The first day, I met a man who talked with me about Schopenhauer, Freud, the death of Zhuangzi's wife, and his tragic childhood experiences.
The second day, he wanted to see my "Sickle."
And Jiang Lu was even more substantial.
He couldn't even wait until the second day; he just finished the last topic and wanted to see it already.
"Uh... what are you talking about?"
The Immortal Corpse, disguised as the Performer, had a strange expression.
"Oh? We can't have a pleasant conversation either?"
"It is not about whether it is okay or not; I am a man, I don't have that kind of thing."
"Huh?" Jiang Lu suddenly smelled something fishy.
Logically, if it were the Sickle, having heard such an impolite request right after discussing something he cared deeply about, he should have rebuked himself very seriously.
But explaining that it's impossible because he is a man, what's that about?
No reason, no reason at all.
