"You're directing me to take photos, or directing me to kill myself?" Bai Bufan gritted his teeth.
If he died like this, even Conan wouldn't be able to find the murderer. Who said there was no perfect crime?
"You just don't understand. Class monitor Ding Sihan and the others are just fake-having fun with me, so we take fake photos—tourist snapshots with no artistic flair.
What's our relationship? I'm planning to take a 'Flying Bai Bufan' shot to compete for this year's Pulitzer Prize. Trust me, bro. Flip over, hurry up. Would I really hurt you?"
Lin Li frowned. He didn't like this feeling of being mistrusted, then added, "Oh, right. Your mobile payment password hasn't changed, has it? If it has, tell me. This is important."
Bai Bufan: "..."
"Bro, fake-have fun with me too. I want tourist photos. I don't want art," Bai Bufan pleaded.
So vulgar. No aspirations whatsoever.
Lin Li was deeply disappointed that his deskmate and brother was this kind of person, but since Bai Bufan insisted so strongly, he could only give up.
Bai Bufan didn't really have any need for photos. They were just for keeping a record, and he probably wouldn't even post them to Moments.
It didn't take long. After the four of them took one final group photo, they picked up their holy swords again and resumed climbing the mountain.
They had barely taken a few steps when Chen Yuying and Ding Sihan gave soft cries and walked over to the roadside.
There was an orange cat there—a ridiculously fat cat, practically semi-truck-sized. Who knew whether it had full insurance?
It wasn't afraid of strangers at all. When it saw the two girls approach, it gave a couple of cutesy little meows.
That fake-cutesy voice isn't even as nice as