Asher Mo was walking alone on the street. There were still ghosts on the road, floating around and complaining. The bluestone steps under his feet had grown some lonely green mosses, which were wet and slippery when he stepped on them...
After the fierce argument, I calmed down and found that my fingers were all worn out. The door frame was made roughly and had many burrs, which pierced my flesh and made everything blurry. Fortunately, it was dark around and I was not noticed by any ghosts.
He stared at it silently for a while with his eyelashes drooping, probably because he felt so miserable that he didn't feel any pain from such a hideous scar.
He looked back at the tightly closed gate, knowing clearly that the man behind the gate would not say another word to him.
He was not unfamiliar with such rejection. Asher Mo was a person who was accustomed to malicious intent, which allowed him to tell whether his request was useful from a glance or two or three words from others.
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