英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise (42)天堂之影

洋八路

Chapter 42      1/2





But, after she left, the memory of looking at the bamboo outside the classroom, watching the water over the bridge, burning incense and bowing seriously in the temple, remained in his mind. He felt his romantic click was strong enough to seek an alternative, and possibly long-lasting love, after his fateful courtship with Vivian.

True that Vivian, whom he thought he had long buried in the soil of his past life, still gave him a pang of sorrow every time she had a chance of breaking out to invade his solitude, with her eyes and face struggling at the distance of his memory. Even at this very moment, in his fresh desire for Qiuyan, her influence was still evident and lurking viciously in his quarter. But she ought to be history; during the last five years he had not, though tempted on many of his desperate occasions, ventured to ask about her or any other classmates. Shanghai was a place that had severely injured his innocent heart by its double strikes of losses, a dear love and a dear friendship. He was not about to pry open a wound, the surface of which had grown thick and crusty over the years. And for now, a fresh blissful breeze seemed to blow in his direction, to persuade the green to bud around the aged wound, to persuade the spring to flow, to wash the staleness away from his being.  

So, one afternoon which was free of classes, he took a bus to Happy Mountain. It wouldn’t be difficult to locate her, for her company was supposed to be well known. Asking a person on the street, he would surely get a correct answer. Ever since China began to adopt Deng Xiao Ping’s open-door policy, foreign trade had been enjoying the highest line of business. Its office building was always stately high if not the highest, and working in foreign-trade related business tended to associate with good salary and bonuses as well as a nice and fine work environment. It was the kind of working-units employing the sort of people with better social connections, of superior social class, such as the officials’ children who were able to take the ‘back-door-circumvention’ in securing the highly-privileged jobs in the country.  

Her company was on the eighth floor of the majestic, glass-walled Foreign Trade Building, as he checked to find out from the name-board on its entrance. He went to the lift, and pressed the button, waiting. In a minute or less,  two middle-aged men, both dressed in a nice tie and suit and leather shoes, joined him also in the queue for the lift. Their heads were held high, their abdomens bloated, and their hands grasping a black and thick and rigid, hammer-like mobile phone, the most fashionable and enviable device of the time. Needless to say dealing with the hot business everyday, they were supposed to be the very pinnacle of society. In their quiet and solemn and pompous vicinity, Bing could almost smell the money in their pockets and hear the copper-tinkle in their brains. It was a relief that they were not smoking, nor ostentatiously talking on their massive phones, but for the moment, Bing had a real interest to find out the colour of their teeth.

Then, two girls, in clean and tidy uniform, came to join them. They chattered happily, hilariously about something that must be exceptionally interesting. They didn’t look at anybody but themselves, as if they were the only live things on the earth. But Bing imagined they must have looked at the three men from the corner of their eyes, sensed their existence by their sharp female sixth-sense, especially at the two splashily wealthy men. After all, persons with those ‘hammers’ in their hands belonged to the new class of Chinese, who had become the first batch of money-pursuers under Deng Xiao Ping’s reform policy.

The lift came down; Bing, empty-handed and clothed no better than a poor teacher, went in first. He, and the two men, and the girls then pressed the button for their target floor. They all happened to go the same floor, but the same button had been pressed four times. All right, they were all strangers; one wouldn’t be assured of it until one had pressed it for oneself.      
Inside the elevator, the mouths of two noisy girls were tightly shut. Whether or not they were scared or disturbed by the strong masculinity in the confined area, he didn’t know. He could only sense, apart from himself, that there were other sets of heart and brain working briskly but quietly, and independently.  

Stepping out of the lift, Bing, wondering and hesitating, was disoriented for a while until he was confirmed by the sign on the wall that he was in the right place.

He went to the first office, and knocked lightly on the open door. One man at the desk, raised his head from behind a sizable tea mug, eyeing him, sizing him up.

Shrugging off his ratty curiosity, Bing opened politely, ‘Ni hao, may I ask where Qiuyan is?’


‘After Qiuyan?’ the man queried suspiciously as if he had to be surprised, and after a wakening pause, he pointed and flung his finger to the left, ‘Over there.’

His guidance didn’t include the specific room number. Bing walked further down to the left, and after passing two more doors, knocked at the third in the same manner as before, and repeated his query to a girl, who happened to be one of two girls coming up together with him in the lift.

Unlike the man, she told him in an active voice, with a flickering interest in her eyes, ‘Oh, you are after Qiuyan?’

‘Yes, which office is she in?’

‘Oh, the next one,’ she replied, pointing to the left.   

‘Thank you.’

He went to the next door, and feeling the first time a reasonable nervousness and excitement in him, knocked at the door, and asked, ‘Is Qiuyan here?’

A distinct rustling was heard in the midst of the blue-coloured cubicles; then a voice in the front called, ‘Qiuyan, someone asking for you.’

She emerged from a cubicle edge around the corner.

He saw her eyes, sceptical and wonderful, thinking and unbelieving, then she seemed convinced to raise a question, ‘Oh, is that you? Mr. Wang?’

When she came over to him, he saw she had a little flush on her little face. Probably, his face was coloured too, but whether or not she had noticed it he couldn’t say.   

It did take several moments for her to recover from her initial surprise. By the time she led him to the meeting room at the end of the corridor, she looked calm, well, at least calmer than himself. She asked him to sit down, and went ahead to make tea.

‘Mr. Wang, how did you come to Happy Mountain? Don’t you have classes today?’

‘I don’t have a class this afternoon,’ he said, then thinking better to hide his real intention, ‘so I paid a visit to the big Buddha, and then remembering you are here in Happy Mountain, I came over to say hello.’

‘How did you find me?’

‘Well, I asked a passer-by about your company,’ he smiled cleverly but clumsily, though she didn’t turn her head to see his face.

She came over and laid the cup on the tea table beside the chair. ‘Mr. Wang, please drink the tea,’ she said, sitting on the chair at other side of the table.

He took the cup with one hand, and began to sip, more as an effort to hide his certain awkwardness with the motions of drinking, than for the sake of the tea.

A short silence came, both of them seemed to search for some words to normalize the atmosphere.

She said, ‘Have you been here before? I mean, to the big Buddha.’

‘Yes, once,’ he replied, ‘such a big Buddha.’

‘Yes, the biggest in China,’ she said, ‘so today you came here from there?’

‘No,’ he slipped out, then realizing it, he corrected, ‘yes…’

A lie was betrayed by his contradictory answer, and more by his face which must be the reddest in his life, perhaps comparable to hers when he caught her off guard in the classroom.

Self-consciously he grabbed the tea to drink to cover his embarrassment, and unthinkingly, he drank too fast to serve his purpose. Before he thought he was adequately recovered, the cup was already empty. But she was ready to rescue him.

‘Have you visited the Old House of Guo Mo Ruo?’ she asked, rising to top up his tea.

‘No, not the old house,’ he replied in time, ‘but I saw the memorial room for him inside the Big Buddha area.’

‘Yes, I know there is one,’ she said and then went for another topic. ‘Mr. Wang, there are other two students in our company who have also been in the training class last month, do you remember them?’

‘Yes, I remember.’

‘Maybe you stay here for dinner tonight, I will call them.’

This was not what he had expected, so he said, ‘Maybe not, I need to go back, I have classes tomorrow.’

‘But maybe you can take the evening bus, after dinner?’

‘Ehm…’ he hesitated, again sipping the tea. The idea of dining together with another two didn’t sound good. The boys would of course speculate upon the motive of his visit. Should she propose a dinner only with her, he would have accepted it more than happily, but he was not bold enough to ask for that. Then what did he actually want from his trip? A chance to resume their acquaintance, a phone number so that he could contact her as he wished. Yes, that was it.

‘Probably next time,’ he said, now in an assertive tone as a teacher. Then rising in a gesture to leave, he asked as if by accident: ‘Do you have a phone number so that I can call you?’

‘You wait a moment, I’ll get my name card.’ She went out; in the meantime granting him enough time to firm up his gallantness as a teacher, or just a man.   

She came back with the card, which he took it and placed carefully into his breast pocket.

‘Okay, I need to go,  to catch the bus,’ he smiled, then held out his hand, meaning to shake her hand as a courtesy. ‘Bye.’

She lifted her hand to his. Though they shook lightly, he felt her cool, thin, slender fingers in his palm.

Again, there was a touch of flush in her cheeks, softening further her soft features. He said to her eyes, ‘All right then, see you next time,’ and moved towards the door.

She smiled meekly and followed him out, through the long corridor, and up to the lift. After pressing the Down button he turned to her, and becoming braver now that the meeting was closing, he held out his hand, daring to feel once more her fingers. And she, after but a second of delay, let him shake her hand again.

Her fingers were so soft and thin and weak, that he felt he was stronger and more courageous than reality. And coming together with that feeling was a quick desire to kiss her, but he hushed it with his keener smile and a tighter hand hold before the release.

From the closing door of the elevator, he waved to her, and the smile in her little face was shy, a little uncertain but not at all unnatural.

The trip was a grand victory, its grandness even exceeding the magnitude of the Buddha.

After tasting the sweetness from his first adventure to Happy Mountain, he kept up his efforts, calling her whenever he got an urge to do so, tantalising himself with her slim figure and delicate features. For the first week, they had enough to chat over the phone, mainly about her work and her English. A couple of times she read English letters regarding overseas shipments to him and asked him to help her with her comprehension. She seemed to be more eloquent over the phone than she had been in the face-to-face situation. But when he proposed to visit her on the weekend, she declined with an excuse she would be engaged with other activities. Nevertheless he continued to call her, even if their topics seemed to dry out and more awkward pauses began to intervene their conversation. It was not until he failed again in making an appointment with her that his confidence was impaired.



---To Next Post--

洋八路

Chapter 42      2/2


Utterly confused, he was wondering what had gone wrong and how he could rescue their hopeful courtship that seemed to have already dwindled even before it actually started. Then, to his bafflement, he received a letter from her:

‘Mr. Wang,

For a number of weeks you have been kept on calling me at work. It was very inappropriate. I won’t say your calls have so much annoyed me, but they did interfere very much my work.

I am very busy, please don’t call me again.

Thanks

Qiuyan.’


By only a few lines she had expressed herself clearly enough. For a moment, his sense was dimmed and dulled by the mortifying surprise, by the handwriting strokes that seemed to resemble her long and slender fingers.  

He pored over the letter for quite some time, attempting to detect any light of hope between the words, to help him unravel the biggest puzzle in his manhood. What was the matter? Why on earth did she have to write such a letter, when she could just say something over the phone? Had she not flushed beautifully in front of him? Had she not talked to him in a reasonably happy tone, at least during the first week of his calls? Had she not willingly given him her name card and as well as her hand for him to shake?

Oh, she claimed he had interfered with her work, or in other words, he had been bothering her, shamelessly, annoyingly, he had been a nuisance, he was an unwelcome person, he had been pig-headedly disturbing the peace of her life…

Like one being accused of doing something he has not done, he ached to protest, longing to unload a weight of something in his chest.

He called her immediately and asked her to explain.

‘I had an impression, at least first week, that you had not been unhappy, or even glad in receiving my phone calls. Why did you write me like that, as if I had been pestering you all the time?’

‘Ehm.. well, the first week I had not been as busy as recently.’

‘If you are busy, you can just tell me to call you less frequently, or only call you at certain time slots.’

‘But… I am too busy to receive any of your calls.’

His indignation was swiftly arising, and came with it was a new judgement. ‘Well, Qiuyan, if you already have a boy friend, please tell me directly, no need to give any excuse.’

But he received only a silence from her end. Impatient, he asked again, ‘Tell me, do you already have a boy friend? Which was the very reason you had drafted this letter, the very reason you had twice refused my seeing you on weekends?’

Some moments had elapsed before he was affirmed by her answer. ‘Yes.’

He suffered quietly for a long moment. ‘Then, thank you for telling me so,’ he faltered, ‘Bye.’

After hanging up the phone, he stood half-stunned before the phone booth, until he was reminded by the shop owner to pay the phone charge. He fished out from his wallet fifty cents and handed it to the old hand of the old man whose eyes looked so creepy and greedy.

The setback was tremendous, almost comparable to his losing Vivian’s love. Even Vivian had not hurt him so frankly and directly, and so intentionally; and she still kissed him, shedding her tears for him at the railway station, even if her tears had a nature of a crocodile’s.

For the next week, his daily if not hourly meditation and self-analysis had not helped in clearing his mind. So strange was Qiuyan, even more peculiar than Doctor Wang who had bitten his lips wishing him to remember her all his life. If she already a boy friend, why hadn’t she told him in the first place? Why should she receive his numerous calls and then suddenly give him a dead sentence, without allowing him a fair trial?

Then, he thought of his sister, who, at this time, must be preparing for her own wedding, which was to take place in the Spring Festival of 1997. Maybe, from the perspective of a woman, she could throw some light upon this matter. It was after all the first time in so many years he had taken someone so seriously.

He gave her a call, recounting in detail the happenings to her.

Soon after he had finished his story, she exclaimed, ‘Why, brother, how silly you are! Haven’t you had any courting experience at all?’

‘What? What do you mean?’

‘It is so obvious to me, she was demanding you to take her seriously!’

‘Serious? Of course I have been serious, otherwise I won’t bother telling you about her.’

‘She was basically asking you to tell her, that you like her, you love her, and you want her to be your girl friend.’

‘But I had wanted to see her on two weekends, she had refused both.’

‘How could you expect a girl to accept your request so easily? She has a pride to keep up her dignity and importance, which, really, is her only way to retain a man’s attention,’ she said, ‘Do you know how many times have I refused my boyfriend, Hui?’

‘Well, how would I know?’

‘And, the more she likes you, the more she tends to refuse you, to make you suffer for her. A girl can only feel happy when the man she wants has shown full dedication, even if through pain, towards her.’

With her words, Bing seemed suddenly enlightened like a window thrown open in the direction of sun. He thought he had a vague idea, now clearer, that he had known this courting theory before. But how come he had not been able to apply its wit on his own case?

‘Ming, I reckon you are right, now give me some advice what next step I should take?’

‘Well, first, don’t make too many calls, otherwise she will be conceited and inflated unnecessarily with too much self-importance. Then, well…when was your last call to her?’

‘A week ago.’

‘Okay, then, you can call her any time from now, in a tone very serious, sad, miserable, even crying if you could, telling her that you have been suffering the whole week because of her, pleading for a chance to meet her, even for the last time.’

‘Are you kidding? How can I possibly cry for a meeting?’

‘Well, I know you won’t, but you have to assume a suffering in your speech, just do your best, don’t bear too much pride with yourself. You need to arouse the innate compassionate feeling of a woman.’

‘Haha…’.
…

With the new method and intelligence to hand, on the following Tuesday he called her and said certain soft words as guided by his sister, and, reluctantly, she agreed to see him the following Saturday. Still four days to go, but he had hope and confidence in his breast.

As soon as he saw her face, he knew his sister had been correct in every word. One couldn’t feign such a flush, such an excited expression if she didn’t like him. Yet keeping in mind his sister’s words, he wore all the time an upset countenance like an innocent child who had been wronged by his parents.  

‘Qiuyan,’ he began, sitting around a table strewn with dishes and cups and chopsticks in a restaurant, ‘thank you for coming out today.’

‘It is all right, Mr. Wang.’

‘I know you have already a boy friend,’ he said, and checking closely for the tiniest change of her expression. He noticed, immediately after his statement, she had a small but distinct wonder in her eyes as if she didn’t know what he was talking about. ‘But, you know, I have been terribly unhappy for the whole week because of that.’

His last sentence was merely telling the truth, therefore, his sadness was genuine. And from her face, not unhappy a while earlier, he could read a shadowy reflection of his own sombreness.

She didn’t make a comment, nor did he disclose more about himself. He drank his beer, and she bent her eyes on her plate, picking and playing with a piece of pig-meat with her chopsticks.

‘Qiuyan, can you please drink one glass of beer, as a student’s courtesy to a teacher?’ He asked the same request she had bluntly declined several minutes before.

‘But I can’t drink much,’ her negative answer was actually positive, for she admitted she could drink some.

‘Just one glass, if you can’t finish, I will drink it for you,’ his ‘for you’ must have touched her not a little.

‘Fine, just a little,’ she yielded to his persistence.

Secretly gratified, he almost filled her glass. Then raising his glass, he toasted, ‘Qiuyan, let’s drink to our friendship, between a teacher and a student, even if this is the last time we meet each other.’

He poured the beer in one go down his throat, in the same gallant and dramatic manner as a general in old China tossing a farewell drink to a king before marching to a battlefield.

Then he looked into her, steadfastly, challenging her as an equal peer. ‘You don’t need to drink all in the glass, just half,’ he said, giving her a 50% discount.

For a moment, she appeared to be daunted by his toast, but for another, a special defiance, a substance of obstinacy seemed to fire up from her eyes. ‘How about I finish the whole glass, and you drink another?’

Bing knew her womanish attack was just beginning. And although he was surprised and glad with her proposal, he didn’t forget his need to show his weakness. Not easily taking all her words in, he said, ‘Another full glass? You know, I am not good at drinking. Can I have just an extra half?’

She put down the glass, showing great disapproval, ‘No, must be full, otherwise, I won’t drink at all.’

He surrendered, ‘Okay, if I am drunk in Happy Mountain, you shall be responsible for the consequence.’ He then filled up his glass.

She broke out a laughter, ‘No problem, I will call the police, saying there is a drunk teacher on the street.’

He raised the glass and reached to touch hers, waiting for her until she held the glass with her fingers and began to drink.
He thought she would drink modestly, just with a small sip, but he had mistaken her. It was so amazing to see that she didn’t stop until the whole glass was empty. And her fingers, which he had been examining closely in the meantime, seemed to be exceedingly thin and long, not at all in agreement with her relatively small and short physique.

‘What are you looking at?’ she said, staring at him, and ordered him, ‘finish your glass.’

Conscious of his imprudent gaze, he smiled, ‘Just wondering how your fingers are so special,’ And without looking at her or obtaining her feedback, he gulped down his share.

Now, both glasses were empty, Bing was feeling so good that he thought he had a very spirit of singing a song with his guitar, such as ‘Sister, you go bravely ahead…’

He filled up his glass, and reached over to fill hers, and to his surprise, she didn’t stop him.

‘Qiuyan, I know you can drink, and I also know if a girl can drink, she would always beat a boy.’

‘Hehe, so you ought to be careful,’ she said, smirking. ‘A teacher should not bully a student.’

‘But I didn’t bully you, did I?’

‘You did,’ she smiled, ‘you called me all the time, did you know that my colleagues teased me?’

‘Your colleagues?’

‘Yes, they asked me hundreds of times about you, about whom had been after me so closely,’ her eyes were twinkling, ‘tell me what I should tell them? My teacher? Or what?’

‘You can just tell them, it is your boyfriend.’

‘But you are not…’ she said.

‘I am if you let me,’ he advanced.

She didn’t reply, started picking the food from the dish.

‘Now, tell me, Qiuyan, do you already have a boy friend, or…’

She raised her eyes, ‘You want the truth?’

‘Yes.’

‘I had one.’

‘Had one? You meant you have broken up with him?’

A sudden shadow seemed to sweep over her face. The sadness that tangled her eyebrows and that he had often contemplated in the classroom, was now evident upon her surface. ‘Yes, just weeks before I went to your university for the training.’

He was moved by her confidence, and more by the sadness she was bearing at this moment. Wasn’t it the very cause that she had attracted him at the beginning of their class? Wasn’t it something he himself had also experienced in his own space of living?   

‘Qiuyan, I like you,’ he gazed at her, natural, brave, and frank, no less elated by the effect of beer, ‘I really like you.’

Uncertain, and a little suspicious, and a bit more incredulous, she didn’t look at him, nor did she say anything back to his confession.

He reached out his hand, and asked to touch her fingers in his disguised words, ‘Let me read your palm.’

‘Can you read palms?’ she sounded doubtful.

‘A little bit,’ he answered, the fact was he knew nothing about this sort of trick.

Anyhow, he succeeded in his intent. He was so fascinated with the shape and the contour of her fingers that he couldn’t but touch the full length, study them like a professor analysing fossil stones. Of course, every human’s finger became thinner, to varying degrees, from its base to its tip, but only gradually. However, the fingers in his hand were not only thin and long, but also tapering in a dramatic way.

‘Your fingers are like thin bamboos,’ he said admiringly.  


--End of Chapter 42---

Gone

读到Ming的建议竟然让我笑了。。斌的小心思很有趣。。

Gone

不知道为什么，斌的感情总是让我觉得真情的成分少，play的成分多。。或许是语言的缘故，我只能读到斌的心机。。要不就是铺垫还不够丰满，没有水到渠成的自然感觉。。要不就是我对感情要求太高了。。个感勿怪。。

洋八路

Gone 发表于 2014-5-29 13:59
不知道为什么，斌的感情总是让我觉得真情的成分少，play的成分多。。或许是语言的缘故，我只能读到斌的心机 ...

呵呵，或许他就是一个没啥‘真感情’的人？他有‘心机’么？或者说他只是不笨。。

这个人到底是这么样的，我自己都不是非常明确。。可能在以后还要慢慢调整。。什么样的人都可以，关键是一致性。。经常发现某个细节同想象计划中的人物性格反应不符。

其他人物也是一样，要尽量取得一致。

希望多提意见，以便修改的时候参考。。

还有，问一下，你看完第三部分吗？

Gone

洋八路 发表于 2014-5-29 16:09
呵呵，或许他就是一个没啥‘真感情’的人？他有‘心机’么？或者说他只是不笨。。

这个人到底是这么样的 ...

常常发现细节跟人物性格不符。。理解。。这就是我的感觉。。如果是编故事，很容易出现这种问题。。因为你写得太细节了，又庞杂，很容易造成如此。。如果主人公是一个真实存在的人，有人物原型，故事原型，就一般不会出现这种问题。。细节成就一部小说。。细节也可以毁掉一部小说。。。

洋八路

Gone 发表于 2014-5-29 19:52
常常发现细节跟人物性格不符。。理解。。这就是我的感觉。。如果是编故事，很容易出现这种问题。。因为你 ...

谢谢，说的很好，我现在也在‘砍削’。。。

之所以小说就是因为编的，否则就是回忆录了。。真实的故事场景不要说无法完全回忆，即使写出来可能也是‘无趣的。’

如果发现一些问题，或者庞杂部分，希望可以指出，有多少算多少了。。

Gone

洋八路 发表于 2014-5-29 21:23
谢谢，说的很好，我现在也在‘砍削’。。。

之所以小说就是因为编的，否则就是回忆录了。。真实的故事场 ...

其实这样长篇的小说，以写者自身的经历为蓝本最好不过。。不是说写成回忆录。。小说的形式写真实的故事，应当最好看，容易打动人，写者也省下编的力气。。
至于章节安排，分量比重，该是通观全文以后的感觉了。。

洋八路

Gone 发表于 2014-5-29 21:34
其实这样长篇的小说，以写者自身的经历为蓝本最好不过。。不是说写成回忆录。。小说的形式写真实的故事， ...

小说的形式，真实的故事。。。

不过，应该有太多的世界名著（我猜）是纯属虚构。。又说到飘，因为你的名字，是gone， ，历史小说，人物全是虚构的。。。

动人、好看或许同真实不真实没有直接的关系？关键是逻辑性，看创造的人物是否是‘真实的人’，在那个环境中可以存在的人。。写的时候，往往有人物自己的逻辑，同计划设想的都会不一样，也就是说，写到一定的时候，这个人自己会行走说话做事，好像违背作者当初的意图。。。哈，好难说。。

Gone

嗯，写到火候应当是人物控制写者的笔。。
很多名著都有原型，只不过我们作为读者不知道真相罢了。。比如飘，据说就是作者的一段真实的情感经历演绎而成。。
我是外行，纯粹乱说。。你不要介意。。

洋八路

Gone 发表于 2014-5-29 22:20
嗯，写到火候应当是人物控制写者的笔。。
很多名著都有原型，只不过我们作为读者不知道真相罢了。。比如飘 ...

是的，应该都有原型，经过加工提炼，有时候原型可能是多个人组合的。或多或少，这也是创作的一部分。。不过，虽然有这个人（可能脑子里有一个具体的对象），但场景部分是有虚构的，而且那个人会自我演绎扩展，这就是为什么人物会发生变化的原因。。

是把这个人（精神上的人）放在这个场景会有什么样的反应。。因为不太可能每个场景对话都是事实上发生过的。

其实我更是外行，你看的小说肯定比我多。。

谦虚是美德，哈。。

Gone

真实的生活原型加写者加工的天分，是好小说的雏形。如果再有思想上的深刻，主题上的升华就是名著了吧。。
我觉得你脑子的那个具体对象该是具备了你感兴趣的强烈的性格。。人物性格把握好了，无论场合如何变换，都会应对自如吧。。就像咬定青山不放松任尔东南西北风。。哈哈，我的想象。。
我看的书少，更不会写。是这部小说的第一部分非常吸引我，才一直追着看。但愿没有给你增添麻烦。。