Prehistoric: When She Was Eight Years Old, She Wrote a Poem to Nuwa, but She Couldn't Sit Still.

This book is like chicken ribs, which are meatless when eaten but tasteless when discarded. Looking at the chapters, the old words are gone but there is no new meaning; looking at the words, the narrative is straightforward but without any waves. If you hold it on your desk, it only takes up space; if you put it in a high cabinet, you will have no regrets. Just like Cao Cao's battle in Hanzhong, he gained nothing when he advanced and suffered no great losses when he retreated, leaving only the sigh of "it's a pity to abandon it, and nothing to gain from eating it".

There are so many classical Chinese texts in this book that I can only understand it, so it is indeed a masterpiece [laughing crookedly]