Since I had San'er, Cheng Yuanfeng and I have never been home together. I don't interfere with his life after work, and he doesn't interfere in my life either. It was about the morning when I talked to Jiang Lei to make me feel at ease. I was in good condition all day long. The symptoms of being too heavy and slight were basically gone a few days ago. I met a beauty from the customer service department in the elevator and chatted for a few more interesting words.

People say that when patients with gastric cancer reach the middle and late stages, their appetite will decrease significantly. I feel that I have not lost much, but when I think of eating, I feel like a stomachache like a conditioned reflex. Later, I gradually realized that this pain alone can make you never dare to think about eating again.

I covered my stomach and slumped on the sofa to read, but I became distracted as I watched. I have to admit that once I started to doubt, there were more and more suspicious points. This was not the first time he avoided me making sneaky calls. Sometimes he was furious at the other side of the phone and would hear him pointing something. I have always been insensitive to the economy and I am too lazy to care about these things. He can understand the company's accounts and other things, and I just lower my head to design.

But after he had planned it for a while, he had to be more careful.

After reading the book for a while, the clock hand pointed at seven. I put the book on the coffee table, and my stomach was so painful that I had to get up to get the painkiller. The moment I stood up, I suddenly felt like a very sharp stick was pressed against my stomach. The darkness in front of me, and all parts of my body were uncontrolled, and I fell heavily to the ground.

"Xiaoyun, Xiaoyun?" After a while, he was shaken by his shoulder and shouted, and then he gradually woke up. He opened his eyes and did not take off his coat, and his face was so anxious that he was hideous.

I supported myself and sat up. The front of me was in a mess, and even my clothes were wet. When I fell down, I subconsciously helped the things beside me, but instead took off the kettle on the coffee table, and the cold water spilled all over the floor.

"I'm fine." I rubbed my head, and even my voice seemed to be far away from the sky. I kept tinnitus in my ears, and my face was so hot that it seemed to burn.

"Will you faint if you are fine?" Cheng Yuanfeng frowned and frowned the water from my clothes. "I'll go to the hospital for a check-up."

"No need to check," I stood up on the sofa, shaking and shaking, "I just didn't eat supper and had low blood sugar. I just got up too quickly and had insufficient blood supply."

He looked at me skeptically, followed me into the bedroom, watched me change my clothes, and said hatefully, "Didn't eat dinner? I see you haven't had a serious meal recently! Look how thin you are? Is there a piece of clothes in this wardrobe that you don't look big?"

I was so angry that my chest was so angry that he suddenly closed the wardrobe door and said, "Why are you so annoying? It's my business whether I eat or not. Just take care of Song Xiao well. Come and pretend to be warm with me!"

He was stunned by me, and when I watched me change my clothes and go out, I didn't react at all. In fact, what he said was true. When I woke up this morning, I counted my ribs in front of the mirror. Taking a deep breath, the ones were almost out of my mind. But at the beginning, my father quickly lost weight before his death. What did I do compared to him at that time?

Holding the broken glass with a broom, the feeling of being head-heavy and light-footed came back. The more I bent down and lowered my head, the more I felt that I was about to fall. The moment I couldn't hold on, someone snatched the thing in his hand and snorted coldly: "I don't know you, you will be in a bad mood at this time of year."

It's really nonsense. Is this thing a bad mood the aunt is the one who has regular traffic once a month?

I glared at him with my energy. He didn't realize it. He swept away the broken glass on the ground, raised his head, and pursed his mouth, "The day after tomorrow is your father's death day, have you forgotten?"

I stayed where I was.

He poured the glass slag into the trash can, turned around, sighed and said, "I have bought all the ingots and paper money. In the trunk, the meeting the day after tomorrow has been cancelled. I will accompany you to visit my father's grave."

How could I forget my father's death day?

I pursed my lips and tried hard to prevent myself from crying, but I felt extremely aggrieved.

In the past, every time I was sad and helpless, even though I knew my father had passed away, I would still think that if my father was still alive, someone would comfort me and use his unscrupulous body to block me behind me. I might feel wronged and sad when I thought about it like this, but if I thought about it ten or twenty times, I would feel that I could use endless power. So every year I went to visit my father's grave, I would start preparing a long time in advance, writing what I wanted to say to my father on a piece of paper, telling him one by one, hoping that he would give me a dream and tell me what to do.

But how could I forget this year?

What should I say to him?

No matter what he said, it is hard to speak of. It is sad to think of what he said to me when he was dying.

Live well.

Sorry, dad, not only did I live a bad life, but also.

I'm almost dying.

My mother passed away when I was very young. I had never experienced the beautiful childhoods of mothers sitting by the bed telling stories to themselves. I thought all children had such childhoods. My father wore glasses as thick as a bottle, reading and copying all night under the lamp, while I sat on the bed wrapped in a quilt, playing with the reflections on the wall.

Later, I grew up slowly and became silent and restrained, and I could never be able to integrate into the collective well, just like my father.

No matter how I forced myself to become versatile and cheerful, when facing my father, I seemed to be the boy with long hands and feet. I carried my half-old schoolbag and walked the broken stairs of the family building to the top floor in a regular manner. I took the key and opened the door, prepared dinner by myself, hid in the room, and wrote to myself to confide in the whole white wall.

Cheng Yuanfeng used a broom to sweep away the dust accumulated on his father's tombstone, cleaned up the fallen leaves, and knelt in front of his father with me. There is a rule in my hometown that when I visit my father's grave, my descendants must kneel down and listen to the old man's teachings. I put the flowers in front of my father's tomb, took out a stack of paper from the bag, counted twelve pieces, and lit them.

My father never believed in the rules and regulations for his whole life. There was a list of Marxist truths neatly on the bookshelf. When facing Christians who came to preach, they spoke harshly. But when they were dying, they didn't even miss the small advertisements posted at the alley. They firmly believed that if they burned some money for the little ghost, they would let him go. I threw the burning paper into the copper basin, and counted twelve more pieces and threw them in.

"The first three times the twelve pieces were hard money for the little devil. Don't make things difficult for my dad. My dad is a good person." I sobbed for a moment, counted out twelve pieces and threw them in. The flames suddenly rushed high, as if the little devil was rushing to grab the paper money and it was gone. I reached out to throw a ingot into it, but Cheng Yuanfeng had already thrown it in.

He bought the ingots and paper money from the back carriage, and we both took it to the top of the cemetery. We had a fight at home about going to the hospital, and he insisted on taking me for a checkup, but I swear to never obey. After my father died, I was very resistant to the hospital. I caught a small cold and refused to take medicine. I drank a cup of hot water and slept on the quilt. He had a bad argument with me and slammed the door and entered the study alone. I thought he would not go to visit my father's grave with me, but I didn't expect that when I was changing my clothes, he suddenly entered the bedroom.

"If I don't go, your dad will definitely ask me to give me a dream." He muttered while changing his clothes.

Look, he was even on guard against a dead man.

I didn't agree, after all, my father knew that when he saw me like this, I was afraid that I would feel distressed and wrinkles would be produced.

I pinched and threw paper into the copper basin, and my movements gradually became mechanical. My mother was a Buddhist. After her death, she asked for cremation and the ashes were offered in the temple. My father also made such a request, but I agreed, but before contacting the temple, he changed his mind.

"You should find a place close to bury your father. If you don't believe in Buddhism, you will forget about me if you throw your father in the temple."

I raised my head and asked Cheng Yuanfeng: "What will you do if I die one day?"

I raised my head and asked Cheng Yuanfeng: "What will you do if I die one day?"

He didn't raise his head and said, "You won't die."

"Everyone will die." I said.

"Then you won't die in front of me," he lowered his head, folded the spread of gold ingot in, and threw it into the fire.

"Why?"

"You are willing to leave me alone?"

I chuckled softly: "Don't you still have..." I really don't want to cover up Song Xiao's name with silence in front of my father.

He raised his head, looked at me for a while, and continued to lower his head and throw the paper money: "That's different."
Chapter completed!