朱普揑着刀尖,漫不经心地让那把刀子在他手底下摇来摆去。那是一把又长又薄的切面包刀,看得出来它很锋利。他猛一甩手,把刀子送到高高的空中。它滴溜溜地转,象螺旋桨那么呼呼的响,飞到空中去。在夕阳斜照里,明晃晃的刀刃闪闪发亮,象是一条金鱼,不住地往上钻,渐渐失去动力,最后对准朱普的脑袋笔直地栽下来。他却象闪电那么快地把一块木头放到脑袋上,刀子咔嚓一响,正好插进那块木头,颤颤巍巍地立在那上面了。朱普从脑袋上拿下那 Zhu Pu tip of the knife, casually let the knife in his hands under the swing. It was a long, thin, sliced ​​knife that looked sharp. He fiercely shook his hand, the knife sent to the high air. It drifts slowly, whirring like a propeller, into the air. Shining in the setting sun, shining bright blade, like a goldfish, do not live up to drilling, gradually lose motivation, and finally directed at Zhu Pu’s head planted straight down. Instead, he put a piece of wood on his head like a lightning bolt, and the knife clicked, just as he inserted it into the piece of wood, trembling upright on it. Zhu Pu won it from his head