating every plot, every movement, every expression and every emotion at that time, the only difference is that, The protagonist was replaced by me. When I woke up in the morning, I felt weak and drained, and I could no longer get this painful memory out of my mind.Soon, quite by chance, I ran into that patient again.Unexpectedly, he was radiant and elegant.As if he had recovered, he himself didn't know why there was such a change.I said it jokingly, because you kept the root of the disease in my head.He frowned, looking puzzled. At that moment, I suddenly realized the truth of the joke I said - when I was dreaming in the middle of the night and struggling in other people's memories, I also inadvertently completed a strange plunder. Perhaps, I should use a more A more vivid word of kindness-filtering. My dreams can erase the inescapable pain of others as easily as wiping a blackboard, but they are not powdered, but preserved in my memory. He forgot. He forgot what he had said to me. Not only the conversation itself, but also the painful memory disappeared completely. It was an exchange that happened subconsciously and unconsciously, so no one except me could experience that wonderful process, especially the other person himself. The end of my nightmare is the awakening of his deep sleep. This is the unbelievable secret that my parents never told me before they were alive: the reason why they can become psychiatrists with high morals and excellent medical skills is that the proportion of academic specialization is really limited. In fact, what can really help patients is that they can The ability to exchange disease sources through dreams. I don't know how they have this ability, just like I can't explain why the genetic factors in my blood didn't wake up suddenly until they died. Therefore, I gave up the idea of ​​continuing to mess around in the magazine, but inherited the only legacy left to me by my parents, which will never be known-to become a nightline DJ, listening to other people's stories and bearing other people's pain in the middle of the night. Helpless, navigating the fate of others.And I know what a flimsy, cumbersome thing that is, that all it can do is end a little bit of stupid brooding in someone else's life, far from saving their soul. At least, for my life, it just adds more troubles without any real meaning. "Strange, why did you suddenly become happy?" He said to me in an unprecedentedly relaxed tone. "Can you describe that feeling?" "Running has become the happiest thing in my life. Putting on sportswear every day to experience excitement, speed, muscle expansion, and physical explosion is such an exciting thing! I am a track and field Athlete, that's my profession, why have I never experienced the fun of it before? That feeling is like... falling in love! Yes, falling in love with an oval track, so you must laugh at me, actually , I don’t know how to describe it.” “I feel a kind of satisfaction that I have never had before, I mean, this is my life, I love my career as I love my life…” “Said It’s really good. Thank you for being willing to share with me. After an old song, let’s listen to the mental journey of the next friend..." The music cuts in, and the long-lost melody is enough to push the audience’s emotions to a higher level. Everything Everything is in my hands. Editor Xiaoyu pointed to the phone to indicate that the athlete is still online. "I really don't know how to thank you." "Don't say that, I didn't do anything." I'm tired of talking like this. "I'm sorry, in fact, I don't seem to remember what you said to me on the phone yesterday. You know I was in a bad mood at that time, but when I woke up this morning, I suddenly felt very relaxed. It's empty, so clean, it's incredible to say it, I can't even remember what I was worrying about before, I think I have some kind of benign amnesia, no matter what, it's all thanks to you..." "Mr. Zhu, I appreciate your kindness. Please forgive me. I'm live broadcasting. Please give your precious time to the next listener, okay?" I didn't have the patience to wait for his answer, so I waved my hand directly to order Xiaoyu to change the line. The music fades out, I'm suddenly a little nervous, this is the last call for the night, I hope her story doesn't need my help, I really, really want to get some sleep. "Hey, Ms. Qin, are you still there, Ms. Qin?..." The other party didn't reply, and a certain emotion caught me. It seems that she, like me, is also an impatient person. "Can you hear me?" It was a last-ditch attempt, and I was already waving as I said that. "Hello..." A soft, cool voice drifted into my ears. "Ling, is that you?" "I'm An Ling, are you Miss Qin?" "Yes." "You are lucky to be the last listener on today's program." "I...I..." Her Breathing suddenly became rapid. I have a sense of foreboding. "It's okay, don't be nervous, you have enough time to speak slowly." "..." "I... killed someone." The ballpoint pen in my hand slipped to the ground, and Gululu rolled towards the wall. I bent down to pick it up, adjusting my emotions to a more natural grip. At this time, Xiao Yu just raised his head to look at me. Her complexion was very bad, turning blue and purple, which startled me. I straighten my tilted headphones, spread out my laptop, and decide to pull myself together. "Excuse me, what did you just say?" In April, the sky kept crying. I had a cold and lay home alone, squinting, waiting for sleep. The chandeliers on the roof were dirty and dusty, and if an earthquake struck suddenly, I would probably be buried in a mound by them, so I adjusted my plan, rolled up paper towels into small balls, stuffed them in my nostrils, and got up to clean up. This is a very interesting phenomenon. Many listeners have shared with me: I live a busy life and finally have a holiday. I thought I could walk around to relax, but the result is that the whole family is busy cleaning from morning to night. The reason is only One—the furniture, which had been left out for a long time, was really dirty. Strictly speaking, I am busy 24 hours a day. I can't help it, genetics have put me in the shackles of insomnia for life, but I can't escape this helplessness, so I conclude that I am the loneliest poor person in the melancholy season of S City. Strange, why did he suddenly become happy? When I picked up the mop from the swirl of dirt, I suddenly thought of Mr. Zhu's words and found it funny. hapiness?What does happiness look like? Has he seen it, touched it, tasted it?How did he decide that the thing that made him feel comfortable was happiness? Rather, call it a filter hangover. Am I playing with his head and thinking that I can get the fulfillment of helping others that my parents experienced when they were alive, and he thinks it is happiness?In fact, he was a loser who had come to an end in his sports career, a fool, an idiot. If I hadn't covered up the truth and blindfolded him, the final ending would only be collapse and destruction. Yes, I covered up the truth because I felt pity for him and wanted to give him alms, that was very different from my parents' motivation to help the sick out of their misery, I was mean, vicious, and hypocritical, so I couldn't discern the happy True or false, that is just a kind of spurning, spurning to loneliness, spurning to hopelessness... Suddenly, I felt myself collapse. It's not because of physical fatigue, but because I don't know who is being mad and insulting me at this moment?Is it Ann who hides in my body and cries secretly every night for a long time?Or is it some other people in this city who are constantly desperate? My head hurts again, like a hungry mouse, shuttling through the hollow pipes of my head, desperately looking for the once bright, passionate and colorful woman. That year, Ann was twenty-one years old. 21, is really a wonderful number, representing beloved relatives and friends, fulfilling life, and crazy love. But now, who cares what is buried in Ling's bones? Recalling the day when I stood at the top of City A, how could I naively conclude that that was the happiness I wanted to pursue wholeheartedly, instead of admitting that it was actually just a blind fulcrum, a point that was sharp enough to pierce my entire body. The point of the instep. Then, I fell, fell hard, and passed out. I thought, I'm still dead, otherwise how could I experience other people's pain again and again in my dream like a ghost?It’s not that I haven’t looked back, my parents are gone, and the city I loved spat sticky saliva on me. It was a past that no one can save, so I would rather be a dead person to avoid the disaster of being alive forever. Just like now, listening to, watching, thinking, and tossing the remaining physical strength until the energy is exhausted, and I can’t get bored anymore, so I have to go back to bed and wait for the last dream of my life. When will it be? I went back to the kitchen to boil the water, swallowed a few pills indiscriminately, and counted the remaining long years.The headaches came one after another, and the cold seemed to get worse, as if deliberately reminding me that the body was still there. I found the coffee that Qiao Mu brought from Indonesia a while ago, simmered it in a warm cup and got back into bed, trying to warm myself up again, unconsciously thinking whether I should call him. Just as I was thinking, the phone call came. "I heard that you are sick." "So, be sensible and don't bother me anymore." "It's boring to talk like that, why don't you just wait for me to call to greet you?" I couldn't help laughing. He's cunning, always has been. "I know what you want to say to me, not today, I don't want to go to your place, I'm broke, I haven't slept in days." "I don't have any sympathy, you asked for it." "Why help That kind of woman? I think you're sick." "What kind of woman... I don't understand what you're talking about." I pretended to be stupid, although I knew it in my heart, it was useless. "Go and check the mailbox, the front page of the evening paper." I put on my coat and ran out, the rain was still falling, the mailbox was too small, and half of the newspaper was wet, but I still found the shocking headline at a glance: The hotline murder case was detected by the police today. The suspect, Qin, lost his memory, making interrogation difficult. "Do you think she is free?" Qiao Mu asked me bluntly. "The murder weapon was in her hands when I was talking to you. Now the evidence is conclusive. Do you think you can escape legal punishment by clearing her memory? I don't understand. You can completely control and ignore her... "Nothing, I'm just a little curious." "Curious?" he wondered. "Curious why she killed her husband with her own hands, and why she could calmly tell me what happened after killing someone? She didn't know that I would take away her memory, and she knew very well that the tragedy that had been caused was irreversible. She wanted to say that it was because she hoped that she could forget all of this, even though she knew that what she would face when she woke up tomorrow morning was not only the memory that was still intact, but also the responsibilities she had to bear, I just made her fulfilled, that's all Simple." "Don't you understand that this is of no use to her at all, the law is about evidence, and amnesia cannot bring her back a life." "Then let her die in a daze, it's better than having a soul full of hatred." "Hatred What hatred? What the hell did you see?" I hesitated, wondering if I should tell him. "A love affair, nothing special. She couldn't stand her husband sleeping with another woman, so she chopped him up on the spot, that's all." Qiao Mu stopped talking, feeling that there was nothing more to say. "Okay, seriously, don't stay at home, it's not good for your health, come to my place, listen to music and drink a little wine, you'll sleep well tonight." "You have this It's better to sympathize with others." "When did I sympathize with you?" "Forget what I said one minute the next second." "I advise you to restrain yourself, so that you won't be like me one day." He said nothing, his tone Weakened involuntarily. "You know I don't mean that..." I know, of course I do. That's my usual trick, in order to avoid his plot. "Okay, I surrender." "I promise, I won't ask you about the past, at least not tonight." He made the final concession, so I had no choice but to make up my mind to seize the last few hours of the vacation go out for a walk. How long has it been since you went to the Forgotten Bar? I don't know very well, I just remember the days when I first arrived in S City, where I spent almost every day, but now, it makes me daunted. It was a seductive "forgetting" concentration camp. Even I have to be on guard all the time, unknowingly, my memory was stolen by it. And Qiao Mu, the only friend in the world who understands me, is quietly controlling everything there...