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Once she traveled through time and became the deliberately forgotten concubine of Yong'an Marquis Mansion, Nan Jinping waved her little hand, "I'm scared, I'm pretending." No matter what kind of lady you are, the prince of the dynasty, or the queen of a country, come and try to mess with me if you have the guts. But why did the useless prince cling to her, play tricks on people, kill people with knives, and make money by getting involved and recommended himself to promote her. Nan Jinping: Although you are a perfect friend, please go away when I flirt with a man, okay? Yue Peijing feels aggrieved: Is it okay for other men to have me?

With the development of modern poetry, it has become difficult to identify genres. In fact, few poets are willing to accept the labels attached to them. Just because there are fewer genres doesn't mean there are fewer people writing poetry. Poetry writing has mostly become secrets kept in drawers, and what is published can no longer represent these secret and quiet writings. The author's pseudonym is Shisheng, whose original name is Ma Baobao, a young poet. Let poetry return to its essence, and writing poetry has become more and more a personal matter, just like brushing your teeth and washing your face. Every poet is a lonely island, a free asteroid out of orbit in the universe.