Chen Lin traveled to a parallel world where entertainment was scarce. I also picked up a small cotton-padded jacket for nothing.
"Dad, get up. Aunt Zhang is urging you to sing. Are you good at composing?"
"Don't worry, I can write her song in three minutes!" A certain salted fish turned over and continued to sleep soundly.
"The script Uncle Feng asked for is also due today..."
The little cotton-padded jacket recited the tightening curse. The king of singers and queens have arranged for songs, and the gold medal screenwriters have invited drafts. The schedule is full for this salted fish.
Before Chen Lin opened his eyes, he felt that life was dark: "What a system of rewarding those who work hard, have you made a mistake? I just want to be a salted fish."
