The Dark Barbarian Arrives in American Comics

The first is to report the lack of updates.

The total number of words updated in January is 129,000 words...

Excluding the 180,000 words that were guaranteed to be updated in December, there are 51,000 new words that are due to be updated, which counts as 25.5 chapters.

The increased number of monthly tickets in January is 163, which counts as 2 chapters.

The total amount of rewards in January is 15.02 yuan, and there is less than one chapter to add...

Continue to sincerely thank Mr. JETYGUO, thank you!

At the end of January, it will be set at 843, and according to the long-term update rules, 8 chapters will be added.

Added new chapter 35.5 that is due to be updated...

After repaying debts and counting new debts, there are still 382 chapters of debts remaining, totaling 764,000 words.

Thank you readers for your support, thank you very much.

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Next, give thanks:

Thanks to reader JETYGUO for the 1500 points reward.

Thank you to the reader Cherish Words Like Gold 123 for the 2-point reward.

Thank you very much!!!

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Well...things have been going wrong lately...

My elderly parents had a fight over New Year greetings...

The conflict between them has existed since I was a half-grown child until today. It has been seventeen or eight years since it broke out in a very serious way.

During this period, old issues would be brought up again. Of course, most of the time they would avoid opening up old scores, but in fact they were still arguing about the previous rift.

Forgive me not to say more about the specific situation, but this kind of thing still has a huge impact on me...

It can be considered my PTSD...

I can't stand the sudden sound of human voices, the kind that would scare me to the point of jumping up...

I still can't understand why they had to go on "for" me when they were at their worst...

Thinking about it carefully, most of these words were said by my mother who made the choice to give up everything, which is a bit ironic...

(Of course, my mother did not succeed, but that was because my father broke the glass and cut his hand. He wanted to wash his hands and waited for a long time but could not open the door, so he forced the locked door of the bathroom open without success...

)

(I actually struggled with my parents about writing a book for a long time...

In the year I graduated from college, I actually found a job in the city where the university was located.

At that time, a series of issues such as salary and benefits had been discussed, and all that was left was to finally sign the contract.

Then... at the request of my parents I went back home...

Thinking about it now, I should have refused at that time.

Going home is not a nice thing for me...I haven't really liked going home since I was in school.

It's just that I had no place to go at that time...so I had to go back "home".

Okay, I have to put "home" in quotation marks.

My parents were workers. Some time before and after that incident, I left the factory, which was not very prosperous. I remember that I bought out my seniority. (It happened a little longer, so I can’t remember clearly. As for the

The factory where they worked disappeared more than ten years ago. Now it has been completely demolished and built into a new residential area.)

I want to say this because when I was growing up, I lived in a "store" most of the time.

It is normal for laid-off workers to find another job...

It’s just that the living environment is mostly not that good.

When the first store opened, a family of three lived in a space of 50 to 60 square meters.

More than one-third of them are shelves... The living space is pitifully cramped...

Business was pretty good at that time...at least when my parents were in the Cold War, it was pretty good when my mother took me to do business in the store.

Then, after causing trouble once, my father finally came...

So the business became sluggish... My father was not an easy person to deal with.

At least not a person suitable for doing business.

During that time, my father successfully stopped many "big" clients from coming to my "home"...

By the way, I also managed to mess up the relationship with the neighbors... Thinking about it now, I feel a bit gritty...

There is also a basement of about ten square meters in the shop, and this basement is my bedroom and kitchen...

What I can remember now is probably the dim lights, the always damp bedding, and the camp bed...

There is also a large pack of matches bought to light cigarettes without the sound of the lighter being heard...

Well, in fact of course they know that I smoke... After all, how can I not smell smoke when I can smell even my farts in such a small place?

It's bad, I should say it's bad enough... This is worse than the feeling of sleeping in the basement corridor of someone else's unit when I was working...

(I am a bachelor's degree student...I have successfully completed my studies, and I don't have to worry about anything...)

At least I won't hear any quarrels in the basement of someone else's unit...

You won’t hear messy sounds from the basement window where you can’t even stretch your arm out...

It's quite sad. At that time, I almost clung to all good intentions.

Even the pity of others is regarded as the light in life... It still feels ridiculous when I think about it now, but it is unforgettable...

Although I have talked about a lot of painful experiences back then... I still have to say that my parents were competent in treating me, and I grew up with no worries about food and clothing...

They are also "caring" me in their own way,

I am equally grateful for my parents' love, and I am determined to give my best to support them.

But I still have to say that my ability to use morality as the bottom line of my behavior is not influenced by my parents...

After all, the conflict between them was caused by the immorality of one party...

But what can I say?

At this time, keep mentioning things from that year?

That is too cruel, not only for me, but also for my parents...

I have to thank my junior high school teachers...perhaps all the good luck I had when I was young was spent on meeting those teachers.

Of course I'm not the kind of child with good grades. Maybe someone can study well in a situation where he can't even take a shower and has to be hated because of the smell...

but I am not……

Fortunately, we were still innocent at that time...I also had good friends.

Even today, we are still good friends. Although we don't see each other a few times a year, that is due to objective factors...

I couldn't study well in that situation, but this can probably be forgiven... At least I am still a kind child and not crooked...

Thank you to the teachers I met...

(Except for the third class teacher in high school! There was a new class teacher in high school. The second class teacher was very responsible. If she was not teaching in the school where I am, she might have a better life.

But she didn't get the love of the students... It's a pity. In order to maintain the dignity of her class teacher, she kept too far away from the students.

I only realized this after I became a teacher for a period of time a few years ago.

As for why I no longer work as a teacher, it’s because of too much pressure...

The feeling that no matter how much I do, I still feel that I haven’t done enough is torturing me...

So I resigned after sending away one class of students... I am still worried that I gave them too little help back then...

As for my third class teacher in high school, I still think that she is not normal... Although it is a bit excessive to say this, but I really think so...

Moody...self-righteous...don't even know what to do as a teacher.

Which teacher would call a student who smokes in the class to take a photo to show off? I've only seen her!

Absolutely ridiculous! Absolutely ridiculous!

As for the fact that she withheld diplomas from students after graduation and asked students to go to her home to collect them, I was not as angry as the previous incident...

It’s hard to make it too clear what she meant... Didn’t you just want some "gifts" when you went to her house to receive your diploma...

So I didn't go get it, that's just my temper... But I got the admission notice from the university anyway, so naturally I don't need a high school diploma to prove my academic qualifications...

But what I know is that some students never received their diplomas...)

Well, children in junior high school will always develop the purest love... Forget it, I will skip this and forget about it. Now that I think about it, there is nothing else but regret... maybe there is still a little bit of unrequited love.

The pain...

The teachers I met in junior high school were very strict, but I am always grateful to them.

Because their severity has nothing to do with tyranny...their severity is full of love...

It was the kind of kindness I had hoped for countless times in my dreams... Well, I didn't lack love while growing up.

Although not all of this love comes from parents...

They showed me no pity, but simple kindness.

They properly maintained my self-esteem as a child and protected everything I had as a child.

I still can't forget it...

(Of course I was beaten by the teacher... and the beating was not light... There is still my name and three and a half Chinese characters on the desk of the head teacher...

If you make a mistake once, go to the office and write it down...

But even if my palms are swollen and I can’t pick up things, my heart is still warm... Although it’s a bit strange to say this, but in fact it is like that...)

It seems that I have talked too much about my past...

Let’s talk about recent times...

My father has a bad temper, or a very bad temper...

Over the years, his salary has rarely been used at home, and my mother and I don't know where he has spent it...

But during the four years I was in college, my expenses and tuition fees were all provided by my father.

As for supporting the family, I shouldn't say anything more. That is a matter between my father and my mother.

This is probably one of the reasons why my mother is dissatisfied with my father...

My father is a person who gets angry when others make him angry.

And the target of his anger was always his family... I still remember his ferocious expression when he picked up a very strong square stool and threw it at me, as if I had ruined his life...

Maybe if it weren't for me, he and my mother would have other choices in life...

That stool is very strong. My grandfather hired a carpenter to make it. That stool is probably older than me... Even now, the stool is still very strong... It can allow someone who is 1.82 meters tall and weighs 190 pounds to stand on it.

Stick the Spring Festival couplets steadily...

However, in fact, I was only more than an hour late when I got home...

And I just spent time walking slowly on the street, because I hated going back to that "home" where I had no personal space at all...

This kind of thing doesn't happen only after conflicts break out at home...

Even when I was younger and disturbed his play, I would occasionally get punished...but at that time, he still had some tricks up his sleeve...

At least I won't get hurt or anything...

(Being angered is not something that only happens on my father’s side. It’s not uncommon on my mother’s side either.

But this should be a mistake that parents make... After all, parents don't need to take any parent qualification certificate...

I also understand that no one is perfect.

But I really can’t forget that critical strike from the square stool, and it’s even hard for me to find an excuse to convince myself to forget it…)

I can now understand the pressure in his heart at that time. After all, not to mention that my family’s affairs at that time caused a storm in the city, it was considered a social death of my father in front of all his relatives...

But for this matter, understanding is understanding, and forgiveness is forgiveness...

I can never mention it again, but don’t expect me to forgive you when you talk about it...

I can understand my mother's resentment towards my father... After all, if a person is forced to make such a choice, no matter how resentful he is, it is justified...

As for my father's resentment towards my mother, I can't understand it...

Although "home" has come to mean home over the years... I can't do anything about the conflict between them.

When facing the conflict between them, I seemed to be the same helpless child who could only stare blankly at the mess and pool of blood everywhere.

Too scared to even cry loudly...

This is probably real PTSD...

My parents successfully made me afraid of marriage...

The reason is very simple, because I found that my personality is somewhat similar to that of my father.

And I have personally experienced all the harm caused by this personality...

So I probably chose the stupidest approach, which is "no beginning, no end"...

In this case, I probably won’t have the process of hurting others...

From the beginning to the end, I just hope that I will not hurt others. It would be better if I can avoid being hurt by others...

When I look back, it's hard to recall the face of the girl who was waiting under the tree.

No one will wait around forever...

But some things cannot disappear, and may stay with you until you enter the coffin, and then be buried deep with yourself...

Ah...because I've been talking about a lot of family matters lately.

Although I feel like I shouldn’t say this at this time to make everyone feel bad...

But this story is over 3,000 words long, so I am somewhat reluctant to delete it.

Just post it for everyone’s reference...

The lives of happy people seem to be the same, but each of the miserable people is miserable in his own way...

If you encounter anything unhappy, please remember that there is still an unlucky guy like me who is working hard to live.

Frustration will leave traces, and suffering is not worthy of praise.

But after suffering, you have to keep moving forward no matter what.

Maybe one day, if I am unlucky enough, I can meet another person who can give me the courage to face all difficulties?

Life continues, breathing has not stopped.

At least I can look forward to tomorrow.

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Thank you readers for being willing to waste a little time reading my ramblings.

Thanks!

The author looked south and paused!