Chapter 122 Welcome to a cold arrow

Andersen wrote a fairy tale called "The Naughty Child": Once upon a time, there was an old poet. One day, he was sitting at home, and there was a terrible storm outside, and it was raining heavily; but the old poet was sitting by the fire, baking apples There was a buzzing noise, but his days were still very warm and comfortable. "Open the door, I'm cold and my clothes are soaked." A child cried outside. The old poet was kind-hearted, and he opened the door, only to see a child with wheat-colored hair; the child was holding a bow, a few arrows, and no clothes at all. "My name is Amur," he told the old poet.Seeing this, everyone of course knew that this child was the God of Cupid in Roman mythology; but the old poet was low on vigilance, he greeted him, gave him apples to eat, and warmed rum for him to drink.

"The arrow is not dry, but fortunately it is not damaged; the string is tight, and it seems to be still usable." The child muttered, and suddenly drew his bow and arrow, aiming at the heart of the old poet. With a sound of "swish", the poet was hit by an arrow and screamed like killing a pig, but the "naughty boy" escaped from the house and disappeared into the heavy rain. On a rainy day, reading such a "fairy tale" is particularly frightening. The old poet was hit by an arrow, and he probably wouldn't die immediately. He ignited the flames of love and lust; from then on, he must not be able to write poetry in peace, he would run to the street on stormy nights, looking for love.He walked into Flower Street and drilled into Willow Lane. "Abbe, five flavors, do whatever you want!" A woman said to him.He is a bit at a loss, life has the five flavors of sweet, sour, bitter, hot, salty, he has tasted it, but what is "what to do"?

"I want love," said the old poet. "I'll give you love." The woman told him: Just now, some "Qiying" who were as old as him came here, and she gave them a lot of love; A tip of a hundred bucks. The old poet really wanted to go back to his hut. He wanted to write a poem, a sad poem about love; Bleeding all the time, it would be very uncomfortable; finally, he followed the woman up the dark stairs... Because of rainy days and fairy tales, I thought of such a realistic "love story"; there has never been Andersen in our city.