"Come closer..." The photographer's lazy voice came from under the black cloth behind the camera.

Bill and Wordsworth, standing a little far from Tina, moved closer to the girl in the middle.

"Okay, look at the camera!" Bill stared at the camera. The lights and the sunlight outside the door blinded the light ahead, and it took some effort for Bill to keep his brow from frowning.

The one-time flash light clicked, as if creating a small lightning bolt, which made people tremble unconsciously.

"Okay." The photographer let himself straighten up from under the black cloth.

Tina smiled back at Wordsworth.

After the photo was taken, Bill was sitting alone in the photo studio, while Tina and Wordsworth were whispering in the distance.

Although Bill looks carefree, he is actually a delicate child.

He knows that some strange things have happened in the lower city recently. Many children have received tempting invitations in their dreams, and many children have attended the appointment...

He knew that Wordsworth and Tina should have accepted that invitation too.

In fact, Bill also saw the handsome boy standing outside the amusement park in his dream.

However, Bill, who has experienced major shocks such as his father's death, is more mature than other children.

He was wary of such an invitation. Of course, he was not stupid enough to report to the education officer, but he just ignored the repeated invitations and tried his best to act like a numb and dull child.

He knew, however, that Wordsworth and Tina often came and went in and out of the place in ways unknown to him.

Kids who go there get a little weird. Their eyes will become furtive, they will have difficulty concentrating, and their faces will not look good.

Bill had been Wordsworth's best friend ever since he had read Wordsworth on the park bench and had the old man use his father's name. The two boys with different personalities seem to be a jigsaw puzzle with completely different shapes but very fitting. It takes little effort for their friendship to grow and thrive.

Bill also met Tina through Wordsworth. However, he didn't pay much attention to this tall and beautiful girl.

Although he knew that the two of them were involved in more troublesome things, Bill knew that he couldn't help much, so he had no choice but to continue to pretend to be stupid and pretend that he didn't know anything.

Still, Wordsworth was somewhat different from other children.

After some time, Bill found that his good friend often looked into the distance for no reason and thought, and repeatedly showed an overly old-fashioned expression. Bill knew Wordsworth had something on his mind.

At this time, the two of them were sitting on the park bench. The sun was setting behind them. In front of them, all objects, including the two of them, were drawn into long shadows. If you just look at the shadows on the ground, you may think that you have strayed into a fairy tale kingdom where everything is slender.

Bill knew that Wordsworth was the kind of person who would not take the initiative to speak out when he had something on his mind, so he naturally asked, "What's wrong? Something on your mind?"

Wordsworth turned his head and met Bill's eyes. Bill felt that this partner, who had always had clear eyes, suddenly felt a deep fatigue deep in his eyes, like a lamp that was about to burn out. Wordsworth, who rarely sighed before, sighed again: "Next, I have to make a very important, very important decision."

"I don't know what's wrong with me - I shouldn't have hesitated in this kind of thing.

"But this time I really don't know how to choose."

Bill could somehow feel that Wordsworth's vague words referred to whether he wanted to leave the "happy land" that the children kept secret.

"Should I always enjoy simple happiness like this, and just spend my life like this...

"Still..." He blinked. In Bill's eyes, Wordsworth was painted red by the setting sun, he was hunched, very different from before, "Stay away from those comforts and happiness, and do what I wanted to do before?"

"It seems that you haven't written a story for a long time." Bill said suddenly, without making a decision for Wordsworth, "How long has it been?"

Wordsworth shook his head in pain, as if blaming himself, as if full of contradictions: "Two months?...Three months?"

"Didn't write a single word?" After the story of the old man fighting the evil dragon, Bill also read four words written by Wordsworth. Definitely can become a great person.

"Not a single word." Wordsworth ran his fingers through his hair.

"Why? Don't want to write?"

"No, I want to write." The young man looked ahead—passers-by in overcoats walked by, stepping on the shadows of them and street lamps one by one, "but it's strange, I lost the urge to pick up that pen. I was restless all day long, filled with the urge to... go somewhere to play..."

"I want to write, but I seem to be controlled by something."

Bill remembered how his father once asked him about himself. No wonder he felt that everything that happened now was familiar. He asked, "Then can you tell? Is it the one who wants to write about you, the deepest thought, or the one who wants to go to a certain place?" Is it your real idea to play in this place?"

"I have no idea."

"You don't know..." Bill murmured, "I can't quite say, but I remember something my dad told me.

"That was when I went fishing with him. He told me—

"Always choose the harder path."

"Choose the harder path?" Wordsworth turned his head in bewilderment.

Bill nodded and went on, "He said that when he caught a mackerel.

"He said that he took the bait too easily because of desire; and inexplicably wanting to make more difficult choices is the calling of the heart."

Taking the bait too easily is because of desire; and inexplicably wanting to make more difficult choices is the calling of the heart.

Wordsworth's frown furrowed slightly.

Bill turned his face: "Dad said~lightnovelpub.net~The fish that bite the bait are defeated by desire, and those fish that see the bait but swim down into the deeper and colder water all answered the call.

"You said, should you bite the hook easily, or should you bite your teeth and swim in the cold water?

"Do you want to be canned fish?"

Wordsworth's brows were completely untied, and he was speechless for a while, blinking at his friend beside him.

The street lights came on, and the sun sank behind the green hills.

He still looked at Bill that way.

"I see."

Bill felt that the lingering ghost of Wordsworth suddenly evaporated, and his eyes seemed to be able to see the past light in the depths through a thick fog. It is also like a fish in the sea, it no longer looks up at the tempting bait, but chooses to lower its head and stare at the deeper and colder seabed...

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