I am not a literary giant

Under the watchful eyes of Zuo Ziliang and Ye Lan, Huang Da's message popped up.

[Boss, shouldn't we review today's script again?]

Upon seeing the message, Zuo Ziliang sat up straight instantly. Ye Lan, on the other hand, remained silent.

"Isn't he here? Ask him if any speech therapists have given feedback on the issues?"

Zuo Ziliang was agitated. Ye Lan frowned and glanced at him, but still typed in the information as he instructed.

Huang Da replied:

Yes, several of them have given feedback to our operations team, saying that today's script was a bit off.

Zuo Ziliang asked, "How many are there?"

[Several, but I didn't ask for specifics.]

Zuo Ziliang clenched his fist in the air and shouted, "Nice!"

Then, he turned his gaze to Ye Lan: "What do you mean?"

Ye Lan remained silent, then typed on her phone: "Have the operations team send me screenshots of the chat logs from the speech therapists. Every single one."

Huang Da replied: 【Oh, okay.】

Zuo Ziliang looked up at her with a cold smile: "What? You won't give up until you're completely cornered?"

Ye Lan turned off her phone screen and said, "I just don't want to cause any misunderstandings."

Soon, Huang Da sent screenshots of the chat history.

There are a total of 7 screenshots, featuring 7 speech therapists, each raising questions about the script in their own tone.

Two people even hit the nail on the head, asking if the scriptwriter had been replaced.

After seeing those screenshots, Zuo Ziliang struck a victorious pose and straightened his back.

"Did I win? The facts eloquently prove that I was right. The script of The Little Prince is truly exceptional! Our speech therapists are excellent! They have a keen eye for literature! Their appreciation is commendable!"

Ye Lan's forehead was sweating as she typed on her phone: "Why aren't the speech therapists providing feedback in the group chat?"

Huang Da said: "Isn't the Little Prince in the big group chat too? Maybe they're a little embarrassed to ask directly in the group..."

After a while, Huang Da asked, "Would you like to tell Teacher Little Prince? If you're hesitant, I can do it for you."

Ye Lan paused for a moment, then typed on her phone:

No need. This script wasn't written by The Little Prince.

They only sent two punctuation marks: "?!"

...After putting down her phone, Ye Lan fell silent.

Within 30 minutes of the script being sent out, the file had only been downloaded about a hundred times, and seven people had already raised questions about it.

There are certainly many more people who have genuine doubts than this number, but they haven't voiced them for various reasons.

Moreover, the seven speech therapists raised questions from different angles; some pointed out the difference in style, while others bluntly stated that the script was subpar.

From any perspective, this demonstrates that Cheng Xing's manuscript is indeed inferior to The Little Prince's, a difference that is clearly visible to the naked eye.

Zuo Ziliang asked, "Do you have anything else to say?"

Ye Lan remained silent for a long time, biting her lip and gently tapping her chin with her fingers. After a long while, she finally spoke, "Is the difference really that big? Why can't I see it?"

Zuo Ziliang sneered: "Can't you see it's your problem? We already agreed, didn't we? A bet's a bet."

Ye Lan sighed, "A bet's a bet. But I still don't understand. Cheng Xing is a published author! Where did you find this scriptwriter? Could he really be a Mao Dun Literature Prize winner?"

There are plenty of things you can't understand, so think about them yourself.

Zuo Ziliang used the privileges of the victor, strode out the door, and before leaving, turned back to look at Ye Lan and said:

"Oh, I almost forgot, at least your direction is correct. Like I said, as long as you can find a scriptwriter of Little Prince caliber to come back, I'll welcome them anytime."

After Zuo Ziliang left, Ye Lan also paid the bill. She led the dazed Cheng Xing away, saying with a hint of apology on the way:

"I'm sorry to have taken up your time."

Cheng Xing, who had been practically invisible, now seemed to have just surfaced from the sea after diving, and said:

"It's okay, sister. I'm just not good enough and my abilities are limited."

Ye Lan said, "Don't talk about yourself like that. I still believe in your abilities. It's just that the person President Zuo hired is too eccentric; I don't know why everyone says he's highly skilled..."

Cheng Xing's expression changed, and he said, "That person's skill level is very high."

Ye Lan was taken aback: "Huh?"

Cheng Xing said, "Sis, do you have that person's contact information? I really want to talk to him."

Ye Lan gave a wry smile: "That person is a relative of President Zuo, and only he has that person's contact information. What, you really think that person is highly capable?"

Cheng Xing said solemnly, "If any of President Zuo's relatives had such writing skills, then I wouldn't need to pursue literature; I might as well just find a block of tofu and smash my head against it."

He stretched out his hand, mimicking a swimming motion, and said, "When I was reading just now, I felt like I was completely immersed in it. It's a wonderful reading experience. Sister Lan, have you ever experienced that? It's that feeling of being completely absorbed."

"It's usually hard to enter this state; it typically requires a very peaceful time, like brewing a pot of tea, comfortably nestled on the sofa, and quietly turning the pages of a book to truly immerse yourself in it. But I was randomly given a batch of scripts and found myself in this state in a private room at a high-end shopping mall. Isn't that amazing?"

"He really... has a very special writing style and touch that I can't describe. Just looking at these scripts is a pleasure. I can't imagine... what kind of Manchu Han Imperial Feast your users usually eat?"

Ye Lan was stunned. She said, "So, according to you, he really is some kind of Mao Dun Literature Prize winner? But I heard from Zuo Ziliang that this person hasn't even published any works!"

"Never published it?" Cheng Xing was surprised for a moment, but he quickly nodded and said, "That makes sense. If he had published any work, I should know. But among the writers I know, none of them have his writing style."

He lowered his head and thought for a moment, then suddenly said, "Sister Lan, could you get your hands on all the scripts he's written? I'd like to study them carefully and learn from them."

Ye Lan said with some surprise, "Of course! I'll find it and send it to you when I get back. If you can imitate this style and capture this feeling, I will definitely support you to come and be our scriptwriter."

Cheng Xing nodded and said, "Okay."

When Cheng Xing arrived home, Ye Lan had already sent him the script in a package. It was only about 200KB in size. After downloading it, he opened the folder and found the documents named by date neatly arranged, a dazzling array.

Cheng Xing sat in front of the computer, wiped the dust off his Ningzhi electrostatic 890 keyboard, and vigorously flexed his fingers.

Just as Zuo Ziliang judged, although Ye Lan was a very charming woman, her level of literary appreciation was simply appalling.

Therefore, she couldn't realize how significant this small 200KB compressed file was. Nor could she realize that this thing shouldn't be easily revealed to anyone.

When Cheng Xing heard that The Little Prince had never published any works, the only thought that filled his mind was that one sentence—

—Let the whole world know who the Little Prince was who uprooted the bread tree. Let the whole world witness that such words were ever born.

He had no intention of plagiarizing anyone's work. He simply wanted to convey this feeling. He wanted to recreate the awe he felt when he first saw the script for The Little Prince and share that awe with everyone.

He wanted the story of the Little Prince uprooting the bread tree to become famous throughout the literary world.

This is one of humanity's most primal emotions, simple yet intense. Like Prometheus, he was only concerned with sharing the stolen flame while it was still hot, without a second thought about the eagle pecking at his body.