I am not a literary giant

Ye Lan and Zuo Ziliang, one on each side, squatted on the sofa in the KTV, their phones placed on the coffee table between them, as quiet as bricks.

Cheng Xing sat alone, away from the two of them, silently looking at the script for The Little Prince on his phone.

The KTV was playing loudly the slogan "Reject pornography, reject gambling, reject pornography, gambling, and drugs." The noise was deafening, but it didn't affect his reading at all. He sat there quietly, like a stone Buddha.

Cheng Xing's draft has been sent to the speech therapists' group, and the whole group is immediately immersed in a sea of ​​joy, with messages being sent like crazy.

No one realized that this was a contest between two bosses.

Zuo Ziliang lay on the sofa, saying weakly:

"I said this bet is unfair. Not everyone has my ability to discern language. Our speech therapists may not be able to perceive the subtle differences between the two scripts."

Ye Lan stared at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and disdain: "If you can't sense the difference, doesn't that mean there's no difference?"

Zuo Ziliang said, "The difference between 'not feeling the gap' and 'having no gap' is huge!"

"The ability to discern text requires an aesthetic level. It's like how my photos and those of a professional photographer, both using Nikon cameras, are completely different. Their photos look like movie stills, while mine look like 91 pirated videos."

Ye Lan crossed her arms and shook her head repeatedly, saying, "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't understand a word you're saying."

Zuo Ziliang sat up, gesturing with his hands as if trying to explain to her:

"The script of The Little Prince has a unique flavor. The difference between the two is like the difference between Oreo and Yue Li Yue. On the surface, they are two black cookies with a dollop of white cream in between, but without taking a bite, it is difficult to find the difference."

Ye Lan asked, "What is Yue Li Yue?"

Zuo Ziliang said, "It's a brand that makes knock-off Oreos. Haven't you tried it? I bought the wrong box last month, and when I got home, I realized, oh my god, it's Yue Li Yue."

Ye Lan laughed tastelessly: "I've never eaten it. I've only ever bought Kangshuaibo."

Zuo Ziliang said, "There really is a Kang Shuaibo?"

Ye Lan looked up at her watch and said, "Ten minutes have passed."

Zuo Ziliang slumped down again.

Ye Lan raised her long-lashed eyes to look at him: "What do you have to say?"

Zuo Ziliang waved his hand and said, "Wait a little longer. It's only been 10 minutes. Many speech therapists haven't even finished reading their scripts yet."

Ye Lan's lips curled into a beautiful smile, but it was extremely sarcastic: "Hmm, let's wait a bit longer. No rush. We'll rush it when he's completely dead."

Zuo Ziliang shook his head and said, "You're not testing the Little Prince by having the speech therapist guess blindly; you're testing the speech therapist's skill. Apart from the Little Prince himself, no one knows how much preparation he did before creating the work, or how much he thought about."

Ye Lan picked up her sparkling water, took a sip, and then said, "I've thought about such a vast amount of content, and nobody cares. Yeah, it's pretty tragic."

Zuo Ziliang was so angry he could hardly speak. He said, "It's not about whether you care or not... Even if you don't care, the speech therapists won't notice, but our users will. They'll vote with their feet."

Ye Lan said, "However, this is just your subjective judgment, and no one can disprove it. Zuo Ziliang, you lack scientific spirit."

Zuo Ziliang said, "You lack literary appreciation skills."

Ye Lan adopted an attitude of not wanting to compete with him.

In the blink of an eye, 30 minutes had passed.

"It's over," Ye Lan said.

She stood up, patted her skirt, and stood up gracefully, like a princess who had successfully won a palace intrigue.

Zuo Ziliang lit a cigarette, tossed the lighter onto the table, took a leisurely puff, and leaned back on the sofa, as if he were the victor.

Ye Lan said, "Thirty minutes have passed, and two hundred messages have been sent in the group chat, yet not a single person has realized that the script wasn't written by The Little Prince. Doesn't that say everything?"

Zuo Ziliang said, "This shows that our speech therapists have poor appreciation skills, lack independent thinking, and are deficient in questioning spirit. Other than that, it can't explain anything."

Ye Lan wrinkled her nose: "Zuo Ziliang, you talk like a jerk. I don't know what the little prince is like, but if he's as arrogant as you, then you two are both pretty pathetic."

Zuo Ziliang, holding a cigarette, said, "Van Gogh never found his patron, and Kafka never found his readers. Is this their tragedy, or the world's tragedy?"

Ye Lan said irritably, "No one else would offer Van Gogh and Kafka a fair bet like we do, would they? Zuo Ziliang, you can be really arrogant sometimes. You always think you're right."

Zuo Ziliang, his eyes glazed over in the smoke, said, "I'm not right in everything, but I'm right in this matter. History will prove me right, and only the Spring and Autumn Annals can condemn me."

"Come on, Chunqiu doesn't even know you."

No sooner had he finished speaking than his phone on the table chimed.

"Who?"

Ye Lan glanced at it and said, "It's Huang Da."

"What did Huang Da say?"

Ye Lan looked down at her phone and didn't answer him.

Zuo Ziliang reached out his hand: "Give me your phone, let me see it."

Ye Lan shook her head: "He said he has something to report. Leave your phone here, just say it, and I'll type it for you."

"Is this really necessary?!"

"It's necessary, absolutely necessary. I want you to be completely convinced," Ye Lan said, raising her face. "I'm really going to fight this battle to the death today."

Zuo Ziliang helplessly reached out his hand: "Then ask him what it is."

A message popped up on Huang Da's end: "[Boss, shouldn't we review today's script again?]"

……

When the banquet ended, it was already past ten o'clock at night. The streets were deserted, bathed in the cold moonlight.

A group of people came out of their workplace in twos and threes, completely drunk and sprawled out. Nine jars of aged yellow wine had gotten seven of them intoxicated, and they thoroughly enjoyed themselves.

Among the people at this table, Wang Zixu and Guo Ranran were practically the only two who weren't drunk. The reason for saying "practically" is that Guo Ranran was practically drunk, her face flushed, unsteady on her feet, and kept leaning against Lin Feng.

Lin Feng was clinging to Wang Zixu. He had one arm around Wang Zixu's shoulder, his face was flushed, he reeked of alcohol, and he kept slurring his words.

"Brother Wang, meeting you today has shown me what it truly means to be outmatched. Chatting with you is like meeting a worthy opponent; it's been incredibly enjoyable. I've explored the entire literary world of Xihe, and none of them possess your talent."

The prince stammered, "I'm still far from good enough."

Raymond Lam waved his hand, thumping his chest loudly, and said:

"Hey, what are you lacking? We're the ones who're lacking! To be honest, those people in the Xihe literary circle are worse than me. They have no interest in creating, and what are they obsessed with all day long? Palace intrigue, and this... palace intrigue."

Wang Zixu sensed that he was truly drunk and that continuing the conversation would offend someone, so he quickly interrupted him, saying, "You've had too much to drink!"

Lin Feng hiccuped and said, "I drank a bit too much today, but I'm perfectly sober. I only tell this to my brothers behind closed doors. What have I always believed? I've always believed..."

Wang Zixu was afraid he might say something fatal, so he helped him to a secluded spot. Fortunately, the other colleagues were also sensible and avoided him early on, afraid of overhearing something and getting their clothes stained with blood.

Lin Feng said, "I've always believed that truly talented people like you should be promoted to the literary world, while all the mediocre and worthless ones should be driven away. The literary world should be for writers; what kind of behavior is this?"

Wang Zixu said with a touch of sadness, "I don't even know where the door to the literary world is, and yet I've been elevated to such a high position?"

Lin Feng could no longer hear what he was saying, but he continued to chatter on and on:

"Seriously, someone as talented as you is stuck here as a lowly clerk. Just thinking about it makes me angry. You should be on a bigger stage..."

Wang Zixu helped Lin Feng up as they gazed at the faint glow of the distant streetlights. At that moment, he felt like Gatsby in "The Great Gatsby," looking at the green light across the river and reaching out in vain.

The literary world? He didn't know where the literary world was, and he had never been accepted by it.

When he needed recognition the most, the ethereal literary world didn't know him; he was simply unknown, and nobody cared because no letters would be mailed to him.

At this time, it was not the literary world that opened its doors to him, but Wen Ai.

Because he believed that literature was a solitary journey, he truly experienced utter solitude. He chose to write each word in solitude, reigning supreme in a corner where no one cared.