Hunting High School

"Life and magic have one thing in common, and that is magic."

"Every life is the incarnation of magic, and every magic is also the result of magic."

Mr. Wu sat by the iron stove, shaking an old cattail fan in his hand. While fanning the fire, he chanted gossip about the old man to the small red clay teapot. From time to time, he would pick up the teacup and sip two sips of tea, looking very comfortable:

"...and we wizards are the witnesses of the magic."

Having said that, he seemed to have noticed something, and suddenly turned his head to look at a corner of the bookstore. The bookshelves there are full of books, but Mr. Wu's eyes did not fall on those books, but seemed to look at the world through those books, through the thick walls, and through the long void. a corner of the

After a while, he added in an admiring tone: "...We are also witnesses to history."

After finishing speaking, he shook the broken cattail fan in his hand again, and the milky white flame that had been subdued for a while boiled up again, sticking out a slender tongue of flame, licking the maroon wall of the pot.

"Crack."

A small sound suddenly sounded from the corner of the bookstore, but it stopped abruptly. If you didn't pay attention, you might think that the strange sound was an illusion.

But Mr. Wu has always been discerning.

"I thought you wouldn't come back today, so I sent the dried fish to Boss Huang in the Huizi collection. His little granddaughter has a new Persian cat with a big mouth." The husband shook his head without turning his head. Holding the broken cattail fan, he said kindly: "If you want to eat, you can fish it from the sea of ​​stars by yourself."

No one answered, but there was another soft 'squeak' from the depths of the bookstore, as if a cabinet door was being opened.

After a while, the voice of the yellow flowered raccoon came over in a panic:

"This matter has nothing to do with me. Why did you confiscate my small dried fish? Wouldn't your conscience hurt?! Those small dried fish belong to me! I exist here, how can you do anything casually?" How about giving it away?"

"It's a cat," the gentleman corrected: "And, those small dried fishes were brought back for you when I was out hunting... I have been in business for so long, and my greatest experience is that the accounts must be calculated clearly."

Angrily, the yellow raccoon jumped out of the shadows in the corner of the bookstore, and jumped onto the desk next to the husband, staring, arching its back, whining in its throat, rubbing its paws on the table, looking like it wanted to pounce on it but He didn't dare to pounce.

The gentleman squinted at it, and said:

"Add another layer of enchantment to that little sapling. The store is very angry. Don't let her get dehydrated."

Hey, the yellow raccoon immediately put away its pouncing, and turned its face to look at the transparent ball floating beside its shoulder. I don't know if it was an illusion, but it also felt that the saplings in the ball were a little wilted than before.

"Illusion, this must be an illusion." The yellow raccoon muttered guiltyly, opened his mouth, and spit out a bubble with a puff. Seeing the wind, the bubble swelled, from the size of a soybean to the size of a basketball in an instant, covering the ball next to the shoulder.

Then 'Bubble' retracted and tightened, shrinking to the size of a volleyball, adding a layer of 'film' to the transparent ball.

The figure of the young sapling in the ball became increasingly blurred.

Mr. Wu changed the cattail fan from his right hand to his left, and took a moment to ask, "Aren't you looking for the bad luck of those two mice? Why did you come back so soon?"

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When the two mice were mentioned, the little raccoon's temper exploded again.

"I told you at the beginning, those mice can't be kept... You are lucky, one or two are getting more and more! How are you doing now? After messing with you, they ran away, and you can't find them!"

The cat was cursing, picked up the teacup that Mr. Wu put aside, licked it and drank two sips of tea, while complaining about Mr. Wu's wrong decisions in the past, while denouncing the cunning and sneakiness of the two mice, feeling the difficulty of the cat's life:

"It can only be said that they are worthy of being mice, and they hide more slippery than real mice... I have not caught mice for many years, so it is inevitable that I am a little novice, but it does not matter, give me a little time, I will clean up the old nest of those two mice. Read it all for you!"

Mr. Wu curled his lips, glanced at the teacup used by the yellow raccoon, turned his hand over, and found a new cup for himself.

The small red clay teapot on the iron stove spit out two puffs of hot air, attracting the attention of the bookstore owner and Huamao again.

"How long has it been cooking?" the yellow raccoon stretched its neck and asked curiously.

"A few hours, almost." The gentleman was vague and did not give an exact figure. He lifted the lid of the teapot, poked his neck and looked inside, then nodded: "It's almost there."

The yellow raccoon sighed old-fashionedly: "I said at the beginning that you can teach him by yourself, why do you have to send him to school? Buji Island is now full of smog and dragons and snakes. You can be regarded as a great fortune-teller. I don't even know what's going to happen next..."

"I'm better than the Great Fortune Teller." Mr. Wu reminded in a low voice.

The yellow-flowered raccoon seemed to be stuck in a fish, its voice stopped abruptly, and the cat's face was suffocated for a while, before emphasizing: "...even if you are better than the great fortune-teller, you are not much better... Didn't see This kid was punished twice in three days, and now in less than a year, he has fallen to pieces and returned to the furnace to cook again?"

"That's true." Mr. Wu nodded, raised his head, and seemed to think of something. After hesitating for a moment, he picked up the lid again, and then stretched out his left index finger. The thumbnail lightly stroked the belly of the index finger, and a drop of bright red blood dripped. It seeped out and slowly dripped into the small red clay teapot.

The ball of milky white blood at the bottom of the teapot seemed to be stimulated by something, the flames suddenly became tense, and there were faint thunderous sounds in the teapot, rumbling, and the shaking lid buzzing.

Then the husband withdrew his fingers, clasped his hands, and sat back comfortably: "...Next time, he shouldn't blow it up so easily."

The yellow raccoon shrank its head back, and there was a "ho ho" in its throat, as if holding a mouthful of thick phlegm.

After a while, it screamed: "It's not a big deal, you just gave him a drop of blood? I have worked so hard for so many years, but I only saved a few small dried fish, and you still keep it... your conscience Won't it hurt?!"

This is the second time it mentions the topic of 'conscience'.

Mr. felt that he had to answer this question head-on.

"I think, whether it's you or me," he said, pointing to himself, emphasizing: "In this state, talking about 'heart' is really a luxury topic. Moreover, even if the state is intact At that time, everything needs to be weighed against the interests, not just the conscience.”