Chapter 270:

…Li Huai stared at the meat cleaver, which was a symbol of the butcher’s office. These creatures are now leaving the car, dragging the eaten half of the corpse behind them. When the torch was taken off the car, the darkness returned. But before the lights disappeared completely, his father reached out and grabbed Li Badi's face, pushed him around, looking at himself in the dirty glass outside the car window.
This is a faint reflection, but Li Huai can clearly see his changes. Whiter than any living person, stained with dirt and blood.
The father's hand still clenched Li Badi's face, his index finger hooked his mouth, hanging from the esophagus, nails nailed to the back of his throat. Li Huai blocked the intruder, but had no last wish to repel the attack. "Service," said the creature. "remain silent."
It was too late, and Li Badi realized the intention of the finger.
Suddenly, his tongue was firmly stuck at the root. Li Bai dropped the cleaver in shock. He tried to scream, but there was no sound. There was blood from his throat, he heard his flesh crying, and the pain made him convulse. Then, a hand stretched out of his mouth, scarlet, saliva-stained fingers in front of his face, and his tongue was clenched between his thumb and index finger.
Li Badi was speechless.
"Serve," my father said, putting his tongue in his mouth and chewing with obvious satisfaction. Li Badi knelt down and spit out the sandwich.
Father has been baptized in the dark. The rest of the ancients disappeared again, entered their Warren, and stayed for one night.
The tanned leather made a hoarse sound.
The driver said: "Go home."
The door hissed, and the train heard a sound of strength. The indicator light flashes, then goes off again, and then lights up again.
The train began to move.
Li Bai lay on the floor, tears streaming down his face, his eyes restless and he resigned. He decided where he was bleeding. It doesn't matter if he is dead. In any case, this is a dirty world.
The driver woke him up. He opened his eyes. Looking down, his face was black and unfriendly. It laughed. Li Huai tried to say something, but his mouth was sealed with dried blood. He shook his head like a driver, trying to spit out a word. There is nothing but grumble.
He is not dead. He did not bleed to death.
The driver pulled him to his knees and talked to him as if he was three years old.
"You have work to do, my man: They are very satisfied with you."
The driver licked his fingers, then rubbed Li Bad's swollen lips, trying to separate them. "I want to study by tomorrow night..."
A lot of things to learn. A lot of things to learn.
He led Li Bai out of the train. They were not anywhere he had seen before. It is white tiles, absolutely original. There is no graffiti on the wall of the master’s nirvana. There are no token kiosks, but there are no doors and no passengers. This line only provides one service. The morning cleaners are already busy taking blood from the seats and floor of the train. Someone was stripping the butcher's body and preparing to send it to New Jersey. The people around Li Huai are working.
A burst of dawn rain poured down from the grille on the roof of the station. Dust accumulated on the beam, over and over again. Li Huai looked at them and was fascinated. He had never seen such a beautiful thing since he was a child. Lovely dust. Over and over again, over and over again.
The driver managed to part Li's bad lips. His mouth is too hurt to move, but at least he can breathe easily. The pain has begun to subside.
The driver smiled at him, then turned to other workers at the station.
He announced: "I want to introduce an alternative to mahogany. Our new butcher."
The workers looked at Li Badi. There is a certain respect on their faces, which he finds very attractive. Li Bai looked up at the sun, now falling around him. He shook his head, indicating that he wanted to go to heaven. The driver nodded and led him up the steep steps, through the alley, and onto the sidewalk.
It was a beautiful day. Light pink cloud-like filaments are scattered in the bright sky over New York, and the morning air is permeated.
The streets and avenues are almost empty. Not far away, an accidental taxi crossed an intersection, and its engine whispered. The runner was sweating on the other side of the street.
Soon, these same barren sidewalks will be crowded with people. The city will conduct business in ignorance: never know what its buildings are or what it owes lives. Li Huai knelt without hesitation, kissed the dirty concrete with blood-stained lips, and silently vowed to be loyal to it forever.
Happy Palace was worshipped and did not make any comment.
Why power (they can search for jobs for a long time; they can propose marriage on the head of a cursed person for a long time) why power has been issued from to track Jack Polo, it is impossible to discover. Whenever he made a preliminary inquiry to his master through the system, he only asked a simple question: "What am I doing here?" Its curiosity was quickly reprimanded. It has nothing to do with its business, and if it gets an answer, it has to do its business. Still died of trying. After six months of pursuit, "Extinction" began to treat extinction as a simple choice. This endless game of hide-and-seek is not good for anyone, and it brings great frustration to revitalizers. It is afraid of ulcers, of psychosomatic leprosy (a disease that is easily infected by lower demons like itself),
What is Jack Polo?
Gherkin importer; relying on Leviticus's balls, he is simply a cucumber importer. His life is exhausted, his family is boring, his political mind is simple, and theology no longer exists. This person has nothing to say, one of the most blank people in nature-why bother his people? This is not "Faust", but a creator, a soul seller. The chance of this will not appear twice: he will sniff, shrug, and continue to import the cucumber. However, until he made this man crazy and even reached the level of a good man, the beating was tied to the house during a long and long day at night. If it is not impossible, it will be a long work. Yes, sometimes, even for psychiatric leprosy, if it means dying from this impossible task, it is tolerable.
Jack Polo is still the most ignorant of men. He has always been like that. Indeed, his history is full of victims. When his late, lamenting wife cheated on him (he had been to the house at least twice to watch TV), he was the last person to be found. The clues they left! A blind person, deaf-mute person will become suspicious. Not Jack. He was intoxicated by his boring business, never noticed the smell of the adulterer's cologne, nor did he notice the abnormal pattern of his wife changing the sheets.
When his youngest daughter Amanda confessed to him about his lesbianism, he had no interest in the incident. His answer was a sigh and an expression of confusion.
"Well, as long as you are not pregnant, dear." He replied, walking into the garden, as happy as ever. What are the chances for a man like this to be angry?
For a creature with a well-trained finger inserting it into a human psychic wound, Polo provides a surface that is so cold and has no obvious traces that it refuses any malicious grip.
The incident did not seem to make him completely indifferent. The disaster of his life didn't seem to scare him at all. In the end, when he faced the truth about his wife's infidelity (he discovered that his wife was unfaithful to the bathtub), he could not cause himself to be hurt or humiliated.
"These things happened," he said to himself, exiting the bathroom and letting them finish their work. "Chesera, sera."
Car salad, salad. The man murmured that phrase in a monotonous manner. He seems to live a philosophy of fatalism, letting attacks on his masculinity, ambition and dignity slip from his ego like rain on a bald head.
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