My cold is suspected of poisoning.

Yesterday, after I left the working environment of temporary security, I began to sneeze at night. I had symptoms of a cold. Whenever I feel that I have a cold, I always drink Erguotou. I never go to the drugstore to buy medicine or go to the hospital to see a doctor. I am a bottom-level person, and I am short of money. I am very suspicious of the sudden cold, which is not caused by the cold. I have put on enough clothes. Every time something happens, I think someone is behind it, such as poisoning. This kind of incident emerges in an endless stream in Fuzhou. Even when I was a child, it happened in the countryside and outside the province, but it was more serious in Fuzhou, and some people even tried to turn me into a demon. After all, there are too many people with ulterior motives in this place. There are many people who make me doubt. They may be security guards, owners, or female customer service staff in the lobby, or female managers, or security guards, or people who work outside. They don't think they are hurting, but they think they are doing the right thing. I think they are cleaning up dissidents, cleaning up people with another voice, another aesthetic and another pursuit.

In fact, the tolerance of Fujian people is very small, even for me. I just refuse to forgive those who try to destroy my literary passion, so I refuse to reconcile with some people and cities where I live. Since I was a child, they have been cruel to me because of my love for literature and art, causing a lot of avalanche trouble. Rural people want me to be short-lived and crazy, and people here in Fuzhou want me to be taken away by the police, or sent away or executed. People around you are very insidious. Some people say how can I beat a province and a city by myself? I fight. My battle is not to shoot them with AK, nor to attract foreign enemies to invade and slaughter them, as Hong Chengchou did. My fight is to escape as soon as possible, as far away from them as possible. Shadows keep me alert and scared. Flying away can also relieve depression, and a slow tragedy will happen early. If I had stayed in Fuzhou, the tragedy would have happened long ago, and I would have been considered worthless and not worth dying for.

If my cold is poisoned, then the place where they laid hands on me must be my kettle. Fuzhou people often hate me for advocating literature and criticizing ignorance. After all, there are many people in this city who don't like literature and art, don't want to benefit from knowledge and look down on culture. I have changed a lot of jobs since three years ago. Some are weak, and some are deliberately expelled. When I was outside the province, I was not as weak and tired as I am now. I always thought I was poisoned, and I did some experiments on my body. Maybe COVID-19. These people can do anything. As long as I still believe that there is goodness and justice in the world, someone will come after me. They are dissatisfied that I can get away from the filthy environment and angry that I refuse to praise sin. Growing up, I have never seen the people in this place have any generosity and character. They are all jealous and hate my literary passion and honest and kind people. They are indifferent to the ferocious hooligans. As if nothing happened, my growing environment is not only stagnant water, but also a melting pot, just like a magic cave.

My adoptive father didn't give me encouragement and help in my literary passion, and people in the countryside did endless mental harm to me. Later, I went to Fuzhou to make a living, and because I wanted to study and increase my knowledge, I was educated, destroyed by the local area, deprived of my job, and left me homeless with nothing, and went to the Imperial Capital. Whether there is culture and fraternity in the local area can be proved by my growth. The people here are very narrow-minded, horrible, lacking education and sympathy, and do not know how to forgive and fear. Both my adoptive father, my childhood village and Fuzhou, which I still can't get rid of, are grave diggers on my literary road. They are changing, because I refuse to praise crime, worship hooligans and blend in with the dirty local customs.