A woman is forty years old, and she has been born in the same age.
Day after day, year after year, I could not help but degenerate myself under the humble and condescending mechanized labor of daily necessities.
But one day, the whirlpool of fate took away her sustenance and scattered her reliance. Her withered hands grasped and grasped, but could not grasp the legendary life-saving straw.
Then one day, she was still the same at forty years old. How could she, who was supposed to be vulgar, regain her twenty-year-old figure and appearance? God, is this a blessing or a curse?
Before she could get used to it, what happened to the former junior who broke into her life?
