The old things I repaired have become fine

Chapter 17 Pinocchio, you are finally alive!

Shen Le stood there, savoring the memory. The feeling of joy was real, warm, and soothing.

It was as if he was the old man who, despite being injured and enduring the pain, still had to gather the frightened children and comfort the young children;
It was like the little wooden puppet, carrying out the master's wish, trying its best to convey this joy and comfort to all the children:
Don't be afraid, don't be sad! Forget your sorrow, forget your pain, and be happy!
He sang, pulled the silk threads, and made the puppets perform. When his parents and relatives finished their work in the war and rushed over, they saw their children gathered around the old man and breathed a sigh of relief...

Shen Le had been watching from the side with a smile on his face. As he was smiling, the view in front of him suddenly went dark.

In the darkness, long passages of memories poured into his mind like a torrent:

Young children, squeezed in the crowd on the street, were amazed when they saw a puppet show for the first time...

The stubborn boy quarreled with his family and insisted on learning puppetry...

The lonely young man cut out the puppet's head under the lamp. He accidentally cut his finger, and a drop of blood fell on the puppet's face. The young man dipped his own blood and put a drop of cinnabar mole on the corner of the puppet's eye...

The middle-aged man who was displaced in the war, and the old man who did not change his original intention and passed on his skills...

Until the very end, he was still manipulating puppets on the sickbed.

Singing operas to my young grandson, I taught him how to make the puppet walk, dance, and do somersaults, and watched him clumsily pull the silk strings with his tender little hands...

The last memory I have is of the old man lying on his sickbed, gently pulling the puppet with his fingers.

The grandson leaned against the old man's knees, clenched his left fist at eye level, and held his right fist empty, moving it back and forth on the upper right side of the outer thigh, pretending to play the erhu to dub for his grandfather:
"I have to fulfill my responsibilities while I am alive. How can I let an inch of land belong to others..."

When his vision came back to life, Shen Le found himself back at his workbench. The repaired puppet lay on the table, looking at him with eyes full of smiles.

That cinnabar mole, like the old man's heart blood, was imprinted on the puppet's eyes and also on the puppet's heart.

Shen Le breathed a sigh of relief. This time, the memory was not like the previous one where he just stood by and watched a movie, but an immersive one.

When carving the puppet, every time his fingers pressed against the back of the knife, and every time he manipulated the puppet, he felt the feedback of the silk thread on his fingers, as if he was doing it himself, and he had done it more than once, for more than ten years or even decades.

With so many memories, Shen Le immediately felt like "I can do it too."

He held up the control panel with his left hand and pulled the silk thread with his right hand. Just as he was about to put on a puppet show for himself, the puppet suspended by the silk thread suddenly jumped up high:
"what!!!"

Shen Le's left hand shook, and the control panel slipped out of his palm and fell directly. Halfway down, it floated up and hung in the air.

The puppet was hung under the control panel, moving without wind, with its dress fluttering, like a young girl swaying and enjoying the spring sunshine.

Shen Le rubbed his eyes, then rubbed them again. He took two steps back, then one step forward, reached into his collar with his right hand, pulled out the copper piece, turned it over and pointed it at the puppet:

"Are you alive?"

Very good, this piece of copper finally demonstrated a new skill.

Whether it was the copper sheet that enlightened the puppet and made it alive, or the copper sheet that enlightened me and made me see its different state, in short, the door to a new world was opened...

A faint voice came.

The puppet clearly didn't open its mouth, and the carved puppet's lips didn't move. However, when the copper plate in his hand vibrated slightly, Shen Le felt that there was a sound in his heart. Delicate, crisp, and righteous:
"I am alive!"

The puppet jumped up, stretched out her skirt, and spun gently. She raised her head, looked left and right, and then lowered her head to look at the embroidery on her skirt:

"Where am I?—Who are you?"

Uh……

Shen Le put himself in the other person's shoes and thought that if he opened his eyes and someone said to him, "Are you alive?" he would also jump up and spit at the other person in the face.

Thinking of this, he felt a little ashamed. He stuffed the copper piece back into his chest and scratched his hair:
"Uh, sorry. My name is Shen Le, I'm the one who fixed you up before, and you're at my house now. What's your name?"

"I……"

The puppet turned around, then around again. He looked up at the sky, then down at the ground:

"I... I don't know what my name is... The old man calls me Little Guy, and his grandson calls me Xiaolin, but I don't think those are my names..." Oh, this is an awkward topic.

It is said that, whether it is an animal or an object that becomes a spirit, self-cognition is a troublesome matter, and "name" is the top priority of self-cognition.

Knowing that "I am me" is one level of hurdle; giving yourself a name and being different from the rest of the world is another level of hurdle.

Human beings, from the moment they are born to the time they grow up, their parents and relatives call them and they naturally know who they are and what their names are.

It is not easy for goblins and ghosts to have names. If they name themselves without the help of others, it probably means that they have made some achievements in their practice.

"By the way, can you get me one?"

Shen Le hesitated for a moment.

He had read in a novel called "Spiritual Journey" that it was about giving names to others, either by the one who gave birth to them, such as parents;

Either from the one who provides support, such as a step-parent or a master to a servant;

Or it could be someone who grants achievement, such as a teacher.

He picked up the puppet, repaired it, polished it, painted it, and made it up and dressed it. However, it was still a long way from giving it life, raising it, and making it mature. I'm afraid he is not even worthy of giving the puppet a name?

"Stand up, stand up!" The puppet stood on tiptoe and spun several circles in a row:
"I don't want to be called Pinocchio! Pick one for me first, and we can change it later if it doesn't work!"

Uh……

Shen Le's brain raced. What name should I give her? She was wearing a red dress, so why not call her Xiaohong?
Look at the cinnabar mole at the corner of her eye. Is it called Zhuzhu? Or Zhusha?
Or maybe, looking at her graceful dancing, spinning now and then, she is called Xiao Wu?
Introduce yourself to others in the future, "My name is Xiao Wu, the Wu that means dancing?"

Say goodbye!
Shen Le shuddered violently. In a flash of embarrassment, he blurted out:

"How about calling me Xiao Ling? The word ling (a person) with a command next to it means an opera performer... Do you like it?"

"Xiao Ling, Xiao Ling..."

Pinocchio read the name several times without objecting. It was unclear whether he liked it or was saving it for later. She asked casually:

"By the way, his grandson's child came to my place to play a few days ago. Do you know what happened? - The one who jumped off the building a few days ago!"

"What? Jump off the building?!"

Xiao Ling jumped up. Her eyebrows were raised, and the cinnabar mole at the corner of her eye was shining brightly, looking like she was about to explode:
"The kid jumped off the building?"

"Yes... He jumped off the building a few days ago... I heard from the police officer who rescued him that the child kept crying in the hospital and said he wanted to play with a little sister. The little sister he mentioned, is that you?"

"Of course it's me!" Xiao Ling straightened her nonexistent chest, her face lit up:
“I’ve been playing with him for so many years!

From childhood to adulthood, when his family members went out to work or buy groceries, he would crawl around the house alone. Wasn't it me who was watching over him?
From kindergarten to elementary school, from first grade to fifth grade—"

"So he came to my house to play a few days ago. Was it you who asked him to come?"

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(End of this chapter)