Such novels are less entertaining than modern stories, but they are also short and tall, and they look up when they are bored. After all, they are ancient texts, and they can also add to the spirit of this era. Ning Yi then took it with a smile and turned it over. Xiaoyan followed and walked behind to speak.
'At noon, what the man said was really wicked. Xiao Yu really wanted to beat him up.'
'If you don't know anything, you will guess and dare to boast about what you are like in the restaurant. Such a person, a scholar, cannot pass the exam.'
“How could it be okay, this man... Well, well, well, I know Uncle doesn’t care about these vulgar people, but Xiaoyan is not comfortable, after all, there’s a reputation for insulting my uncle. Uncle was on the spot. Write a poem and jealous of him, Xiaoyan took the past and hit him directly!Oh, he doesn't know me again.' Ning Yi turned the novel upside down. 'I'll sit next to him.'
The poetry festival of the Mid-Autumn Festival is now more than a month old. The paradoxes caused by the melody of the song have changed so far. In the first ten days, the evaluation of this poem has almost reached its peak.
A maid lived in the same building as her; she wasn't particularly pretty, and was rather short. Ning Yi could roughly guess that the girl had been ill some time ago.
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