I wrote a new article in Jinjiang. The data is bleak, and I am so poor that I have to lick the noodle soup clean.
With no other choice, I started to rage from the keyboard to the screen, writing the male protagonist to death - I finished it immediately and still managed to get a perfect attendance.
That night, blood began to ooze from the ceiling of my house, and two words dripped out: "Rewrite."
I sneered and copied and pasted. The next day the male protagonist opened his eyes in the morgue and received a push message on his phone:
"The collection of "Nessun Dorma" has skyrocketed! The prototype of the protagonist is mysteriously resurrected?"
There was a sudden knock on the door, and the man I wrote to death stood outside the peephole, holding in his hand the page of manuscript paper on which I wrote the ending.
He tilted his head and chuckled: "Teacher, give me back my life, okay?"
Intention: Poor and crazy.
