I stepped into an ancient dog-blood novel, and my identity was not that of the heroine, not the supporting character, or even a human being.
——I am a disposable sterile cotton swab.
In the plot, I am the key prop to promote all the famous scenes:
I was the one who wiped the heroine's "diamond tears", I was the one who dipped into the male protagonist's "extremely expensive poison", and I was the one who was "clicked" by the angry CEO to vent his anger.
According to the original plot, I would be soaked in blood in Chapter 23, twisted into a twist in Chapter 48, and finally thrown into a brazier in the finale, achieving "100 ways to die with a cotton swab."
Qian Swab was silent, Qian Swab was angry, Qian Swab decided to save himself.
When the heroine cried, I sucked water like crazy so that she couldn't cry out the pearls;
When the president went crazy, I used a stick to conduct electricity to make his fingers numb;
Was the vicious female partner drugged? I just loosened the cotton head and let her soak it in loneliness.
Later, the plot gradually collapsed.
The president pinched me with a dangerous look in his eyes: "Every time you use it, things will get out of control."
The heroine held me in her hands and cried: "Even you are disposable..."
My awakened plastic ally, the office cactus, was shaking and pricking beside me: "Stop acting! Tell him that you have traveled through time!"
I, a cotton swab, am practicing the simplest philosophy of survival in this world of abusive literature where everyone is going crazy:
You can be stained with blood, but you can't take the blame; you can be used, but you can't be destroyed.
As for the CEO who gradually doubted his life, and the "awakening gadgets" who began to unite in the uprising...
Shh, don't make any noise. I'm thinking about how to use a piece of cotton and a plastic stick to overturn this bloody world.
