After graduating from college, Lin Mo lay flat for three months, and his resume sank without a trace.
His only job was to serve as a “sky screen projectionist” for the dynasties of history.
Ying Zheng stared at the honeycomb briquette. “You can burn this? It lasts longer than my firewood?”
Liu Bang watched the donkey-cart warrior and laughed until he cried. “A Song emperor fled in a donkey cart? Hahahaha!”
Li Shimin fell silent. That was how I got through the night of the Xuanwu Gate Incident, too...
Zhao Guangyi: Have you no manners?
Lin Mo slurped instant noodles and muttered to himself: Go ahead and get mad, but can I cash in those observation points?
Later, he came across a video of Chai Rong. Seeing that he was still alive, Emperor Shizong of Later Zhou suddenly smiled. There was still time.
Lin Mo slurped down his last mouthful of noodles. “Get sentimental all you want, but my noodles are going cold.”
It's not good enough. A common problem with this type of writing is that the first dozen or so sentences are video content, followed by all kinds of comments.
A lump. . . . . .
Why do you write that sometimes two chapters are exactly the same? Don't you read it yourself?
So much nonsense. . . . .