My Healing Games

Chapter 1002 Extra: The Child Who Will Eventually Grow Up
Everyone has a child inside them; he might be called Han Fei, or he might be called Chen Ge.

I lay on the train in April, watching the wind outside the window; the world was gentle and radiant.

Swallows return, spring is in full bloom, their eyes hold all that is beautiful, yet their bodies are slowly decaying.

Buried in the soil, buried under the fallen leaves of last winter, or repeating the same routine every day.

They call this growing up, they think this is maturity, they say life likes to stay the same, and stability is the greatest happiness.

They always think a lot, they live a stable and happy life, and they say I'm like an oddball who doesn't fit in.

I should grow up, accept my fate, and live like them, instead of being that fish leaping out of the water, that loner, or that star that can't even illuminate itself.

Some say life is as bitter as a song, but I hum a song, carrying a heart full of courage, and stride forward fiercely.

I want to live like a firework, to shine brightly in the night sky for a fleeting moment. I will have no regrets and I will never bow my head.

I know they think I'm childish, even crazy. I laugh as they mock me. I run wildly in the snow in winter, dance among the fallen leaves in autumn, sing loudly in spring, and gaze at the Milky Way in summer.

Such a madman suddenly lost his own shadow one day.

A thousand voices rang in my ears, telling me that I should grow up and that I shouldn't continue writing those absurd nonsense stories.

Yes, everyone else thinks he's writing horror stories, but he thinks he's writing childish fairy tales.

His story was as naive and ridiculous as he was; that day he tore up all the manuscript paper and sat in front of himself.

He looked at his own face, he saw his own eyes, and he wanted to ask him, "What's wrong with you?"
Why do I cry in a familiar room? Why do I still act like a child even though I have gray hair? Why am I always so naive and innocent? Why do I still harbor fantasies, believing that the world will give me a little blessing or reward?

You fall into the mud again and again, and what pulls you up isn't those beautiful things, it's clearly yourself. You slowly climb up, covered in mud, smiling like a fucking idiot.

You look at your arms covered in blooming flowers, and smell the fragrance of flowers from your dreams.

You refused the medicine prescribed by the doctor, picked up the wine filled with moonlight, drank yourself into a stupor, clutched your chest, and suddenly burst into tears.

I am in so much pain, I don’t know how to say it. I can’t see, I’m lost, I’m lost again. I can’t find my way back. I’m curling up my body with all my might, trying my best to straighten every finger and hold my hand tightly.

She was perfectly fine, so why did she suddenly start crying?

The waiter handed me tissues, but his worried look frightened me. His pure kindness felt a little heavy. I avoided his gaze and looked at his six-year-old child.

My child will grow up someday, but I don't want him to think that growing up is a terrible thing.

I smiled as usual, covered in mud, looking like a fucking idiot.

The guests at the next table sat down opposite me, raised their beers, and clinked glasses lightly.

I whispered a thank you. I seem to really enjoy expressing gratitude. Perhaps on the day I die, when Death swings his scythe, I will also gently and politely say thank you to him.

Amidst the bustling crowds, coming and going, in this unfamiliar city, I lay slumped over my desk.

Lately, I've been having a lot of headaches, and I keep dreaming that I'm back in my grandma's yard, sitting in a chair, looking at the stars above me.

It seems like it's been a long time since I've seen stars.

It feels like I've drunk a lot, a lot, a lot of alcohol. I don't even know what I'm writing anymore; it's just rambling, just something to make you laugh.

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(End of this chapter)