Article 285

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Mo Ran felt that he was clear, so he was unwilling to give up. He begged him all the way and followed him to the door.

The man roughly pushed him against the door, pulling on the wooden bolt, and Mo Ran said anxiously: "Can you think about it again? Where is Dongshi? Where did the people in the painting go? Please..."

"I have no idea!"

A group of ghosts around heard the noise and looked here, while the man roared in a rough voice, regardless of whether Mo Ran's hand was still on the door frame, trying to close the door fiercely.

My fingers were pinched so hard that it hurt my heart. But he couldn't care less, he just held on, unwilling to pull his fingers out of the crack in the door that was gradually closing tightly, but tried his best to push and break it open——

"Excuse me, please think again. I just want to know where he went afterward..."

But the man opened the door suddenly, and didn't notice that Mo Ran's fingers were pinched with blood. He pushed the person hard, and then shouted: "I said I don't know, but I just don't know! Get out!"

The author has something to say:

Chapter 110 The past of the milk dog that the master does not know

Mo Ran was walking alone on the street, and there were still ghosts on the road, floating in the air, faint and resentful. Some lonely moss grew on the bluestone steps under my feet, making the soles of my feet wet and slippery...

After a heated argument, when I calmed down, I realized that my fingers were all worn out. The door frame was rough, with many burrs embedded in the flesh, making it blurry. Fortunately, the surroundings were dim and the ghosts didn't notice it.

He lowered his eyelashes and looked at it silently for a while, probably because he felt so uncomfortable in his heart that such a hideous scar didn't even hurt.

He glanced back at the closed courtyard door, knowing that the man behind the door would not say another word to him.

This kind of rejection was actually not unfamiliar to him. Mo Ran is a person who is accustomed to malice, which allows him to know whether his request is useful from someone else's look or two or three words.

In fact, when the man changed his words and told him "I haven't seen it", Mo Ran instinctively understood that this person would never tell him even half a truth, it was just about Chu Wanning's earthly soul, so he didn't Be willing to wait until you are pushed out of the door, until the door is closed.

It had been a long time since he had been rejected so roughly, but sometimes, the length of time could not determine anything, and the turn of events could not change the fundamentals. Some things were engraved into the bones.

Xue Meng once called him a bitch.

It's funny to say that Mo Ran feels that the two poisonous words "Proud of Heaven" cannot hurt his self-esteem.

Yes, he was originally known as a bitch by everyone. He could hear even more vicious words than this, so there was nothing else he wasn't used to.

He finally looked back at the tightly closed wooden door, and slowly walked away while the ghosts onlookers chuckled.

There were sounds of ridicule and abuse, and we were all alone.

It was rare to see such a helpless scene, which overlapped with the long-lost childhood memories in his mind. As Mo Ran walked, probably because the situation was so similar, he couldn't help but slowly recall himself and his mother. Those days when we were dependent on each other...

During those days, they were not in Lefang, but living on the streets of Linyi, wandering near Rufeng Gate.

During those days, at least he still had a mother.

His mother loved him very much and was unwilling to let such a young child go out to beg for food, so she always put him in an abandoned woodshed and went to the streets to perform and sing.

She was well-educated and could perform pole dancing with a bamboo pole. She could earn some copper coins every day and buy a cake and two bowls of porridge for the mother and son to share. Mothers always want their children to eat more, but Mo Ran always takes a few bites and says that the pancakes are too hard, the porridge has no taste, and that her stomach is already full, and she refuses to eat anymore.

But she didn't know that every time she sighed and ate the half of the cake and half the bowl of porridge that Mo Ran had "remained", the young children curled up next to them pretending to sleep would secretly look at her with squinted eyes. Seeing that she was full after eating, he finally felt relieved. Even though he was hungry, his heart was at peace.

She didn't know that every day after she left to perform in Linyi East City, her children would crawl out of the firewood pile and secretly go to a place two streets away from her to beg for food.

My mother was singing leisurely and gracefully at the street corner, propped up on a ten-foot-high pole, and her thin body was dancing on it. The bottom was covered with broken stones and broken porcelain. If she accidentally fell, all these pieces of porcelain would be pierced into her flesh and blood, but those who looked at it would find it exciting and fresh. She used her humble life to try her best to win the smiles of those rich young ladies and rich ladies.

Two streets away, her child was begging along the street, grinning in front of every house, saying the same auspicious words with a dirty face, trying to beg for something to eat. But it doesn’t happen, not often.

One day, a young lady from a rich family was pregnant, feeling bored and in a bad mood, so she wandered on the street and saw Mo Ran's mother doing pole dancing.

She found it interesting, went over to watch it for a while, and then asked her entourage to talk to the dancing woman: "The ground you spread on the ground is full of gravel and broken porcelain pieces. This is actually just pretending and not sincere. My wife I said, if you are willing to change all these broken stones and broken porcelain into knives, stand them on the ground, and then jump again, my wife will reward you with ten taels of gold."

Faced with such harsh, almost life-threatening demands for the poor.

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