A wrong number was written on the remittance form, and three hundred and twenty yuan went into someone else's pocket. Jiang Lin found No. 17 Hongmian Road. The other party took away a hundred and put out the cigarette butt in front of him. "Kid, are you trying to reason with me?" He squatted on the roadside, his school uniform trousers stained with dust, and decided to learn that language. From Qingyang No. 1 Middle School to Nandu Old Street, from the good student who remits money for his mother to the errand boy who collects bills, everyone is teaching him the rules. Xu Qingyan stood on the Qingjiang Bridge and took the book with the big tree on it, saying that she stood in front of the window for five seconds, not three seconds. She counted them. Jiang Lin rode across the Qingjiang Bridge with a folding knife and a note in his pocket. He doesn't know where this road will lead yet, he just knows that the next time he crosses the bridge, no one will ask him to look up and listen.
