When evil gods hold a meeting in my head

Richard stood still, staring at the little boy.

The other person's pitiful cries still echoed in the night sky, one after another.

Strangely enough, when Richard actually looked at the little boy with this indifferent attitude, the creepy feeling of being stared at slowly subsided, his limbs began to warm up, his back stopped feeling cold, and the feeling of being led by someone completely disappeared.

Richard looked down at his feet, then tried to take another step forward. This step was one he wanted to take, not one that was controlled. He took another step, and he was free again.

He looked up at the little boy, who was still reading the paper and crying out that he was so cold. But Richard was completely unaffected now. He thought for a moment and then walked towards the little boy.

This time, he chose to go through it all himself.

The little boy seemed to notice Richard's actions and actually started to get scared.

Richard continued walking forward.

The little boy took a step back.

Richard took another step forward, and the little boy took another step back.

The two walked with strange steps under the moonlight, Richard forward, the little boy backward, always maintaining a distance...

But as the little boy was about to retreat to the entrance of the book street, he suddenly stopped. He stood there, his body trembling slightly, but he dared not retreat even an inch further.

Richard watched this scene and thought, "Could it be that this little boy is not an ordinary ghost, nor some kind of supernatural being? He seems to be some kind of being trapped here, only able to move within the area of ​​Book Street, unable to leave once he reaches the edge, just like the legendary earthbound spirit."

If that child truly existed, then he is now...

Richard quickly walked up to the little boy and then stopped.

The little boy hunched his shoulders, and finally, an expression appeared on his delicate little face: fear, helplessness, and a little bit of expectation mixed together, making one's heart ache.

Richard looked at him, then suddenly raised his hand and gently placed it on his head.

The little boy was stunned.

His hair was soft and cool to the touch, like touching winter mist, but he didn't flinch. He just stood there, looking up at Richard, something gleaming in his eyes.

"Who dumped you here?" Richard asked.

The little boy opened his mouth as if to say something, but it was as if he hadn't spoken in a long time, and he uttered a few indistinct syllables. He looked down at the paper in his hand, then looked up at Richard, and then slowly began to speak.

"More than a hundred years ago..." he said, his voice very soft, as if afraid of disturbing something, "My parents brought me here. They said they were taking me to see the sea, and then they abandoned me..."

His voice grew softer and softer, and the last few words were almost inaudible.

Richard sighed inwardly. More than a hundred years ago, he really was the child from that story.

"Then will you be able to find your parents?" he asked.

The little boy shook his head, his expression growing even more somber.

"I can't find it. I've been looking for it for a very, very long time. They don't want me anymore..."

Richard was silent for a few seconds, then asked, "Then why did you harm those people, that bartender, and all those innocent people from before?"

Upon hearing this, the little boy trembled violently. He lowered his head, his shoulders began to tremble, and then tears slid down his face, dripping onto the crumpled piece of paper.

"I...I didn't want this to happen..." he cried, his voice breaking. "Those people were all good people. That older brother gave me food, and that older sister wiped my face for me. I didn't want to hurt them..."

He cried very sadly, his delicate little face scrunched up, and tears streamed down his face uncontrollably.

"But I can't control myself..." he sobbed. "Every night, I feel so cold, so very cold, and then I want to call for someone, to call someone to come and keep me company. But when they come, I can't control myself. I don't want them to take off their clothes, I don't want them lying on the ground..."

Richard stood there, listening to these words, feeling a mix of emotions. This child wasn't some sinful child sent by a demon; he was just an abandoned child, forever trapped on this street, reliving the fear of that cold winter night day after day, year after year, and repeatedly killing those who were kind to him.

It's not that he doesn't want to control it, but that he can't, just as he said.

Richard watched him cry and suddenly didn't know what to say. Would comforting him help? He had been dead for over a hundred years; what good would blaming him do? He couldn't control himself either.

"What's your name?" Richard asked.

The little boy sobbed as he looked up, wiping his tears with his sleeve. The paper was crumpled from rubbing it.

"My name is... my name is Xiaonian," he said. "That's what my mother used to call me."

"Little New Year... Mother?" Richard silently repeated in his mind, then asked, "Who is your mother?"

Xiao Nian said with a bitter smile, "It's that... lady who burned books to save me a long time ago... She's not my biological mother, but she was very kind to me, so I considered her my mother. I... I didn't actually mean to kill her... Waaah..."

Richard was silent for a moment: "Then who gave you the paper in your hand?"

Xiao Nian looked down at the paper, turned it over and showed it to Richard. The paper was covered with dense writing, some of which was already blurred, but the general meaning could still be made out. It was nothing more than those lines of crying and shouting, those words used to lure good people.

"I don't remember..." Xiao Nian said. "This piece of paper has been here for a long, long time. I think I wrote it myself, or maybe someone gave it to me. I can't remember. I only know that I would read it aloud at night, and after I finished reading it, someone would come..."

Richard looked at the paper and a thought suddenly occurred to him.

"If I burn this piece of paper for you, will you no longer have to read it?"

Xiao Nian paused for a moment, then shook his head.

"It's no use... I've tried..." he said. "Even if I burn it, it will reappear. It'll still be in my hands the next night, with the same words I still have to recite..."

Richard frowned. It sounded like some kind of curse, or the power of some supernatural object.

A piece of paper that can never be burned out, a child forever trapped...

How pitiful.

At this point, Xiao Nian continued:

"I tried not to recite it, but when I didn't, I felt even worse... that coldness was worse than death. Reciting it actually made me feel a little better... it was even better when people came, even though they would all die in the end... at least someone was there to talk to me..."

Richard looked at him, unsure of what to say.

This child has been dead for over a hundred years, but he is still here, still trapped on this street, still harming people, and he himself is in pain, feels guilty, and cannot control himself.

"That bartender..." Richard asked, "How is he now?"

Xiao Nian shook her head, and tears streamed down her face again.

"I don't know... He stopped moving... All those other people stopped moving too... They all stopped moving..."

Richard glanced back; the bartender was still lying on the street corner… He walked over, knelt down, and checked the bartender's breath; it was very weak…

"He's not dead, he's still alive."

Xiao Nian paused for a moment, then his eyes suddenly lit up.

"real?"

"Really," Richard said, "He's still breathing; he's probably just passed out."

Xiao Nian's expression lit up for a moment, but then quickly dimmed again.

"But all those people are dead..." he said. "I saw them motionless... motionless means dead..."

Richard thought for a moment and asked him, "Were those people who died in the past killed in winter?"

Xiao Nian paused for a moment, tilted his head, and thought about it.

"It seems...it seems...it's always when it's cold..." he murmured. "It doesn't seem to happen in the summer..."

Richard nodded, having a general idea of ​​what was going on. The child's abilities might be related to temperature; they were more powerful in the cold winter and less powerful in the hot summer. It was summer now, so the bartender was only unconscious and hadn't frozen to death.