When the last sentence ends.

The room fell silent in an instant.

Everyone couldn't help but concentrate on reciting this poem from beginning to end in their minds.

In the corner next to him, a Tsing Yi attendant who was holding a pen in front of a desk had also left the last stroke in his hand.

He stared down at the poems on the bright red paper in front of him, which had not yet dried, and couldn't help but read silently and repeatedly:

Will be ......

Glass clock, thick amber.

"I Have a Crematorium" 104, people are not reckless teenagers are hitting in the hand, please wait a moment,

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