The story of the ghost of the braided child is also a real thing I encountered during my stay in Hong Kong. The story is a bit unclear and a bit earthy. Often I don’t know where to start, and sometimes I think whether it’s necessary or not. Tell others? Can anyone believe it? Sometimes it’s better to think about it, but to speak out. What happened in the past, let alone a long time, gradually faded into something like a novel. Do you say the memory must be real? Or is it something like a novel that has been modified and beautified by yourself a little bit? If even memory is not trustworthy, then what is there to trust? After thinking about it, I only have to write it down. I only have to write down what I think of. The text will not be distorted slowly. Even if I never look at it again, and no one will look at it, it will always be here. , Steadfastly, just like a house is called a real estate, this text is a spiritual real estate.
Okay, I’m talking too much nonsense, let’s start telling stories. Many people have heard the story of the ghost of the braided child. In a deep alley at night, if you meet a girl with a ponytail and simple clothes, don’t talk to her and pass by. Don’t turn your head, because you will see that the other side of her is also a bunch of braids-she has no face. The story often ends here abruptly.
When the graduate students in the group told me that this story originated in C, I didn’t believe it. Just like the Chinese like to say that the Pythagorean theorem originated in China, and the Koreans like to say that the Dragon Boat Festival is Korean, universities in a city like to draw some historical stories to themselves, even ghost stories are good, so it seems He has a long history, strong humanity and many stories. But then what the kid said made me a little skeptical.
He said that it was in 1967. The Cultural Revolution plus years of famines caused panic. There were some children from intellectual families along the coast who wanted to study hard but lacked one. In a stable environment, eating is sometimes a problem, and these young intellectuals get confused and want to flee to Hong Kong. It was said that there was such a young couple. The man succeeded first, and was waiting for the woman to come over in Hong Kong. So the little girl on the woman got on a train carrying goods. The opportunity came when the train drove into Hong Kong and approached C University. The girl jumped off the train. As a result, her braids were entangled by the train and died tragically on the spot. From then on, she became a lonely ghost cruising in C University. Around 1970, a boy walked by “a braided road” in big c (there is such a road, it is a long and slender mountain road that must pass up and down the mountain in dormitory A), and he saw a girl with a ponytail crying with his back to him , So she stepped forward to comfort and asked the girl why she was sad. The girl said she was sad because she could not find her boyfriend. The boy wanted to encourage her and asked her to turn her head. The girl said she was afraid of scaring him, and the boy said she was daring. I was not afraid, but I saw the girl’s face—also a ponytail.
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Why do I believe this? You don’t know much about this classmate, so you don’t need to talk very much. In fact, he is a standard nerd. He doesn’t understand anything except science. It’s beyond my expectation that he can open his mouth to tell stories and history. To tell such a story that sounds credible, even the year, is really unbelievable, at least not made up by him.
It was a night in October, and the sky just started to cool down a little bit. I wore a shirt and walked on the mountain road to find another student of mine. I suddenly remembered this The road seems to be the so-called “a braid” road. It was late at that time, it was almost twelve o’clock at about eleven. Many students in Hong Kong are accustomed to doing things in the middle of the night. Studying, group discussions or other activities can reach two or three in the morning, and usually get up at ten in the morning. The professors and assistants who come together are not quite used to it. At that time, I was young and strong, and I soon went to the countryside to follow the customs.
Although it was still brightly lit near the student dormitory at that time, the mountain was already very dark, and some street lights were of poor quality. The light was quite dim, which forced me Had to take out the phone to light up. As I walked, I remembered the story that the student told me about the ghost of the braided child that day, and I was muttering in my heart as I was walking on “a braided road”. There is a faint feeling that the moon was dark and windy that day, the weather was cool, and the lights were dim. Isn’t this mountain path suitable for haunting? When I was bored, I thought about what happened to the boy who saw the ghost of his child? What will happen then? Will he be killed? Will be scared to death? Will yell “ah” and run away? Will your feet be entangled with braids? Who knows?
Thinking about it, the light of the phone suddenly went black. “Fuck it, isn’t the battery dead?” I cursed inwardly.
At this moment, a girl appeared in front of me. The girl is sitting on a step in front of my feet. She is wearing a set of clothes that should be white, with a faintly gray feeling. A ponytail is draped down her back to her waist, her head is lowered, and her shoulders are shaking slightly. It feels like crying. When I got closer, I faintly heard her crying. I didn’t believe in superstitions and ghosts. I was still a little scared. I took a step back subconsciously and laughed at myself secretly: “What are you afraid of, a man who is a man, I was actually scared by a crying girl.”
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According to the legend, if I encounter a ghost, of course I should pretend not to see it and go straight down. But for me at that time, it was a bit unbearable. How can you bear to lose a girl and cry here alone? Besides, C is open-ended, and outsiders can come in and play, so it is not very safe here. What if you encounter people with bad intentions? Still have to go up and persuade.
Thinking of this, I summoned my courage and went up and said, “Hello. This classmate……”Although I am not too old for these classmates, my identity is a research assistant after all, and I am considered a half-teacher in the university. I am not bad-hearted, and posing as a teacher can also avoid unnecessary embarrassment. I said, “Classmate, do you have any difficulties? “
“You… are you talking to me?” “She stopped crying, but didn’t turn her head.
“Didn’t you scare you?” “I said, “I see you here alone…”
“What’s up with you!” “Her tone is a little angry.
“No, don’t get me wrong, I just think you might not be safe here. “
She did not answer, did not answer, just sat there motionless. The atmosphere was a bit stiff. For a second I felt that I was a little nosy, people are here What does it matter to me crying and telling the truth? Also, if the man sitting here crying is a big man with a bottle of beer, would you go and take care of it like this? Not just to see that girl looks…what do you think. I clear my mind, it feels a bit boring to be so stiff, so I just want to forget it, and let’s go.
But when it’s settled, I’m a person who likes to be reasoned and I don’t move. I sighed with emotion. So he said, “Hey, life, what can’t you get through?” What can’t let go? What can’t you think of? “
After a sentence of emotion, I plan to leave.
She did not expect that she said gently behind her: “Hey, what did you say ? “
“What? “I’m afraid I heard it wrong.
She said in a louder voice: “Hey, what did you just say? Can you say it again? “
“Uh, I’ll just talk about it casually.” What can’t you let go of in your life? I don’t know what happened to you, but I advise you, want to start a bit, well, good luck to you, I’m leaving. “
“Hey,” I heard her say behind me, “Would you like to chat with me?” “
Of course I can’t ask for it. I’m also a good person, shit, I love stories, and it’s also a pleasure to help others, let alone listen to a girl with a nice voice. The story, going to meet the students, etc. are just forgotten. If you are late for a while, do the students dare to have opinions?
I said, “Well, you tell me and I will listen. ”