Hidden Assassin

Fairy... Weaver.....

When the female student first came to the commissary, the two words sprung up his forehead disturbingly, as if they were about to burst out and sneak up to his mouth again. He was in a trance and still didn't say anything.

At that time, he was sitting on a dark bench behind a glass counter, next to a dusty wall of television, performing "Heavenly Immortal Match”, not Kunqu or Beijing drama, just a popular local play in the eight towns of Ten Miles. It's almost the twenty-first century. Even in the countryside, television is not unusual. It's just that the show is monotonous and the antenna is not very reliable. The packet rush to listen to the theater team is still the biggest entertainment, so for him, he can watch the show without going out now, which is already quite satisfying. If a few years later, regional stations gradually become marginalized, local theatre shrinks to the point of nearing extinction, provincial stations occasionally broadcast reserved dramas for Kunqu, Huang Mei theatre and so on. Specialized theatre channels are only capable of luxury at the national level. Of course, that's the last word.

Almost twenty years old young man, growing up with more and more family, long unmet parents called him from home, naturally also meant in this regard, nothing more than to settle down in the city. Just wondering if it was born slow or something, this young man still stubbornly retains his peculiar values of life. For him, "finding someone” is not more appealing than the talented talented talent story in the play.

This is so decaying that my son is so confused. But parents can't say anything for a while. He has grown up and although his blood is there, he has not been there for more than 10 years. It is also natural that his feelings are faint with each other, and there are some kindness or separation that should not exist.

He stood up with his head down, not knowing if it was because he had been sitting on the bench for a long time, his hands and feet were a little unnatural, but the business was still to be done, and he opened the glass cabinet door, put up a plastic bag and put it on the counter.

“Brush -”, the sound of the wallet zipper being opened.... a dollar coin, facing up..... the bag with the bread was taken away.

After a while, about a few seconds, she looked up and stepped out of the counter to look, and she was already invisible. Turning back, he was still singing on the TV, and suddenly he felt bored.

There are no fairies in this world... there are no fairies... there are no fairies on TV, there are green posters on the walls, it's common sense, fools don't know.

If a word were used to describe his current mood, "disillusionment” would be more appropriate - it turns out there's a fairy. Of course, not all fairies are right. She is just an ordinary girl. She doesn't know how to drive clouds, she doesn't know how to play fairies. She looks quiet and quiet. He put himself back on the bench and tried to remember what she looked like.

Wearing white sportswear, not very high, I can't remember anything else.

Tomorrow, maybe tomorrow she'll come back, he thinks.

She was able to walk on the road to tofu, and he thought, and then he felt like he was incredible.

.......

After a while, the commissary went into a new variety, sprinkled with coconut silk and a thin layer of cream, which doubled in price and was very popular. It's just that this bread isn't pre-wrapped and needs to be handed over in a plastic bag at once, which is really troubling. And when he handed her the plastic bag himself for the first time, his hands were a brand new experience in the air, and his worries turned into the exact opposite.

Clearly it was normal to raise his hand, reach back, but he felt he had done it just a little bit. Over the next few days, he was at the same height in the same position, he passed it many times by himself, he couldn't find the same feeling, why is this happening?

Sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evening when the street lights are on, it's been almost a year, basically every day, every time she buys a loaf of bread, every time she's alone. It's kind of strange that teenage high school students, both male and female, are in a hectic age, and by contrast, she's more likely to get attention. He witnessed many hits targeting her, so-called hits, more like a single-voice self-directed high school boy, and without an audience, as no response was forthcoming from the beginning to the end of survival.

Although women have the natural right to refuse, since they have reached this level, there are a number of people who love and hate, plus three or five righteous partners to come out and help out, so what is really ugly is spoken in person. Yet there was no response, simply ignored.

You kids don't know anything, she's a fairy who doesn't eat hot bread... well, except for my family's bread...

Every day she takes the initiative to say the same exact words to him, "One bread, thank you”, accompanied by an act of reaching out and pointing out the kind of bread she wants.

Anyway, he's also an adult man, and some things don't speak for themselves. Yes, he knows it makes no sense to be complacent about it. She would say "thank you” but not feel warm thanks, more like putting the two words together without any emotion, sometimes he even felt like he was talking to a foreigner, although he had never met a foreigner, nor had he ever spoken to a foreigner.

But when you think about seeing her every day, joy and vision take on a completely overwhelming advantage, and the previous self-ridicule became useless on the beach.

There was a lesson ahead for the brave teenager, who warned himself: don't make extra moves, don't say extra words, don't have extra eyes, don't be smart. After all, the school is huge and the commissary is not his only home, but it is just the nearest road from the playground to the dormitory area, and it is a land benefit. If the words are abrupt and the other party thinks you have any bad intentions, and you never come to visit, it is too much to lose.

.........

Dinner's over. She hasn't come yet. In the daytime school was very lively for a while, and I heard there was a crowd fight.

At around 8 o'clock, the wind and rain continued. In the light of the retail department, the wet girl dragged her tired body in and the young man sitting behind the counter watching TV immediately stood up: “Uh, you.....”

“A bread, please. ”

“Oh.” the young man nodded, hurrying to follow the girl's finger and wrapped the large bread, hesitating for a moment to say, "Do you want an umbrella? ”

“... no need.” Looking at the label on the umbrella bar, the girl shook her head and pulled her wallet out of her wet pocket, pointing her fingers out a few pieces of semi-wet small denomination coins to the counter, after which she took the bread. The moment you open your wallet, the young man sees that there doesn't seem to be any extra banknotes in it.

With a slight hesitation in her heart, when she raised her head again, the young girl had walked out the door with her bread in her chest. The young man sat down and looked at the picture on TV, then turned around and looked at the rain screen outside the store. After a moment, he bit his teeth and took an umbrella and rushed out.

The girl appeared under a street lamp not far ahead, and he chased her up.

“Uh, that's... it's raining... although you're soaked, um... don't worry, I'll give it to you, that's... goodbye.....”

The girl's blunt eyes seemed to be hidden in a sense of oppression, so much so that he did not speak smoothly. After passing the umbrella, he smiled down and turned to the commissary. Far away, he seemed to see a figure hidden in the darkness. He did not think much. Running under the roof, the girl had walked silently across the road with the umbrella and gradually left this view.