I am not a literary giant

No one in the chat group took Zuo Ziliang's instruction to "not reply 'received'" seriously and kept replying "received"; however, most people took Wang Zixu seriously, and many tagged "Little Prince uprooting the bread tree", sent two "big boss kneeling" emojis, or directly sent greetings.

Wang Zixu kept staring at the chat group, but he didn't reply to anyone who tagged him. It wasn't that he was arrogant; he simply didn't know how to respond.

In all his past 30 years of life experience, he had never been tagged more times than today. The way people in the group called him "boss" made him feel sweaty and his clothes seemed to have turned into cactus skin, with thorns sticking out of his back.

His wife came home, took off her shoes in the foyer, and saw him sitting in front of the computer, staring blankly at his phone. She came over and asked, "What's wrong? Aren't you writing your novel today?"

Prince Xu was startled and instinctively said, "I won't write it."

The wife smiled, tucked her hair behind her ear with her fingers, and said, "Shall we take a day off? I'm still trying to conceive."

Prince Xu glanced down and saw that his wife was still wearing black stockings and fluffy slippers. Coming to his senses, he quickly said:

"Write, I'll write again today. I was just spacing out."

His wife kissed his forehead with her moist lips: "No inspiration, huh? It's okay, it's normal to have a day off now and then. It's not a big deal to lack inspiration."

The prince nodded blankly, and his wife added, "By the way, I also met a writer today, Lin Feng from the tax bureau. I heard he's quite famous and often publishes articles in magazines. I even mentioned you to him."

Prince Xu was startled and said, "What did you say?"

His wife asked, "Do you know Raymond Lam?"

Prince Xu said, "I've heard of it."

Prince Xu then asked, "How did you see him? What did he say?"

The wife said, "Oh, he came to my shop to buy flowers and said he was involved in literature. These real writers are different; they speak so eloquently, I could never learn from them. I told him my husband is also involved in literature and often publishes articles in magazines. He asked which magazine, and I said I didn't know, I'd ask you when I got back."

His wife came over, hugged his hand, and asked, "Honey, which magazine did you publish your article in?"

Upon hearing this question, Wang Zixu broke out in a cold sweat and dared not speak. Several concepts, including lectures, Lin Feng, and Freud, swirled in his mind, leaving him speechless for a moment.

His wife nudged him with her elbow: "Hmm? I'm asking you a question. Which magazine do you mainly publish in?"

The prince hesitated for a long time before finally saying, "It's hard to say."

His wife said, "What's so hard about saying this? Come to think of it, you've never told me which magazine you were published in, Wang Zixu. Are you hiding something from me?"

Although his wife didn't understand his inner world, she understood his behavioral patterns very well. Wang Zixu felt a cold sweat soaking his back, and after a long while, he finally met his wife's gaze and said:

"You don't understand. Among intellectuals, sometimes it's better to keep some things to yourself. Being too frank... is actually not good."

The wife tilted her head: "Why? What's wrong?"

"Scholars often belittle each other, you know?" Wang Zixu said, forcing a smile. "Sometimes, just when you're starting to make a name for yourself, others get jealous and try to trip you up behind your back. You fall down without even knowing how you got there."

His wife was puzzled: "It's just writing an article, is it really that big of a deal? I don't think Raymond Lam is that kind of person."

Wang Zixu said, "How do you know what kind of person he is? You've only met him once today, how do you know what he's like behind the scenes?"

His wife said, "Wang Zixu, don't think too badly of him. He's a serious writer who's been writing for many years. Whether he'd even be interested in you is another matter. Besides, I'm doing this for your own good. You should talk to him more; maybe it'll open up more opportunities for you."

Wang Zixu wanted to be angry, but he couldn't. He was displeased that his wife looked down on others, but unfortunately, she was right. This man who helped others flirt in literary terms couldn't hold his head high in front of a true writer.

As his wife spoke, she became aggrieved, tears welling in her eyes. She said, "You're always like this. You never think about making more friends. You're always burying your head in your work, writing by yourself. What good are you anyway? You're just too arrogant. I could have helped you get in touch with Lin Feng, wouldn't that have been better? Why can't you let go of your pride?"

Wang Zixu blushed and said, "How could I be so ashamed? What's wrong with me burying my head in my writing? Writing is a lonely struggle. I can only rely on myself. What's the use of making friends? If you write well, you write well. If you don't write well, it's useless even if you find ten thousand people to praise you. If you don't live up to your position, you'll fall sooner or later... Stop talking. You don't understand literature."

His wife said, "Yes! I don't understand! You think you understand! You know too much! You've been writing for years, but you don't even dare to say where your articles are published! You're so proud! Wang Zixu, just keep being arrogant!"

After saying that, his wife slammed the door and left. Wang Zixu sat down, panting heavily, and it took him a long time to calm down. He picked up his phone and saw that Zuo Ziliang had sent him more than a dozen unread messages.

The agreed-upon time for the lecture had arrived, and Zuo Ziliang had muted everyone in the group chat. Now the group was completely silent, but Wang Zixu had been arguing earlier and hadn't arrived yet. Zuo Ziliang had asked everyone to wait twice in the group chat.

He quickly turned on his computer and began replying to Zuo Ziliang's messages:

I had something to take care of earlier, so I'm a little late. Sorry.

Zuo Ziliang said, "It's okay. If you don't have time, we can reschedule."

Wang Zixu said, "No need, I've already finished my work here."

After typing that, he ran to the bedroom and pushed the door, only to find his wife had locked it. She always did this after they argued; he'd have to sleep on the sofa tonight. On the bright side, though, he wouldn't have to hide his lecture from her later. She wouldn't be coming out today, except to use the bathroom.

Zuo Ziliang said, "Then let's begin once you're ready."

Prince Xu took a deep breath and opened the group chat.

At first, facing a blank screen, he didn't know what to say. He stared blankly for a long time before finally typing a line on the screen.

Immediately, his desire to express himself burst forth like a dam opening, unleashing a torrent of water.

He began to talk about his understanding of literature, how he viewed the creative process, and how he incorporated traditional literature into his scripts. Gradually, he forgot about the argument he had just had with his wife.

He explained how his imagination worked when he created the script. In fact, his entire script was created using his imagination, and then he used basic story-building theories to lay the foundation and build the framework for the script.

First, he would set a main conflict, which is not a conflict between the male and female protagonists, but a philosophical conflict, such as love and sex, freedom and morality, poverty and wealth. He would choose one as the "motif" of the script and then develop his imagination around this motif.

A conflict that cannot be easily resolved can provide a constant source of tension for a story. When he wrote the script for "office colleague cheating", he designed the central conflict of "love and sex" for the male and female protagonists, with the lover having sex but no love and the original spouse having love but no sex. The male protagonist was always immersed in his own struggle.

Of course, none of this is described directly; it's merely the background of the entire script, the iceberg hidden beneath the surface. All the plot is concealed within the language. The characters he writes in the script each have their own roles and character arcs, subtly revealing their backgrounds and understanding of the world through indirect and ambiguous dialogue details.

At the same time, he not only builds his own image, but also intentionally sketches out the image of the other person he is chatting with during the conversation. Women are creatures made of water, and water means that they can take on any form, and how they ultimately become can be manipulated and guided.

He would deliberately guide and manipulate the conversation in his script, gradually lowering the other person's guard and making them accept his control. Of course, the overall tone had to be positive and uplifting. He believed that even the most indulgent surface needed a positive foundation to set the tone, because he felt that humans are essentially more positive than negative animals.

In conclusion, the final result is that both parties in the chat will vaguely touch each other in the virtual world at the end, achieving a spiritual resonance. The speech therapist in the woman's eyes remains calm and firm, like an iceberg floating on the water. They will still be immersed in this connection and feel that it is not over yet.

These ideas came to him while studying Hemingway's "iceberg theory." Only one-eighth of an iceberg is ever visible above the water, with the majority hidden underwater. In creative writing, this translates to less is more; using blank space to suggest to the reader is more impactful than simply stating it directly.

Therefore, if he really had to thank one person, he felt he should thank Hemingway, a true tough guy and a genius writer.

While Wang Zixu was lecturing, the late-night snacks at the barbecue stall continued. Huang Da watched intently, constantly biting his nails and repeatedly reading every word of Wang Zixu, his brainwaves racing like they were on a highway.

The lecture ended, and the Q&A session was about to begin. His mind finally relaxed a little, and he looked around, asking, "What are your thoughts?"

His colleague answered his question with a single question:

"Did the boss invite a winner of the Mao Dun Literature Prize?"