【Eight Milligrams of Fireman】(Stories about Fireman) (00-04) Author: Fireman

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-23

Author: Fireman
Word Count: 3802

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Prologue

: In a way, Fireman is a reflection of myself, because as an author, I can't help but project my own experiences onto the story,
and I happen to like expressing my personal perspective quite a bit.

Therefore, the passions, loneliness, sadness, and even lustful thoughts that Fireman
experiences may all be things I've gone through. I won't reveal it, and I hope you can just laugh it off,
because those experiences have shaped who I am today. I don't shy away from it, but I don't feel any joy in it either.

The reason it's called "8mg Fireman" is because a few years ago, when I was traveling alone in Xiamen, I tried smoking
8mg of the blue Seven Wolves cigarette (commonly known as Blue Wolf). Once I tried it, I couldn't put it down. Many people say that this cigarette
tastes like pickled vegetables and is hard to smoke, but I don't think so. The tobacco is of poor quality, and it always
falls off , accompanied by a little burning sound. In short, I like it quite a bit, and I hope you won't mind. I've been too
lazy to change cigarettes for so many years, after all, this cigarette is cheap. Even Double Happiness has gone up to 8 yuan, but our Blue Wolf is still 7.5 yuan
a pack.

To be honest, this is a story I've wanted to write for a long time, but I always stop writing it because it
intertwines too much reality and illusion. With all my years of experience, I'm not sure I can write it well.
It's like when I was writing "Tadpole Dream." People often only see lust and treat it as pornography. Some even
say, "You're practically teaching people how to have sex."

I firmly believe that "making sex" is a sacred thing. If I could teach others this, I
would truly become a saint. But I don't think I can ever become a saint in this lifetime.

I just wanted to write a story, a story about fire people, about love, about life, about the stories that happen in
those lonely, desolate nights. I'm not a musician, nor a writer; I'm
just an ordinary person. We don't need to think we're different from others. In reality, you and I are just
relatively talented. The future we imagine is like a road built out of thin air, full of thorns and hardships,
before finally blossoming with flowers and gentle breezes—but that's an illusion. We all overestimate our
ability to control our destiny and ourselves.

Let's just be like this, going with the flow of time, slowly becoming ourselves, finding ourselves, hoping to stay
young forever, and also hoping to grow old in an instant.

1.

In the early morning, the harsh sun slowly rose from the east, overshadowing the delicate, pretentious moon. At this moment, I opened
my eyes, rubbed my left shoulder—it was sore, yet somewhat sweet. This action woke her up as well
.

She squinted, revealing her prominent collarbone, and said to me, "Fireman, you'll make me crayfish tonight
. It's the perfect season; you haven't made me crayfish in so long."

I looked into her eyes, which were willow-leaf shaped, like a gentle touch that quickly faded
without a trace of moisture. Her skin was flawless, as if she'd been born in milk
. And she was so thin; her collarbone was clearly visible below her neck. But this was the woman I loved; I
loved everything about her.

"Haha, okay, let's get ready and go to the market together to buy some groceries. I'll cook for you when we get back. It's a deal;
you're in charge of eating, and don't come into the kitchen and cause trouble."

The girl who spoke to me was my wife, Jia'er. Yes, I'm married.

Hello everyone, it's me again, Fireman. I'm back, and I don't know whether to be happy or sad. But at least one thing is certain:
from now on, I will gradually open myself up and let you see the real me.

I will no longer tell my story from someone else's perspective. I am not a unique firework, but a leaf
scattered . I think: my life is like this, fleeting like a fallen leaf, ultimately returning to dust.

2.

Jia'er is a girl I met three years ago.

At that time, I came to the north alone with a guitar. In three days, I knocked on the door of every
bar in Houhai. I would go into each one and ask, "Do you need a singer?"

The bar owners would ask me to sing two songs. After I finished, some would take my phone number, and some
would smile and say, "Go ask other bars."

So, I drifted in this city, always appearing in the underpasses, without a speaker,
singing dry songs with my own voice. When I was tired, I would sleep, and when I woke up, I would sing. The security guards in the underpasses seemed to realize that I was a
homeless guy, so they followed me.

A few days later, I found a place, less than 10 square meters, with a small balcony. Every day, I would play
the piano, smoke, and write those weak and feeble words. Then, every evening, I would appear in the underpass,
continuing sing my bland, meaningless songs.

I didn't know if coming here was the right choice. Or was it because I was young and wanted to live
like a young person should? Every day, I faced the same unchanging life, seemingly only the repetitive loneliness
pounding my silent self. Only when I sang did I find myself.

And many coincidences occurred at such moments, in that state, Jia'er drifted into
my life. I remember

that

day vividly. I got up very early that morning and, as usual, turned on the stereo. Although I lived in a
partitioned room, the guy next door could probably hear every word I said. If he knew
music, he could probably hear all the off-key singing.

The speakers were playing "Mr. Van Gogh," the lyrics of which say: "We are born alone, we are born
lonely ."

When I first heard this song years ago, I was only drawn to its melancholy and despair. Then
one day , I suddenly realized that the sadness, loneliness, and helplessness in the song were gradually enveloping me. So I started
singing it too, getting used to solitude, constantly on edge, silently killing
time and processing my loneliness.

What finally stopped me was the knocking from next door.

"Dude, what's wrong with you so early in the morning? Can't you just shut up?"

My neighbor was a typical Northeastern man, direct but a nice guy. When I visited, she had just
broken up with her live-in girlfriend. Knowing I played folk music, she kept insisting I sing Li Zhi's "Together with You."
The reason was that his girlfriend was exactly six years younger than him. Every time he sang, "But you're six years younger than me,"
he would lose control and mutter, "Fuck your mother," in a retroflex ending.

"Is this what you wanted?" I asked myself at the time.

Probably. In a strange place, all the things I should and shouldn't have suffered were self-inflicted
. Since I'm here, I'll accept them with a smile. This city gave me a rude awakening, so what?

Sometimes I think of people who gave me so much to look forward to tomorrow, but who
haven't appeared in my tomorrow at all.

But where is my tomorrow? In that bar street where I knocked on door after door? Or in the various
underpasses ? Every time, every action, I felt a deeper and deeper loneliness, a growing sense of powerlessness.

However, personal growth is real. I know I'm trying to face it, trying to persevere,
trying to resist some things. Even if it's like forcing a seedling to grow, I will make myself grow like a tree.

Even if I feel helpless and lonely, so what? I'm walking this path myself, and I'm measuring
every .

So, I picked up my guitar, put some change in the case, and went to the underpass.

The underpasses of this city are places where people from all walks of life mingle. Some people like me would line up, and
sometimes if I arrived early, they wouldn't be there yet. They would wait on the side, and after I finished singing, they would
say to me, "Dude, that's enough, let me sing." Sometimes it was the other way around—a very interesting
rule, isn't it?

That day when I was singing, a girl threw in a 10-yuan bill and stood there listening for a long time.
She listened so intently, like a rabbit grazing on a prairie. Her fingers were white and slender, like bamboo shoots,
and she had a white and translucent face. Her legs were incredibly long and thin, encased in jeans.

As far as I remember, I sang "Lukang Town," and at the very end, I almost screamed,
frantically strumming the strings during the interlude, until the first string broke. I looked up, and she was looking at me, and I was looking at her too.

A girl's face appeared in my vision, unusually thin, her cheekbones
as , her face flushed. She hesitated, a slight smile on her face, and when she noticed me looking at her, her face
turned a little red. So

we both laughed. I've seen too many girls, waving the banner of "artistic," either melancholic or sunny, with a touch of affectation, saying things that leave you bewildered, singing popular songs, taking incomprehensible photos—that 's "them," as normal as can be. But Jia'er wasn't. That day we talked for a long time, and when we were really enjoying ourselves, she said, "I'll go buy two bottles of wine, let's drink and talk." That was an unforgettable experience for me. Jia'er held a beer in one hand, tidied her long hair with the other, and then talked to me about everything under the sun. "Fireman, I admire you. It's been a long time since I've met someone like you. Although this is our first meeting, and I know it might sound abrupt, I can't hide my admiration." "It's strange, I feel the same way. When I see you, when you're right in front of me, and we exchange a smile, I always feel like something's going to happen. I can't quite put my finger on it, but that's just how I feel. It's weird, isn't it?" "Fireman, you know Lou Ye, right?" "Yeah, I know him. I really like his movies, especially his handling of love. It's very unique." "Lou Ye once said in one of his films: 'Two strangers sit together, and then... and then of course, it's love.' "Especially since we two strange people have met, drinking together, what do you think it is?" "A love story full of strange rocks." "Let's drink, for this love story full of strange rocks." I looked at Jia'er; her hair was loose over her shoulders. She wore a white knit sweater with lace trim, blue jeans , and black Doc Martens. Because she had drunk some wine, she blossomed like a rosy rose. We raised glasses and drank them down in one gulp. I lit a cigarette, smoking and watching the people in the Xizhimen underpass. "Give me one." I gave her one, instinctively lighting it for her, and then looked at her. She parted her lips slightly, taking small puffs, drawing a long, gray smoke trail, leaving a lingering scent of smoke mixed with her perfume in the air. "This cigarette tastes so mild." "8mg, Seven Wolves, Fujian cigarette." "You're not from there, are you? How come you smoke this?" "It's a long story, but I'm used to it, and it's cheap. Even Double Happiness is 8 yuan a pack now, this is only 7.5 yuan, isn't that great?" "Haha, your habit is quite good. That's enough, I should go now. Remember my phone number, remember to call me." So I said goodbye to Jia'er, and I packed my things to leave. We went in opposite directions, but the songs and laughter would never be separated, just like her and me. I walked alone on the street on my way back. The few pedestrians and the dim streetlights added an intangible charm to this ancient city. "Sometimes, this city is beautiful, isn't it? The pace isn't fast, there are many mundane things, but there are also noble aspects in its spirit." Thinking of this, I smiled to myself.

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【Eight Milligrams of Fireman】(Stories about Fireman) (00-04) Author: Fireman

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