A Sour Story About the Crematorium

Why can't I think of literary book titles? . I saw Zhu Xueji again, this young master who once used silk and satin to step on the soles of his shoes, piled jade bricks with jade, and was extremely wanton. He was selling songs on the street, with band-aids wrapped around his slender and beautiful finger bones. Someone ordered a song, and the band-aid oozed blood. He lowered his eyes and remained calm, his long eyelashes were thin and curled, and his voice was as clear and clear as ever. * A new upstart landed in Jiangcheng. It was said that he was seeking revenge. He left Jiangcheng in embarrassment seven years ago, and now he seeks retribution from the young master of the Zhu family who has a feud with him, has long since fallen into poverty, and is no longer pampered. * The newly wealthy people knelt under the rain, but the drainage in the old residential areas was very poor, and soon the water was up to their knees. The suit trousers blend into the rainy beach, the dignified shoulders and back are meticulous, and the kneeling posture is straight, but it is different from the male and female protagonists in romantic dramas who look at each other across the rain. He has his scheming and good acting pity, and she has her secret joy to prove that she is loved. Zhang Mingxiao saw the curtains move slightly in the distance and moved a few steps to kneel in the blind spot upstairs. "He's soft-hearted. I can't let him see me when I'm being punished. If I make him sad anymore, there's no point in me being here." [Being punished is my business, not a means to make him forgive. —— The piano in the theater was melodious, "Moonlight" flowed like a weave, and only vague tones were left behind when it reached the backstage. The strings of the eight-digit violin broke, and a brief clanking sound was heard. Zhu Xueji's eyebrows were picturesque, but she was as cold as the mist in the mirror, and she didn't even notice that she had just dropped something. "I did it on purpose." "I know." Zhang Mingxiao knelt down on one knee and focused on the thin ankles of the person in front of him without looking at him. The hand he signed the contract meticulously rolled up Zhu Xueji's trousers, even restraining the trembling in his voice, "That piano is our memory. If you don't want it, forget it. Let's start over." "I don't want you anymore." Zhu Xueji said word by word, "I don't want either Qin or you." [After all, in the long and harsh winter, he had to save himself to see the shortcomings. —— Outside the president's office, the assistant urged him tactfully, while the shareholders were still waiting next door. Inside the door, mist shone in the eyes of a white and thin young man, a pair of autumn eyes narrowed lazily. He answered the phone and chatted slowly. The hand on the man's head gradually lost its strength. His cat-like glass eyes were blurry and his voice was weak. The man raised his head and saw that he was a newly wealthy man who had been highly coveted recently. His thin, ascetic lips were already red, and he stared at Zhu Xueji with aggressive eyes. He rolled his Adam's apple, swallowed the musk, gargled his mouth, and knelt down on his knees to kiss the corners of his lips. Zhu Xueji frowned, stepped on the man's belly with the sole of his shoe and pushed him away, "There's no such thing in Paoyou." "I still have a part-time job," he said unhappy, "You're wasting my time too much." 'You little brat who pulls up his pants and doesn't recognize anyone. ' The man laughed and cursed in his heart, and responded to the urging outside the door with sarcastic words. His narrow and cold eyes were lowered leisurely, and he carefully held the young man's ankle, "At least change your pants before leaving, and I will see you off." Sour but not pure sweet The age difference is seven years Intention: Tomorrow will be better