My scumbag should be a good player in the market. His rationale is completely indifferent. He weighs the pros and cons. I am probably a good-looking chess piece, oh, I might become a discarded piece.
I know myself too well. If Zha Gong falls in love with me, I will definitely be the one who gets fucked to death.
I also thought that his appearance would be my salvation, but in fact I never thought of it in the end. I ask for self-transcendence to see people in this world clearly, not to have hope, not to be deceived by longing, not to believe in this world that has changed beyond recognition. There shouldn't be anything I agree with from beginning to end. O Brahma tree, I ask for self-transfer. I want to sleep in a vast sea of flowers and no longer rest in weeds.