Dream knife

  I don’t know what the opportunity is, maybe because of being bored during the occupation, a man walked on the street and suddenly came to an old book stand. In the outer corner, there is the possibility of being stepped on at any time, and an old book is revealed, with the title “Amplification of the Dream Knife” printed on it. Dream and cut, this knife can be described as extremely sharp.
  A person who does not dream day and night must be a great warrior. To be able to do this, the word warrior is well-deserved. We ordinary people do not have the title of blessing and delusion, because on the one hand, they must be as philosophers as philosophers, and on the other they must be as stunned as two fools.
  Of course, this little book is made for us ordinary people. The author is a caring person who is willing to give his handy sharp knife to us poor bugs who have too many dreams. With a feeling of joy, I gently opened the crumpled tissue paper with my precious hand. It turns out that this is a great work of dreams. It came out in the sixth year of the Republic of China. It has only been more than two decades before it fell like autumn leaves in this unattended downtown, becoming the laughingstock of dreams. The title of this beautiful and fascinating book is based on an allusion about Wang Jun in the Book of Jin. “Jun Yemeng hangs three knives on the beams of the sleeping house. It will be beneficial for a moment. Jun is shocked, and it will be evil. The master book Li Yi pays his respects again: The three knives are the state character, and the one who benefits the other, the Ming Dynasty Yizhou is almost? And the thief Zhang Hong killed Huangfu Yan, the governor of Yizhou, Guo Qianjun is the governor of Yizhou.”
  In this little proud story, there is a knife in the dream, and I am embarrassed with the extravagant hope. Something is missing.
  Dreams and life exist together. It stops in the warm room of memory, and is nurtured with emotions: When the reason is strong, I think I can get rid of all attachments like the Tathagata, and grind the ruthless supernatural wisdom into its extremely fast blade. However, when I, a mortal, hardened my heart and aimed to cut it down, it was like the east flowing water chanted by the poet. At first, it was in vain: “With a knife, the water will flow even more.”
  Sometimes, then. It’s terrible, it’s me who hurt, not the water: “Sharpening the knife and whimpering, the water hurts the hand with a bare blade.”
  So, I learned a good thing and stopped working on clumsy volleys, because as a result of doing so, although dreams can no longer exist, just like all ascetics, life itself no longer exists in the world. I return nature to My dream, Meng Na kindly sent me in return. Half of my courage to live is extracted from my ideals, and half from human relationships. Ideals and human sentiments are the buttresses of my dreams.
  Speaking of which, the harsh father, the father who killed me when I was thirteen years old, the poor hardworking father, in my dreams always give him a smiley face to his never promising child. My poor sister, I’m just such an older sister. When I was a child, I used scissors to pierce her hand and told her to cry. She was not allowed to tell her father, but for the sake of love, she would never want others to hurt me. It is such a mother-like sister who finally left me very early to complain to my father, the worries of an orphan girl. They are alive… all alive, living in my dream… and my suffering motherland, the people are willing to bear hardships for her, but when victory comes, there will not be a day when happiness is returned to the people… and it has become a dream.
  Sir, do you have a dream cutter? Cut away the nightmares for me, the facts that turn hope into disappointment, the traces of torture from small to large, and those that make love the seeds of hatred. Sir, could you give me a knife and cut it all down? You shake your head. You mean that there is no pain and happiness will never be complete. Dreams are the deepest motivation for struggle.
  So, for those who sell used books, this “Dream Cutting Knife” is really useful. Why don’t you keep it for your own use? You threw it on the street, mixed with other old books, picked up by people, and listened to people stomping on it. Is it because you have learned all the tricks and don’t need it to give pointers at any time?
  A buyer came over there: “How many tins?”
  ”Five hundred.”
  ”Expensive!” He went away in confusion. Poor old man, “Dream Cutting Knife” can’t help you, I heard your hoarse throat roaring, still sighing: “Five hundred, two sets of biscuits!”