In a tea shop on Xianyang East Street, Ye Yu lies on a bamboo chair and brushes the system. It has been several years since I traveled to the Qin Dynasty. A hundred-year-old monster has no place in the court and is not allowed to go to the battlefield, so he might as well retire. The man next door, Mr. Huang, was in his seventies and had white hair. When he walked in, he grabbed the sunspots and dropped them. Ye Yu casually put down a white piece, and the chess position was overturned instantly. Lao Huang held Heizi in his arms for a long time, but he fell down. This move cannot be played.
Reader comments
Why are you sometimes old and sometimes young when you write this? Isn't that a little too rigorous?
Is the author's left brain attacking the right brain? People in their fifties and sixties call people who are one hundred years old young people [what] [what] [what]
Why are you sometimes old and sometimes young when you write this? Isn't that a little too rigorous?
Is the author's left brain attacking the right brain? People in their fifties and sixties call people who are one hundred years old young people [what] [what] [what]