Dressed as the most squeamish female supporting actress in the 70's art troupe, the original owner cried, made trouble, and hanged herself, refusing to go to the countryside for life and death.
I opened my eyes: "Okay, I'll go."
The whole family's jaw dropped.
When I arrived at the production team, the captain asked me to pick out manure.
I took out a jar of cream from my bag and started smearing my face in front of the whole team.
The captain's face turned dark: "Are you here to work or to take care of your skin?"
Me: "Report to the captain, I have skin allergies and can't stay in the sun."
In the corner, a cold-faced man glanced at me.
The next day, there was a jar of wild honey at my door.
On the third day, there was an extra old hen that had been killed.
The captain roared: "Who gave it to me?!"
No one said a word.
Only the man lowered his head and sharpened his sickle, and the tips of his ears turned red.
