Killing, black-bellied, not the Holy Mother, on the top of the immortals, there will be a place for me wherever I write.
In the rental house at three o'clock in the morning, the ashtray was filled with cigarette butts. Chen Mo stared at "To be continued" on the computer screen, and the cigarette butts on his fingertips burned his skin before he suddenly came back to his senses. As the lowest writer on the Internet, he had just received a termination notice from the website. The physical examination report that popped up in the lower right corner of the screen was like a vicious taunt - terminal lung cancer.
"Fuck, you're not even qualified to be a bad guy." He laughed self-deprecatingly, grabbed the Erguotou on the table and drank it hard. When the alcohol burned his throat, his heart suddenly seemed to be clenched by an invisible hand. Before his consciousness sank into darkness, the last thing he saw was the name of the protagonist in the document who was scolded by readers as the "Holy Mother's Cancer" - Mo Chen.
When he opened his eyes again, the dazzling sunlight filtered through the carved wooden windows. Chen Mo struggled to sit up and found himself lying on an antique wooden bed, wearing a coarse cloth gown. What's even weirder is that there are some memories that are not his own in his mind: the original owner of this body is called Mo Chen, a descendant of the Mo family, a third-rate family in Qingyang City. He was considered an outcast because of his mixed spiritual roots. Yesterday, during the family trial, he was pushed down the stone steps by his cousin Mo Feng and hit the back of the head.
"Mo Chen?" Chen Mo touched the lump on the back of his head and laughed suddenly, "I have killed hundreds of villains, but I still can't cure you natives?"
