754. Insect Leg

Old Eggplant had also been curious about under the bed when he was little. Back then, bed frames usually had gaps beneath them, and parents would place boxes and chests underneath. Those occasional gaps had made young Old Eggplant extremely curious.

He still clearly remembered seeing a spider on the wall when he was little. He had wanted to swat it to death with a newspaper, but the nimble spider had fled all the way under the bed.

After that, Old Eggplant's fear of under the bed deepened. He had always worried that a spider was hiding underneath, ready to crawl up and burrow into his ear at any moment. That fearful anxiety had lasted a long time, only easing somewhat after he grew up.

Now, Old Eggplant's bed had a sealed-off underside. It made him feel secure.

In the game, he couldn't help bending down and peeking under the bed.

As his gaze gradually turned toward the dark space beneath the bed, Old Eggplant's heartbeat quickened as well.

Just as his eyes moved past the shoes and toward the position of the heels,

a furry insect leg quickly withdrew into the shadows.

"!!!"

Old Eggplant felt his heart skip half a beat.

Although the image of that insect leg had flashed by in an instant, Old Eggplant had seen it perfectly clearly. He could even count every hair on that pitch-black leg.

When people suffered extreme stimulation, they would inexplicably remember things they normally would never notice. For example, when being disciplined with a stick by their parents, they might remember what was playing on the television that day; when involved in a car accident, they might remember the color of a passerby's clothes. This was also a self-protection mechanism of the brain, weakening the person's impression of the