The solar system is broken

When the writer woke up, he was dizzy.

I squinted my eyes and looked at the time. It was about three o'clock in the afternoon. My stomach growled twice. The man inside was not happy and felt a little cramped.

Ahem.

The writer coughed twice and finally woke up.

He took out a bottle of medicine from the drawer, shook his hand, counted two pills with the bottle cap, and just threw them in.

Congenital respiratory failure and stomach problems often come out to torture the writer from time to time.

The medicine cannot be stopped.

The sky was still dark, there were many fewer stars, and the low light in the room was always on.

"Didi didi~"

The phone turns on automatically.

Writer: These electronic products are not very obedient recently.

First the Penguin, then the mobile phone. Fortunately, the computer is still fine. It contains all my information.

When I clicked on the 1982 limited edition, the writer discovered that it was a timer alarm clock.

Below are a dozen missed calls.

It's an unfamiliar number. Forget it, don't answer it, it's just a sales pitch.

Ding dong.

Several unread messages popped up on the screen, the latest one being "I'm Nanako, answer the phone quickly."

Well.

The writer dialed back using that cell phone number, and a strange ringtone rang.

After a while, Chuan Yuan finally answered the call with a loud gasp of breath.

Writer, "Looks like I arrived at the wrong time."

"No, no, no, hoo~ you came just in time."

"Ya Zhudie~Gudathi!" (Everyone knows it)

"Is this... okay? Are you too perverted?" The writer couldn't help but burst out.

"Hurry... hoohoo~ open the door. Now is not the time to talk about this... ah~ hoohoo~."

Writer, "Are you in the corridor?"

"I don't have the key to your house, so it's not in the corridor." There was a regular snapping sound from Sichuan Yuan, with an echo.

Damn it. A scene was rushing past, impacting his consciousness.

The writer had a fierce look in his eyes and a twisted expression, "You still want to come to my house to do it?!!!"

So brave.

"Open the door quickly, I'm going to die."

"What!! You..."

When the writer was about to hang up the phone, several barking sounds broke the writer's endless reverie.

...

Bang!

The door is closed.

Chuan Yuan's hair was disheveled and his shoes were missing.

He was holding a lunch box in his hand, but he had spilled it. He sat down on the cushion, holding on to the door frame and exhaling loudly.

"Tell me why you were chased by a dog?"

Only then did Chuan Yuan remember it, and said with a sad face, "Breakfast is gone."

Well, the writer scratched his head, it looks like I made the mistake of blaming the good guy.

After pouring water and tea, it took a long time for Chuan Yuan to come to his senses.

It turns out that earlier, Mr. Jin asked Chuan Yuan to feed his Chinese pastoral dog dog food.

Chuan Yuan got the key to Jin's hometown and went in to work as a shoveler for the "evil dog". As a result, the dog's leash was broken by the "evil dog" without paying attention.

The dog ran out on its own.

Kawahara didn't know what to do, so the writer saw those missed calls.

"So how did you get chased by the dog?"

Chuan Yuan bit the edge of the cup and looked at the water, aggrieved. "I asked Mr. Jin where it would go. I'll get it back."

This dog likes meat buns, but he trotted all the way to the meat bun shop outside the community.

The boss knew the dog, but he didn't see Mr. Jin, so he knew the leash was broken.

So the dog was tied there, but it was wrapped in several buns.

When Chuanyuan went to pull it, the guy's belly was round.

It's okay to say that.

until...

When Kawahara said this, he swallowed his saliva in fear.

"Did it bite you?" the writer wondered.

"That's not true."

On the way back from Chuanyuan, he bought some food, soup dumplings and the like, and brought one to the writer.

Halfway down the road, a plastic bag opened and a soup dumpling rolled out.

The dog's eyes changed.

"You don't know, its eyes are green, green..."

Chuan Yuan choked several mouthfuls of saliva.

"Yes, yes, you continue," the writer pinched his mouth.

Kawahara glared at the writer, "So...how did you survive from the tiger's mouth...the dog's mouth?"

"I couldn't outrun it, and I lost another soup dumpling, so it ran to pick up the soup dumpling."

Chuanyuan lost one and ran for a while, and then ran for a while to Jin's hometown like crazy.

The writer basically understood that the dog thought he was teasing him, and his excitement scared Kawahara.

I just lost the key when I was running away.

Fortunately, the writer called her back at this time.

The writer finally understood what this silly woman had done.

"What about the dog? No more?"

Kawahara shook his head, but quickly said, "I'm afraid it will bite me."

Woof woof woof!

The excited barking of dogs came from the corridor.

"Bite," the writer let out a contemptuous laugh.

Kawahara's eyes widened, "Are you sure?"

Click, click, click, the dog's claws were digging at the door of the house.

Those who know it are Chinese Pastoral Dogs, but those who don’t know them think they are Huskies.

Bang, the door opened.

An adult dog with a shoe in its mouth stood at the writer's door, wagging its tail crazily, and barking from its mouth.

"Hello, little one," the writer said, squinting at the dog.

The shoe fell on the door with a bang, and the dog turned around and ran away.

With quick eyesight and quick hands, the writer grabbed the collar around its neck.

The dog howled forlornly and was dragged into the door. The dog's legs kicked up and made a few white lines on the floor.

Gouzi said, it's over, there is Lao Liu. I am not a dog, you are real dogs.

Bang. The door closed.

The dog was hiding from the writer along the wall, looking sideways and drooping his ears.

Kawahara, "Did you eat dog meat in front of it?"

The writer shook his head, "That's not true. It means he won't have meat buns for half a month."

That was the time when the writer had a quarrel with Mr. Jin. The writer dropped a hot sweet potato on it and it hurt half to death.

Now I see that the writer is still hiding away.

"Ouch~" he shouted to the writer in a low voice, venting his dissatisfaction that he dared not speak out.

"What do you call it? Let's call it dog meat hot pot." The writer gave it a look. The dog felt murderous intent and hurriedly turned to Chuan Yuan's arms.

But Chuan Yuan was still very scared, until Chuan Yuan held the dog in his arms, and the dog felt the petting service comfortably.

Haha, you are a bully who bullies the weak and fears the strong.

The writer's breakfast was lost after being chased by a dog, so Kawahara cooked a side dish for him.

Gouzi was at the door of the kitchen, watching the gentle elder sister dissecting vegetables with a bright knife.

As for the writer, he is communicating amicably with his editor about the manuscript.

The person on the other end of the phone was a bit over-the-top, wildly shouting words that needed to be silenced. The writer is also arrogant. I have been writing books all my life, so why can’t I just enjoy it?

But in the end, the writer still had to type hard on the keyboard to read the new novel, so the writer held vegetables in his mouth and updated the readers in a wheelchair.

After Chuan Yuan finished cooking, he took the dog to look for the keys.

The dog came out of the house and instantly became energetic. Kawahara could not hold him back.