他莽莽撞撞地闯进一间黑森森的房子。房子里有一个人,在一张大纸上画着无数的抛物线。那些抛物线,有的跨度很大,就像一座桥,有的跨度很小,就像一张弓,有的没有跨度,只是一个点。他不解,壮着胆子问那人。那人抬起脸,他被吓了一惊:面无血色,双眼透出一股奇寒,让人见而生畏。那人看了他一眼,说,本来不能跟你说的,不过你能进来,也算是有缘。这些线就是人的生命线。啊!他又吓了一跳,那怎么一根不同一根的?这还不明白?这边的圆点是生,这边是 He dashed into a black-soaked house in a rage. There was a man in the house, painting a myriad of parabolas on a large piece of paper. Those parabolas, some great spans, like a bridge, some spans are small, like a bow, some without a span, just a point. He puzzled, boldly asked the man. The man raised his face, he was startled: no color, his eyes revealed a strange cold, people daunting. The man glanced at him and said that he could never tell you, but you can come in and be considered destined. These lines are the human lifeline. Ah! He was shocked, then how a different one? This does not understand? Here is the birth of the dots, here is