It was just a metaphor. Do you even know what a metaphor is?
Hao Yi replied casually, "All right, stop talking. I'm recording a video. Your buzzing voice-over is too noisy. It's affecting the video quality."
Geng Hao was speechless. He curled his lip, but cooperated and stopped talking.
He merely glanced at Ding Ling from time to time, his eyes filled with envy.
He had dreamed before, imagining himself as incredibly powerful.
But honestly, the him in his dreams still fell far short of the real-life Ding Ling.
Ding Ling's very existence completely defied common sense.
How could anyone master so many skills to such an extraordinary level? It was simply inconceivable!
Take him, Geng Hao, for example. He had played music for decades, yet he did not dare claim to have reached perfection. He could only say that he understood a little about composition and singing and was slightly better than an amateur. At best, he could be considered a professional.
But what about Ding Ling?
Only people who had played music themselves could understand how formidable Ding Ling was.
He was truly mystical, divine, transcendent, and completely at ease.
Facing Ding Ling, Geng Hao felt like he was showing off an ax before Guan Gong. The two of them were separated by several levels of magnitude and were simply not on the same plane.
And Ding Ling was not merely this impressive in music.
His cooking, computer skills, horsemanship, dancing, basketball, racing, marksmanship, and so on had all reached a level of perfection that left people dumbfounded.
Could a human being really do all that?
How old was Ding Ling, anyway?
He looked like a damn high school student.
Even if Ding Ling had a baby face, he could be no more than around thirty at most.