"Click."
Another golden and crispy slice.
Ji Chuan was lying on the velvet sofa imported from Italy, his posture was Ge You's textbook level. The seemingly casual T-shirt he was wearing had a tag that could cost an average person half a year's salary, but he wore it with a lazy look that he had just bought from a street stall.
There was a noisy bubble drama on the TV. He was chewing the potato chips in his mouth, his eyes half closed, looking indifferent to the world.
There are two flavors in the air. One is expensive incense trying to cover up the other, which is the rich salty aroma of potato chips. The two flavors are twisted together, and no one is convinced by the other.
Life is nothing more than watching a show and eating some melon. Ji Chuan thought to himself.
