Long Ghost Story


Just arrived at Caiqi Village, the already gloomy weather finally started to rain.

However, this did not reduce everyone’s interest in crossing. As early as before coming to Shennongjia, everyone expected the microclimate in the mountains. Therefore, everyone took rainproof measures for the equipment in the backpack, and the jackets and trousers were enough to withstand this kind of rain.

Half a cigarette even said: “It’s raining well, otherwise the waterproof equipment will be leucorrhea!”

So the topic of rain started, and the water turtle was gradually forgotten by everyone.

The mountain road is muddy and difficult to walk. Fortunately, we are all wearing sports shoes specially designed for outdoor crossing , so it is not difficult. Shennongjia in the rain has a unique charm, crisp green, and looks clean and neat.

After walking on the narrow mountain road for more than an hour, the road gradually widened. The oil painting said that this is the way to transport goods to the mountain. Follow this road and go straight. After noon, you can reach “Amitabha Buddha”. If the rain doesn’t stop, you can temporarily camp at “Amitabha Buddha” and enter Laojun again the next day. mountain top.

“There won’t be another flash flood, right?” CC said worriedly, looking at the brownish-yellow rain falling from the mountains on both sides.

“Again?” I took a step back timidly, “Have you all been here before?”

The oil painting gave me a meaningful look, and just as he was about to speak, he saw a group of people descending from the mountain.

This team seems to be of the same nature as us, with different ages. Each of them was soaked, pale and expressionless, with their gear on their backs, their heads bowed slightly, and they staggered down the mountain. They were like defeated soldiers who had just returned from the battlefield, supporting each other, their lips were purple, their eyes were full of despair, and it seemed that every step they took, they were enduring a huge torment. In spite of this , they still tried their best to sing songs that changed the key to encourage themselves to move on: “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, where is my friend…”

At this time, the oil painting turned his head and said loudly, “Report the number! 1!”



“Four!” said half a cigarette.

“…5…67, where is my friend…” The weak singing of the group came right after half a cigarette.

I turned around and stared blankly at their staggering backs slowly disappearing into the corner, filled with unease. I have always had an inexplicable fear of corners. I always feel that behind every corner in this world, there is a conspiracy hidden behind, or a change of fate lurking. Every day, we watch different people disappear around the corner.

Among those who disappear, there may well be people who are important to us.

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