The phone screen lit up.
Meng Liao was lying on the broken sofa in the rental house, holding half a piece of cold pizza in his hand, staring at the last page of the novel on the screen of his mobile phone. When he saw the two big words at the end, he felt bad. "End"?
"What the hell?" He threw the pizza on the coffee table and scratched the screen a few times with his greasy fingers. "That's it? That's it. You ended it for me before the villain was beaten? Author, are you human? You're not a eunuch. You cut it directly for someone's grandson!"
He flipped to the comment section and typed a line: "Author, are you having trouble at home? If so, rest more and don't rush to finish. If nothing happens, please write more. What's the difference between this ending and pulling up your pants before you finish having diarrhea?"
After sending it, he still couldn't get angry and threw the phone heavily on the sofa cushion.
This problem of his has not stopped for a day or two.
