Give a bellflower to the drowning ghost

48

A night surrounded by the chirping of cicadas.

Wang Ze was lying on the ground in large characters, bored with the forest rangers to practice online.

Although it was a very small house, the rangers kept it clean, and it was cool to lie on the brick floor in summer.

Wang Ze said: "I didn't expect you to buy so many games, but you are still so weak, you can't even beat the firefly boss in Chapter 2."

The cannibal has a soft mouth and short hands. The ranger held his breath and pressed the key silently.

Wang Ze said: "Speaking of which, are there fireflies here? I haven't seen real fireflies yet."

"This time is gone," the forest ranger stated flatly: "The lifespan is too short. It died about a month or two ago."

"Fuck... this is dead, can't you keep up? Don't keep running towards the face of the monster..." Wang Ze put down the PSV sadly, and found that the score leaderboard popped up, "Huh? You also I’ve played this picture with someone online, why haven’t I played it yet!”

The ranger lowered his head and stared at the screen intently: "Well, it's not over yet."

-09

It was some time before the ranger encountered the writer again by the lake.

The writer is a lot thinner than when they first met, and the whole person looks like a circle smaller.He stood in the lake water up to his waist with his clothes on, and gradually leaked a few small flowers from between his fingers. He held his breath and watched the flowers fall to the lake surface. The yellow and white petals dotted the water surface, causing ripples.

The forest ranger walked cautiously to the lake, looking at the writer's face.

The slightly rounded face in the impression due to lack of exercise has become very thin, and the already long hair has grown beyond the back of the neck, falling softly on the obvious collarbone.The writer picked up a tender yellow buttercup with his fingertips, and gently stuck it under his pink lips: "Look, isn't it pretty?"

The ranger didn't answer.

He became nervous for a long time, because the person in front of him actually exuded an indescribable magic.

-10

The writer took nothing with him when he went up the mountain this time.

He walked along the hidden mountain road, casually looking for the flowers hidden in the weeds, picked them one by one, and together with them, threw himself into the lake.

The writer said: "Although these flowers are also very cute, the colors are still a little bit bright."

The ranger went on as he said, "What color do you want?"

"Purple," the writer lowered his eyes, silently swallowed the buttercup on his lips, "it feels good for Kikyo."

-11

The writer obediently walked back to the shore, and smiled at the ranger with his whole body wet, with the fine petals still sticking to his wet clothes.The forest ranger told him to take off his clothes first to avoid catching a cold. The writer took half a beat to react, and began to slowly pull up the hem of his clothes, exposing his obvious ribs and shriveled chest.

The ranger felt that he couldn't bear to look at it carefully.

The ranger asked, "How was the last few days?"

The writer raised the corner of his mouth: "If you only asked this question to open up the topic, then I will ask you this question too."

The ranger stepped forward and freed his head from his collar.This kind of behavior is a little too intimate, but seeing the writer like this, he can't stand by.

The writer's hair was messed up by himself. He fumbled in his trouser pockets and found that he had forgotten to bring the little pink hairpin. His whole body seemed to be anxious.

The forest ranger held his rummaging hand: "I cleaned up your clothes, sleeping bag, etc. as I said before, and cleaned the house, but nothing changed. I'm done answering, it's your turn .”

The writer lowered his head and pulled his ankle out of his wet and heavy trousers: "I went to the doctor and prescribed a new medicine. The side effects are a bit serious, and I don't feel comfortable with it."

The ranger bent down and packed up the clothes all over the floor for him: "Do you feel better here?"

The writer said, "Well, it's better, I feel a little quieter."

The ranger said, "As long as you like it."

The writer stretched out his hand and lightly touched the ranger's cheek with his fingertips: "Why are you being so nice to me?"

-12

The state of the writer is indeed very bad. He often stands up, as if he is about to do something, but suddenly freezes in the middle of the action, as if time has been stopped, but in fact, his thoughts are completely interrupted.He also felt this himself, so for more time, he chose to sit on a stool, holding a tablet computer, staring at a document with only one line of text in a daze.

As a result, the forest ranger changed his unchanging daily routine. He divided the medicines to be taken by the writer into several boxes according to the daily dose, and made a simple record table for taking medicine to prevent the writer from forgetting to take medicine due to lack of consciousness. .He was more active in preparing food for two, and tried to let the writer eat some liquid food every day.

Perhaps the ranger's efforts worked, and the writer woke up a little after a nap one day and smelled a relaxing aroma.

Rangers are trying to make a cake.

He bought cake flour and butter from down the mountain, but he couldn't buy an electric egg beater, so he could only use his hands alternately until his hands were sore and weak.

Pour the egg liquid into the inner tank of the rice cooker, add flour, sugar and milk, stir and shake to remove air bubbles, and then press the cooking button of the rice cooker.

The writer approached the ranger silently, sniffing his nose from behind him: "It smells so good."

The ranger said: "Please give a review after the finished product is out, otherwise I am worried that you will cause food poisoning for the sake of face."

The ranger opened the canned fruit, decorated the cake with yellow peaches casually, and then simply completed the decoration.

The writer obediently sat in front of the small table, waiting for the ranger to cut the chicken cake, and he put a small piece of cake into his mouth with a fork: "It's really delicious."

The ranger said: "Good luck, otherwise I don't know how to get the ambulance to come up."

The writer said: "Why make cakes all of a sudden?"

The ranger fiddled with a piece of yellow peach: "I read your book before, and you wrote about 50 kinds of cakes in it. I thought you haven't eaten sweets here for a long time. Anyway, I'm free, so I'll do it by the way. It’s not as difficult as imagined, and I can try something else next time.”

"You're so kind," the writer said, biting his fork with a smile in his eyes.

It is a long-lost true smile.

The ranger secretly breathed a sigh of relief.