Fortunately, the Christmas comes ! I have two weeks to respire. I’ll come back and write some resume of interesting course of university. Cause this year, I moved into Management and Ingenierie of Information System ! I think it will do help someone !

I talked this to the support center of my web hosting, they told me that, maybe it’s the government who block it or the problem of yahoo……

So what i can do for this? Maybe, i should add an information in the email’s signed, just like: ” if you want to contact me by email, please do not use Yahoo China Email Account.” or ” No Yahoo China Email Please ! “…..

Whatever, the life is not stop, the problem will go on.

Maybe I should talk to the Yahoo support center.

But everyone hesitate to make a choice

Why?

Maybe that’s because the heart can be hurt

We are afraid to hurt but also to be hurt

Feelings in this time become a knife

Cutting the heart and the life

How can be survival?

Before, my site can not filter the posts very well in a language which is determined by the browser’s language setting to show on the homepage.
When I use the code :
<?php if ($_SERVER["HTTP_ACCEPT_LANGUAGE"] != “zh-CN”) {query_posts(‘cat=57,16′);} ?>
in homepage, the posts can be filtered correctly in IE7: If your browser’s language setting is zh-CN, the homepage will show all the posts, else, the homepage will show all the posts in category ID 57/16.
But in IE6 or FireFox, it doesn’t work. Because the browser’s language setting is “zh-cn”, it’s not “zh-CN”.

So I added a condition :
<?php
            $lan=&$_SERVER["HTTP_ACCEPT_LANGUAGE"];
            if (($lan != “zh-CN”)&&($lan != “zh-cn”)) {query_posts(‘cat=57,16′);}
?>

Maybe it is not very “beautiful”, but it works very well for me! So hope it can help you! Maybe one day, I can make it smarter!

Ps: The codition part is a general format in PHP code, but the execute part is only for WordPress!

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x9QNKB34cJo[/youtube]

Download:
http://www.megaupload.com/?d=P6O51L23
http://rapidshare.com/files/1001…

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uSQnK5FcKas[/youtube]
History:
http://chineseculture.about.com/library/china…

Private Sub Command1_Click()
　r = InputBox(“Enter a number please”) ‘ Enter a number to verify
　For i = 2 To r
　　　If Val(r) Mod i = 0 And i <> Val(r) Then ‘ this phase give a condition which is not a prime number
　　　　MsgBox (“The numbered you entered is not a prime number”)
　　　　Exit Sub
　　　End If
　Next i
　MsgBox (“The numbered you entered is not a prime number”)
End Sub

‘A list of number from 1 to 100
Private Sub Command2_Click()
　r = 100
　Me.Caption = 0
　Me.ForeColor = vbBlue
　For j = 1 To r
　　　For i = 2 To j
　　　　　If Val(j) Mod i = 0 And i <> Val(j) Then
　　　　　　Me.ForeColor = vbBlue ‘color of a not prime number
　　　　　　Exit For
　　　　　Else
　　　　　　Me.ForeColor = vbRed ‘color of a prime number
　　　　　End If
　　　Next i
　　Print ” ” & Format(j, “000″);
　　If Me.ForeColor = vbRed Then Me.Caption = Me.Caption + 1 ‘total of the prime number
　　If j Mod 10 = 0 Then Print
　Next j
End Sub

Time went by… the little boy had grown up and he no longer played around the tree every day. One day, the boy came back to the tree and he looked sad. “Come and play with me,” the tree asked the boy. “I am no longer a kid, I don’t play around trees anymore.” The boy replied, “I want toys. I need money to buy them.” “Sorry, but I don’t have money…but you can pick all my apples and sell them. So, you will have money.” The boy was so excited. He grabbed all the apples on the tree and left happily. The boy never came back after he picked the apples. The tree was sad.

One day, the boy returned and the tree was so excited. “Come and play with me,” the tree said. “I don’t have time to play. I have to work for my family. We need a house for shelter. Can you help me?” “Sorry, but I don’t have a house. But you can chop off my branches to build your house.” So the boy cut all the branches off the tree and left happily. The tree was glad to see him happy but the boy never came back since then. The tree was again lonely and sad.

One hot summer day, the boy returned and the tree was delighted. “Come and play with me!” the tree said. “I am sad and getting old. I want to go sailing to relax myself. Can you give me a boat?” “Use my trunk to build your boat. You can sail far away and be happy.” So the boy cut the tree trunk to make a boat. He went sailing and never showed up for a long time. The tree was happy, but it was not true.

Finally, the boy returned after he left for so many years. “Sorry, my boy. But I don’t have anything for you anymore. No more apples for you…” the tree said.

　　“I don’t have teeth to bite,” the boy replied.

        “No more trunk for you to climb on.”

　　“I am too old for that now,” the boy said.

　　“I really can’t give you anything… the only thing left is my dying roots,” the tree said with tears.

        “I don’t need much now, just a place to rest. I am tired after all these years.” The boy replied.

　　“Good! Old tree roots is the best place to lean on and rest. Come, Come sit down with me and rest.” The boy sat down and the tree was glad and smiled with tears…

        This is a story of everyone. The tree is our parent. When we were young, we loved to play with Mom and Dad… When we grown up, we left them, and only came to them when we need something or when we are in trouble. No matter what, parents will always be there and give everything they could to make you happy. You may think that the boy is cruel to the tree but that’s how all of us are treating our parents.

        Take time out during the day for quiet time to listen to your inner voice. You may want to use your quiet time to meditate or pray. However you use this time, the key is to shut out all of the noise around you by focusing deep within yourself. Breathing deeply during quiet time will also help you focus. I know it’s hard to find quiet time during a particularly busy day, but it’s so important — even if it’s just 10 minutes a day and you have to sneak away to get it. Quiet time can really make a difference in your life. It enables you to hear God speaking to your heart reminding you of His perfect love for you.

        Be honest with yourself by paying attention to your actions. Actions speak louder than words, and they always tell the truth. What do your actions say about you? If you say you love your job, but your actions say otherwise, which do you think is more true — your words or your actions? On the other hand, if you say you’re not good at a certain job, but your actions say otherwise, that’s also important. What do you do with this insight? You can use it to make more beneficial choices in your life. By being honest with yourself based on your previous actions, your actions moving forward will be based on truth instead of just what you tell yourself.

        Despite what your subconscious may be telling you, you can have love with no limits. The key is to unconditionally love yourself first.

    First of all, I’ve changed my bolg name! Now it’s named “Serenity” !   

    I’m sorry that I haven’t update my blog for one month, because my study and the exams. Luckily I’ve got a better note than before, but my demand for Google AdSense has refused and my 1300€ caution for appartement remain only 650€. The bad news comes always on double! 

    Whatever, that’s my personal staff, you won’t be interested. 

    So back to main subject, do you like the new face of this blog ? It’s a personal made (I design and I code), support many functions (such as Widget, Flickr and Wp page navi …), 3 colum and a few bugs ! I named it “Serenity”, the same as my blog name.

    This is my second time to make a theme, I did my best. The test in IE7.0 and FireFox, gives no serious bugs. The only one I saw is that the underline for “Recent Comments || Articles” in sidebar don’t display in IE7.0, but in FireFox it’s OK. I can’t find the reason for this ! so if you know, tell me please.

    Hope you will like it and enjoy yourself on my blog. By the way, tell me the bugs you found.Thank you!

   If you really like this theme, leave me your Email in the comment, I’ll send it to you later.

Everyone knows Excel, it is a very useful and smart software. It can help us to do lot of things, especially in financial affairs, personal budget, etc. It is very very easy to use it!

But to use it on an advanced application developpement, is really difficult! Maybe that’s because my level is not high enough, maybe I’m not clever enough, maybe many reasons. Anyway, I spent too much time on it that I have no more time for my site, for this blog!

Luckly, today I’ve just finished it in this afternoon! So I come back !

Hope I will have a good note!

The prologue included a brief interview with R.E. producer Shinji Mikami, and (voila!), a short 7-chapter novel (written by Hiroyuki Ariga) followed.

The story begins when Chris receives a strange late-night call from his long-lost friend Billy Rabitson, and ends when the S.T.A.R.S. chopper lands at the Spencer estate. About 16 or so illustrations graced the pages of this book. Many of them have now become classics.

Right now discover the texts, which explain the events that took place before the beginning of Resident Evil.

Chapter One: Resident Evil

Whenever the phone rings in the middle of the night. I know someone’s dead who wasn’t dead the day before. Happens all the time. Except when it’s a wrong number. Like this totally drunk woman who thought I was her long lost lover. Or the idiot who tied up my line with a long monologue in Portuguese.

I’ve had this late-night fear of the phone for five years now, ever since a state police chaplain called me at two a.m. to tell me my parents were dead. Their vacation van had been crushed by a runaway big rig. The coroner had to ID them through dental records, they were mangled so bad.
 
Even though I’m assigned to S.T.A.R.S., Special Tactics and Rescue Squad, a Raccoon City P.D. strike force formed to handle violent crime and victim rescues, I still get spooked when the phone rings in the dark hours before dawn. A lot of felonies are perpetrated at night. Most people are sleeping, so there usually aren’t any witnesses around. A violent crime can go unreported for hours. Which means that when I get there, the victim’s usually stiff as a board.

Yeah, when that phone rings late at night, it’s a good bet something bad’s going down.

Like a half hour ago. I was having my favorite dream, the one where I’m a rock star besieged by adoring female fans, when I got a call from Billy, my best friend from school. Normally, I like hearing from old friends, even in the middle of the night. But this was not a normal call, not unless they’d started installing cell phones in coffins. Billy, you see, had been dead for three months.

My old buddy had been an up-and-coming researcher for a large local outfit called the Umbrella Company. Then, about three months before, he’d suddenly been transferred to Chicago to work on some hush-hush research project. He’d left Raccoon City aboard the Company’s corporate jet on what seemed like a routine flight. It turned out to be anything but routine. An hour after takeoff, ground control lost radar and voice contact with the aircraft.

The day after the jet’s disappearance, a fishing boat found several pieces of the plane’s wreckage and the bodies of eight passengers floating in the Great Lakes. Billy and 12 other passengers were never found, and searchers finally concluded that their bodies had mysteriously sunk into the cold depths. Case closed, except for the memorial service for Billy, and some bittersweet memories of a good friend I’d never see again.

Or hear from again. This call had to be some kind of twisted joke. “Whoever you are, you’ve got a sick sense of humor,” I said, wishing I could get my hands on the miscreant on the other end of the line.

“Chris, I swear it’s me. Billy.

This time I listened closely to the caller’s voice, zeroing in on his tone and inflection. It sure sounded like Billy. But I wanted to hear him speak another couple of sentences before I made up my mind. “If this is Billy, tell me how you survived the plane crash.”

“I wasn’t on the plane when it crashed, Chris. Twenty minutes after the Company jet took off, it landed at a private airstrip in the next state. I was taken off the plane and driven right back to Raccoon City.”

I no longer had any doubt. The voice belonged to my old friend. “What’s this all about, Billy? Why would the Umbrella Company go to all the trouble to fly you somewhere, then drive you right back? And why didn’t the Company tell your family and friends that you were still alive? I don’t get any of this.”

“It was necessary that I disappear,” Billy said.

I sat up in bed and looked at the luminescent clock on my nightstand. It was one a.m. I’d only been asleep a couple of hours. No wonder I was still beat. And the drinks I’d thrown down earlier in the evening weren’t making me any sharper.

“I assume you and the Umbrella Company have some real good reason why you had to go underground.”

“Not a ‘good’ reason. An evil one. I’ve been part of a terrible mistake.”

I took a long hit on the water bottle I kept beside the bed. “What kind of mistake.”

“I wish I could tell you everything, Chris, but I can’t reveal details over the phone. You understand.”

“I understand all right. I understand that my best friend is getting weird on me.”

“Chris, I know a secret, the most terrible secret you could imagine.”

“What secret? What are you talking about?”

“The secret behind the chain of murders you’re trying to solve.”

“Don’t play with me Billy. I wanna know what you know.”

“I told you, not over the phone. The line might be tapped.”

“Unlikely.”

“I’m not taking the chance,” he snapped, his voice high-pitched and nervous.

“So what do you want to do?”

“I want to meet. Just you and I.”

“Okay. Where and when?”

“The park near Victory Lake, you know, to the north of the city. Get there as quick as you can.

“What’s the rush?”

“There are people trying to kill me, Chris.”

That did add a degree of urgency. “Okay, buddy, I’ll be there in thirty-five, forty minutes.”

I put on the same clothes I’d taken off two hours before, grabbed another bottle of spring water from the refrigerator and swigged down half in one big gulp. The other half I poured over my head on the way to my car. If I had to hit the road in the middle of the night, I figured it was better to be wet and awake than dry and dead.

My Shelby Cobra rumbled to life and I headed for Victory Lake, confident I could get there in under 40 minutes. Hell, in a Shelby, you can get halfway to the moon in 40 minutes. I took an S-curve at twice the posted speed, then eased back on the pedal and thought about Billy.

He and I had been practically inseparable right through high school, despite that we were considered the “Odd Couple” of our class. Billy was a straight “A” student who never got in trouble, while I barely made passing grades and spent half my life in the principal’s office.

After we graduated, Billy enrolled at M.I.T, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Knowing I wasn’t ready for college yet, I enlisted in the Air Force. We didn’t see each other much for the next four years, although I’d get a letter from him every six months or so. I’m ashamed to say, I never wrote back.

A month after he’d finished gradate school, Billy went to work for the Umbrella Company in Raccoon City. About a year later, I returned home to join the S.T.A.R.S. team. Billy and I quickly resumed our friendship, and saw each other frequently before he announced he was being transferred to Chicago.

Now that I thought about it, it did seem odd that he wouldn’t have written to me at least once in the past year. At the time, I just figured he was busy. But now I knew there was another reason and, to judge by Billy’s terrified voice, a far more sinister reason, why I hadn’t heard from my old friend. What that reason was, I hadn’t a clue.

I cut through the deserted downtown section of Raccoon City and turned onto a two-lane secondary road running north as straight as an arrow. There was nothing else on the road this early, not even farm tractors, and I pressed the accelerator down hard. The Shelby’s big V-8 responded with a throaty roar and I felt my shoulders slammed back hard against the seat as the speedometer climbed to 110 MPH.

Five minutes later I spotted the first hills ahead and eased back on the accelerator. I’ve always gotten a thrill out of mountain driving, and I speed-shifted down to third, then second as the Shelby whipped through the first hairpin turn. The road became steeper as it climbed the mountain, and the curves turned into a series of hairpin turns. My arms were beginning to ache from whipping the wheel back and forth.

Then, just as I started powering through a sharp curve, a woman suddenly appeared in my headlights. I’m doing seventy-five and she’s close enough to be a hood ornament. I downshifted and slammed on the brakes, but I could see I was still going to hit her. So I did the only thing I could. I yanked the wheel hard and plowed the Shelby into the bank bordering the road.

The engine cut out when I hit, and for several seconds I sat there in the sudden silence feeling for broken bones and wounds. Fortunately, there were none, and I turned my attention back to the girl. She had apparently collapsed during the close call, and was lying on the pavement about ten feet from the car. I got out and hurried toward her. As I neared, I noticed with horror that her entire body was covered with gaping wounds.

I came real close to heaving at that point. I mean there were bones sticking through her skin and little geysers of blood where arteries had been torn apart. I fought back my nausea and knelt by her side. She raised a hand weakly and I took it in mine.

“Dear God, lady, what happened to you?”

“He…” her lips formed the word, but no sound came out.

Her throat was cut.

I forced myself to look down at the rest of her mangled body, and gasped at the sight of her lower torso. A huge section of her stomach had been ripped out — as if a Great White shark had bittenn through her middle–and her internal organs had popped out onto the road.

My hands and arms were covered with sticky blood by now and I could hardly breathe, the air was so thick with the stench of reeking intestines. Then, when I thought this nightmarish scene couldn’t get any worse, a terrified scream split the night. I turned in the direction of the cry and spotted a late model convertible pulled over with its top down about fifty feet up the road.

In the moonlight, I saw some kind of huge animal leap into the open car. At first I thought it was a big black Newfoundland. Then 1 realized this thing was at least twice as big as a Newf. The driver started screaming again, and I could see his arms flailing as he tried to fight off the beast. Then, suddenly, he was quiet.

I grabbed my Beretta automatic from under the Cobra’s dash and ran toward the convertible. Fifteen feet away I stopped and aimed the pistol skyward. At the sound of the gunshot the beast whirled and fixed me with a terrible glare. It had hellish red eyes, as if the pupils were oozing blood, and yellowed fangs that looked as fierce as a saber-toothed tiger.

A strange, guttural cry suddenly sprang from the animal’s mouth. “Kuooon,” it shrieked, raising the hair on the back of my neck. Stay cool, I reminded myself. You’ve got a gun, and it doesn’t. Chances are, it doesn’t even know what a gun is. Ipso facto, You, Chris Redfield, are in total command.

The beast leaped down from the car and took an ominous step toward me. Or not.

In the blink of an eye, the gruesome thing was two steps closer. I could smell it now, and the odor was putrid. Like decay. Like death. Time to get serious. I raised my pistol in both hands, took a breath and fired point blank at the creature’s head.

Nothing. No gushing blood, no fragmented flesh and bones. I might as well have been tossing popcorn at the thing. I mean, I know I hadn’t missed. Not from that range. But there were no bullet holes. Hell, the beast didn’t even look winded. What piece of devil’s work was this?

I emptied my pistol at the animal, and was about to make a break for my car, when it suddenly seemed to lose interest in me. The beast gave a final shriek, then turned abruptly and disappeared into the dark woods. For a long time I stood there shaking, the sweat soaking my shirt. Then I took a calming breath, reloaded my Beretta and very carefully approached the convertible.

The driver was dead, of course, ripped apart as cruelly as the woman I’d just left. Half his face was missing, and one eyeball hung from its smashed socket by a string of tissue. The moonlight was shining down directly into the man’s half-open skull, making his brain appear all shiny and pink. The rest of his body looked like it had just emerged from a meat grinder. Not much left you could recognize as human.

I’d seen a lot of deaths lately. Five, counting the two people who’d just died before my eyes. The first murder had happened six months before, and I’d been investigating the strange cases ever since.

Actually, the word “strange” didn’t half fit these killings. Something sinister was at work here, some force beyond a simple human murderer. I’ve been putting in 18-hour days looking for answers, but so far the only thanks I’ve gotten is a boot in the tail from the media. They keep insisting the police aren’t working hard enough on the case. Guess it goes with the turf when you’re a public servant.

I went back to my car and radioed in a report to police headquarters. I couldn’t leave the murder scene unsecured, so I wafted until I heard the approaching sirens, then took off again for Victory Lake. But now there was no way I’d be on time.

Chapter Two: The Necklace

Billy,” I called into the wet wind off the lake, acutely aware that I was half an hour late for our meeting.

No answer, just as there hadn’t been any answer to my previous calls. The night was still hot and I could feel the sweat dripping off the ridge of my chin. I turned and looked toward the moonlit parking lot. My silver Shelby was the only car there. Had Billy gotten tired of waiting and left? Or maybe he’d hidden his car in the trees so no one would know he was there.

I grabbed a large police flashlight from the trunk and began a search of the nearby woods and brush. I looked for an hour but found nothing. Except memories. Billy and I used to play together in this park as kids. Our favorite place had been the boathouse down on the lakeshore. On a whim, I decided to check the old building out.

The door creaked on its hinges as I entered the darkened building and snapped on my flashlight. I swept the light around the interior. There were a half dozen small boats and canoes lying around in various stages of disrepair, a couple covered with what looked to be years of cobwebs. The rest of the space was taken up with disassembled outboard motors and various pieces of machinery and tools.

“Billy, you in here?” I called out. “It’s me, Chris.”

No response. The night was dead still, but for the muffled sound of wind-driven wavelets lapping against the boathouse pilings. I was turning to leave when my light suddenly glinted off a shiny metallic object of some kind lying on the floor. I walked over and stared down at a gold necklace with a small gold coin attached.