warm-blooded animal
Four years ago, he was a talented ice skating youth and the most anticipated best defender in the football world, God Jan.
He was a genius racer who had appeared out of nowhere two years ago, and the Qin God who had excellent strength in the sports circle.
That year, he was not even 18 years old. That year, he was not even 20 years old.
In the past, he never smiled. In the past, when he faced reporters, he always smiled and welcomed them.
He was neither servile nor overbearing on the day he gave up the ice ball, and he was silent on the day he left the track.
From then on, the ice rink lost its high-spirited youth, and the track lost its leader who flew against the wind.
What kind of existence was he?
She was a natural beauty who was surrounded by the opposite sex.
She was always so mysterious.
When he met her, there were many misunderstandings.
"Do I still have a chance to get to know you again?" he asked.
She looked at him coldly." I accept your apology, so let's stop here."
He had fallen in love with her, and he had never left her when they were in love.
"I'm fine," he said lightly.
She denied," No, you're not good."
He was so angry that he laughed." Why can't the little girl see me getting better?"
Her beautiful eyes seemed to be able to speak." Race again. I know it has always been your dream."
He was so lucky that she had created many opportunities for him and given him courage that he had never had before. She always said," You're my confidence!"
This was the story of youth and dreams, competition and silence, defeat and growth. No one could stand at the top forever, no one could retreat unscathed, no one was omnipotent, but one had to have a clear conscience.
Humans were warm-blooded animals, but they did the most hot-blooded things!
Ton roman m'a laissé l'impression d'entrer dans un lieu où chaque phrase ouvre une porte, où chaque scène semble respirer d'elle-même. Il y a dans ton écriture une matière vivante, quelque chose qui palpite entre les lignes, comme si les mots avaient été posés avec la précision d'un artisan et la sensibilité d'un rêveur. J'ai particulièrement été frappé par la façon dont tu façonnes l'atmosphère. On avance dans ton récit comme on traverse un paysage : parfois lumineux, parfois brumeux, mais toujours habité. Tes personnages ne se contentent pas d'exister ; ils semblent porter en eux des fragments de silence, de tension, de vérité.