N years ago, in a fishing shed far away from the crowd, a young artist dreamed of literature. Dreams are always great. He thought of a great country. Since A Dream of Red Mansions, no great works have been published, which is simply a shame for China people. He thought to himself, even if he didn't eat or drink for three or five days, he would take out a masterpiece like A Dream of Red Mansions to hide his face for the Chinese people, and of course he would bring Nobel Prize in Literature back by the way. Don't take it for nothing, don't mention it, don't rush for honors and bonuses. Who has a problem with money? In addition, dollars.

Smart people may have guessed, yes, this young man of literature and art is the third brother.

Fate is always against those who have great dreams. Third brother can't escape bad luck. Dreams come and go, except for two articles that are as white as tofu. Too numb, some people don't know about gold. Look at the world! But third brother is not mean to himself. I will shock you one day. Still tough, don't dial, don't write and don't hope.

Naturally, I can't wait for a letter with sample magazines and manuscripts in thick yellow paper, but some editors are too lazy to write two words, which are metaphors for creating prosperity or working hard to send them to me. This is also an encouragement to me. Even so, it made a person unhappy. He beat around the bush looking for me. Be careful to discuss with me.

Brother, I think you'd better change careers.

You see, when you didn't write this, I seldom came to your village once a month. Now it's good to run three times a week. Brother's salary is not high, which is not cost-effective.

It doesn't matter if the hit rate is higher. You earn some money, I earn some fame. I'm still thinking about writing a book, and the title has been decided. The delivery date for my third brother can be,,,

I'm ashamed. Feel sorry for him. I told him that I would never write again. So third brother really stopped writing. But there were many people who communicated with Third Brother at that time, so they couldn't get away for a while, so they had to ask him to run away. I even write and send letters like a thief. I didn't dream, I didn't dream, and I don't think I can live without my comfort. Fortunately, there are people who communicate with the third brother and give him some comfort after setbacks.

One of my pen pals is a girl named Jiang Yin, a student of a technical school in the city. Write to me diligently and send his photos. There is something about her in the photo. At least the third brother is charming when he looks at her photo. I criticize the purity of my feelings. She is still a student. How can I have ideas other than friendship? So this fantasy about love, like my literary dream, gave the third brother a good beginning and a painful ending.

Probably with this idea, the third brother's letter became a little cold. In one of her later letters, she vaguely wrote down her pain. She drank, and drank a lot, drunk, very drunk. Her classmates suggested that she could talk about anything. Success or failure, at least I have done it myself. This sentence is even more uncomfortable and inexplicable.

Third brother can naturally guess the source of her pain. But I am hypocritical, that is, in front of a pure relationship. I still care about her. Talk to her about the ideal of life, the experience of working, the scenery of Beihai, the chicken in Beibu Gulf and the salty taste of the sea. Even the letter to her is only ten to twenty pages, but it is a word of ruthless love. I hate my hypocrisy until now.

Finally, she wrote less letters, which made Third Brother panic. Finally, the third brother couldn't hold back, so I asked one of my students who was also studying in the city to bring her a letter. He left the letter in the guard room of her school. He stood opposite the school and waited quietly. This was told to me later. About half an hour later, he saw a girl running out of school and looking around in the street.

The fishing shed no longer had the dream of the third brother, so the third brother began to wander. There is little correspondence with her.

When I was in Shenzhen, I had a phone call with her, but there was nothing to talk about with each other, although my heart was full of what I wanted to say to her. I think she's the same.

At that moment, I suddenly remembered a sentence in her letter to me. I really want to slap them with gloves, because I'm afraid I'll get my hands dirty without gloves. But I can't hit them, so I hate myself and my inability to change anything.

Even now, I hate myself a little, not only because of my hypocrisy, but also because of open prostitution, milk powder that leads to baby stones, the director who dares to slap the old man in the face, and those officials who ignore the pain of those who deeply sympathize with me. . . .