The Seventh Record, Abandoned House in Ming Valley, March 1999.

The ink stains on the old diary spread out on the table, stroke by stroke, devoid of the typical feminine hesitations, but filled with a resolute determination that penetrates through the paper. Emmer diligently imitates this handwriting, seeking to understand the writer's state of mind as expressed in every word and line.

"Do we need to demolish that house? Who said we need to demolish it? Who said that?" Emmer's face suddenly changed, and his voice became sharp, which frightened the tour guide who kept waving his hands. "I just said it casually. I don't know if it will be demolished or not... Anyway, someone is measuring it. You can go and see for yourself."

I don't know if I can find the final outcome. Em murmured to himself.

Looking at her back, the tour guide was stunned for a while before coming back to his senses, shaking his head and sighing, "What is this girl doing, going crazy."

Ha, it's you again!

Emo stared blankly at the ceiling with empty eyes, and countless scenes flashed through his mind.

Go away! The worker instinctively pushed her.

"What did you say?" The editor was taken aback.

"How would I know," the tour guide sneered. "This tourist spot doesn't attract many visitors, and it's troublesome to maintain. I heard that the tourism bureau has long wanted to demolish the old buildings and build hotels here instead. But the higher-ups have been suppressing the idea. I don't know who has such great connections this time, but they managed to get approval and fenced off the area. I'm sure they're going to demolish it. The mountaintop is such a prime location, building a luxury hotel there would definitely make a profit!"

The snow-white camellias are in full bloom, and the petals are fluttering in the wind. Some of them fall into the worker's mud bucket and are quickly mixed into the mortar, smearing the brick wall. The scraper smooths the mortar layer by layer, leaving sharp marks. The harsh sound of metal scraping against stone pierces the heart like a deep cut.

Does it really not matter?

The wind of March, blowing cool on the face, Emo inserted his hands into the pockets of his windbreaker and slowly walked down the long street.

As someone heavily patted on her shoulder, Emo was startled and almost jumped up. When she turned around, it was the tour guide carrying a small flag on his shoulder. Behind him, groups of tourists were coming down from the mountain, many of them holding colorful postcards in their hands. It seemed that they had made a good profit today.

However, this book has not been finished yet. There is a second book too, sigh... The female clerk took the money and let out a long sigh, "I don't know when the author will be able to write it. I am so anxious to know the ending."

In the midst of an indifferent crowd, no one had the inclination to pay attention to others, except for a little girl carrying a backpack who turned her head and quietly watched her.

Emo stared at him without saying a word.

Nowadays, an abandoned house is the only trace they left behind. If even this building is demolished, their final mark will be erased. Could it be that the countless romances, enduring the erosion of time, are no match for the axes and hammers of future generations?

Cannot be dismantled, do not dismantle here. She shook her head, her eyes turning red. Her foolish appearance made the two workers look at each other. One of the workers stepped forward and grabbed her, but she pushed him fiercely, erupting into an unreasonable anger. "Let me in, I want to go in! I want to go home!"

Her response, however, was irrelevant, "Who gave you the definition?"

Emo shook his head and smiled, then picked up the book and walked out of the bookstore.

The landlady knocked on the door and called Amer to come downstairs for dinner, smiling and saying that she had made her signature fish ball soup tonight.

She studied this diary word by word and line by line, from the first word to the last. Between the lines, she seemed to see the figure of the person who was as pure as a white camellia, calmly writing under the orange light. She could almost hear the sound of her pen scratching on the paper, like sand slowly falling through an hourglass or silent quicksand burying everything.

"Do we really have to demolish it?" Emre repeated, seeming hesitant.

The editor-in-chief shook his head and said, "I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with the history of the Republic of China, but I know that there were countless warlords in old China. Based on their merits and demerits, they can all be considered reactionary warlords. If the house you mentioned is the former residence of a great figure, then it is worth protecting. However, there are countless dilapidated houses of ordinary celebrities that cannot be properly maintained. It is normal to demolish an old house where a warlord once lived, especially if it has been reduced to ruins."

I don't know when I returned to the hotel, and I forgot how I came down the mountain. When I pushed open the door of the room, I saw a manuscript on the table at a glance. Emo suddenly felt powerless all over, as if his whole body had been emptied, and he even lost the strength to speak. After lying on the bed for a moment, everything went dark before his eyes.

Everything was done in an orderly manner. Aimo was calm, with a clear mind, and knew exactly what she should do.

Emo stood in front of the poster, staring blankly at the familiar cover and name for a long time, then pushed open the door and walked into the bookstore.

Emo is not discouraged, and she goes to local media, newspapers, TV stations, radio stations, and even magazines. The media showed some interest. The editor-in-chief of a local tabloid, after seeing the photos she brought, regretfully said, "There is too little information. It's just a ruined building from the Republic of China period. It may not have much significance. As for any important events or figures related to it, from what we currently know, it's just an early warlord's villa, not of great research value."

Without the sunshine in the afternoon, the whole room exuded a strange darkness. The wind blew in from the terrace, and the blinds' cords scraped against the wall intermittently. The papers on the table rustled loudly, as if something had come to life between the lines.

The worker ignored it, while another worker raised his head at the sound and responded in a dull manner.

Emo bit her lip tightly, tears welled up in the corners of her eyes.

Emo woke up at noon on the second day. It had been a long time since he had slept so deeply, as if it didn't matter if he slept forever.

Emo's palms were sweating, and chills ran down her back. Suddenly, she didn't want to stay in this room for another moment. She turned around, grabbed her backpack and keys, and dashed out as if escaping, slamming the door shut behind her.

Emo stared blankly as the bricks were laid one by one, his mind went blank.