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chapter three
I have always believed that life is fragile, just like a glass. If you touch it lightly, it will break to the ground or never stick. Zhang Wude's glass seems to be more fragile than I thought. It wasn't knocked off by others, but fell by myself.
This forced me to have a lot of ideas, and my mind was filled with some strange bubbles, which kept popping up and finally burst in my mind, bang, bang. ...
Zhang Wude left this world with that broken face, leaving others with endless thoughts. Including the cause of his death, I don't understand how Zhang Wude, who was in his youth, embarked on this road of determination. What puzzles me more, however, is that one night after I attended Zhang Wude's funeral, two strangers knocked on the door of my apartment.
The new arrivals are a man and a woman. The man is about forty years old, burly and dark. He didn't have much expression on his face, just looked at me coldly. The woman is about my age, not tall, with a pair of huge glasses on her nose, like a high school student who hasn't left school, timid.
The middle-aged man took out his certificate from his pocket and waved it in front of my eyes, saying, "We are a city. ...