Mantou made of human blood

"Er ..." Director Sun Chao was stunned by what Wei Feng said.

Director sun really didn't know whether the list of Nobel Prizes was announced or not. They were all ordinary people who were too far away from the Nobel Prize. Who would study this for no reason?

"Is there really such a thing?" Sun Chao asked carefully.

"Of course." Wei Feng laughed coldly. The moment Zheng Ren was mentioned, his heart felt like it had been sliced by a knife and it hurt terribly. Everything that had happened before had already become a form of humiliation in his heart.

He did not think that he had done anything wrong. All the fault lay with the chief resident of Haicheng's emergency department.

"It was said that our country's literary master, Mr. She, won the Nobel Prize recommendation in 1968. Do you know about this?" Wei Feng asked.

"I've heard of it. It's indeed a pity that he didn't win the Nobel Prize in Literature. Mr. She is a great talent. "