Lin Wan is the successor of the 21st century, with fair skin, beauty and long legs. The family is rich and has numerous mansions. Unexpectedly, I woke up and was transported back to the 1970s. Fortunately, God was kind to her and gave her system golden fingers and space resources. Not to mention having a great time.
When I met a rough guy from the countryside, Shen Zhanfeng, I fell in love with the young lady from the city at first sight. He strives to improve himself and is not like a mud-legged person who hunts for food in the countryside. He wanted to gain power and hold her in his arms.
Lin Wan thought to herself, this seems good.
Reader comments
Hello (*≧∪≦)👋🏻, this period novel has a spatial golden finger and is related to the male protagonist, #chronological: specimens forgotten by time. Those yellowed period texts, like specimens in glass cabinets in museums, solidify the breath and body temperature of a specific era. Authors use the threads of collective memory to bundle history into neat packages, but often forget that the true texture of each era is woven from countless contradictory fibers. The excessive beautification and simplification of the old times has reduced these words to emotional sugar substitutes - so sweet that they are deliberately sweet and so bitter that they are artificial. A truly moving narrative of the times should be a prism that can reflect the rainbow of collective memory while retaining the edges of personal experience. When the text is only satisfied with recreating the scene in memory instead of digging into the soul behind the scene, no matter how exquisite nostalgia is, it is nothing more than a gilded shackles. Every era deserves to be recorded honestly, not dressed up.
Hello (*≧∪≦)👋🏻, this period novel has a spatial golden finger and is related to the male protagonist, #chronological: specimens forgotten by time. Those yellowed period texts, like specimens in glass cabinets in museums, solidify the breath and body temperature of a specific era. Authors use the threads of collective memory to bundle history into neat packages, but often forget that the true texture of each era is woven from countless contradictory fibers. The excessive beautification and simplification of the old times has reduced these words to emotional sugar substitutes - so sweet that they are deliberately sweet and so bitter that they are artificial. A truly moving narrative of the times should be a prism that can reflect the rainbow of collective memory while retaining the edges of personal experience. When the text is only satisfied with recreating the scene in memory instead of digging into the soul behind the scene, no matter how exquisite nostalgia is, it is nothing more than a gilded shackles. Every era deserves to be recorded honestly, not dressed up.