842. Chapter 842 Countless local tyrants compete for the waist 1
Only then did I deeply understand Empress Dowager Liu's painstaking efforts: she had been supporting herself, whether it was studying at Harvard or getting promoted, just so that one day she would no longer be an idiot and could only enjoy safety but not take risks.
Now you are not qualified because you simply do not have the ability, and you are just a burden.
All she could think about was him - even if he was holding Rina's arm, chatting and laughing happily, but he was haggard - others couldn't see it, but she noticed it at a glance. He had lost a lot of weight, which showed how hard he had been working these days.
But, he laughed again.
Brother Donglin, no, I have to warn you.
If you really go out of your way, I won't give you another chance - the pressure will be even greater.
When she turned around and saw Lin Zhiyun not far away, she suddenly burst into laughter.
I have been plotting against the big man who picks his feet, but little did he know that he was keeping a close eye on me - with Lin Zhiyun, a 10,000-watt lightbulb and bodyguard guarding him, no man could get close to him. Apparently, after two years at Harvard,
Don't even think about having an affair.
You're a big man who picks your feet, but you're cruel enough.
But deep down he was happy, wasn't it because he was nervous?
If you're not nervous, why would you want someone to watch over you like this?
It was a long flight. However, this time there was no romance like the 30,000-foot flight in the luxurious first-class cabin last time. This was an ordinary first-class cabin on an ordinary plane, with an ordinary rich man next to him. This time he was really fat and big-headed.
He opened his mouth several times to strike up a conversation with Yan Xixi, but Yan Xixi just smiled politely and spent the whole time reading or sleeping.
The wealthy man finally couldn't bear it anymore: "These days, it's really rare for a lady to read seriously. Miss, what book are you reading? Can you lend it to me?"
Yan Xixian closed the book and handed it to him.
The local tycoon was dumbfounded. There was a full French version of "Madame Bovary". He couldn't even recognize the title.
He said sarcastically: "What kind of book is this?"
Yan Xixi said as if nothing had happened: "A collection of jokes."
"What joke are you telling?"
"French peach jokes."
The local tycoon couldn't continue, so he had to give up.
Yan Xixi put the book aside. It was the book she had read the most. She had read the French, English and Chinese versions countless times.
The heroine Emma despises her honest husband Bovary, and has affairs with an elegant nobleman and a handsome college boy. The romantic nobleman abandons her after getting tired of playing with her. She becomes seriously ill and feels remorseful, but is soon attacked by a young man.
The handsome guy attracted her. In order to maintain the so-called romantic love, she devoted herself wholeheartedly and borrowed loan sharks to support various high expenses during their tryst. Because the debts were increasing, she was forced to pay by the creditor. The handsome guy said that he had no money and ran away, so she went
If you go to your previous aristocratic lover, it is even less likely that your lover will lend you a dime.
Desperate, Emma committed suicide by taking arsenic.
Poor Mr. Bovary managed to repay all the foreign debts, but found all the love letters and portraits of her affair with two men in the drawer, and died in poverty and despair. Their only little daughter became an orphan and later became a child laborer in a spinning factory.
.
Romantic romance novels are actually arsenic wrapped in sugar, instigating countless girls to sacrifice themselves for love at all costs. They are ashamed to talk about money, as if a woman is heinous and shameless when she asks for money, and is worse than a chicken.
But Mr. Flaubert is definitely the conscience of the industry.
He used the ending of Emma's suicide to tell everyone bloody: Where a man's money is, there is his heart.
