I am not a literary giant

As Wang Zixu was walking down the road, a Porsche Cayenne drove up from behind and slowed down beside him.

The car window rolled down, revealing a refined face. The woman pushed her sunglasses up to her forehead and said:

"Hey, Wang Zixu, why didn't you say you were Wang Zixu when we were talking about you in the office?"

Prince Xu gazed thoughtfully into Ning Chunyan's beautiful eyes, bright as stars and sparkling with autumn light. He pondered this somewhat pointless question, his mind drifting, his heart racing.

"Prince Xu isn't an important figure either," he replied.

He quickened his pace, as if trying to escape, but Ning Chunyan stepped on the gas and caught up with him, the Cayenne's engine emitting a pleasant roar.

"Really? I think he's an interesting character," Ning Chunyan said with a grin. "Have you always been this cool? When others are talking about you, you just listen quietly and pretend to be an expert without saying a word."

Prince Xu was greatly puzzled. The difference between Ning Chunyan's perception of him and his own inner self was so great that he wondered if she was mocking him.

"I'm not cool. I'm just bad at talking."

"Wow. That's even cooler."

Outside the government office building is a long, tree-lined avenue. Sunlight filters through the camphor tree leaves, casting dappled patterns on the car body, while the city's reflection floats on the car window.

Prince thought to himself that Ning Chunyan in person was very different from what he had imagined. Her writing was elegant, refined, and pessimistic. If he hadn't met her on such a beautiful day, he would have forever thought of Ning Chunyan as a cold, nun-like woman.

Ning Chunyan asked, "Have you read many books?"

"Yeah, I've seen some. The more I see, the less I realize I've seen."

"You really like literature?"

"I only like literature."

"Have you written any works?"

The first thing that flashed through Wang Zixu's mind were the scripts he had written in Wen'ai, but he shook his head, banishing the thought from his mind, and said:

"I've only written a few short stories."

Is this fine literature? Not online fiction?

Wang Zixu stopped in his tracks, pondered for a moment whether Wen Ai should be considered pure literature or online fiction, and then firmly stated:

"Pure literature".

"There aren't many people still holding onto the bastion of pure literature these days, it's quite rare. Where is your work published? I'd like to go and take a look."

The prince turned to look at her blankly: "It hasn't been published."

Ning Chunyan covered her mouth and chuckled, her laughter resembling that of Cao Shuang upon learning that Sima Yi had fallen for Zhuge Liang's Empty City Stratagem.

After laughing for a while, she said, "I knew you'd never published anything. You're the epitome of frustration and unfulfilled talent. All the unsuccessful literature enthusiasts I've ever met are like you."

Wang Zixu felt that she had come specifically to mock him. If she was deliberately trying to mess with his mindset, Wang Zixu could only admit that she had succeeded. He asked:

"What kind of people succeed? Are they all like you?"

Ning Chunyan, sitting up slightly in her Porsche Cayenne, said with a hint of pride, "Of course not, I am one of a kind."

Prince Xu wanted to say that he was unique too, but he was too embarrassed to say it. Even if someone like him was unique, it wasn't in a good way. No one would care about being unique like that.

Ning Chunyan said, "However, among the literature enthusiasts who haven't yet made it big, you are quite a unique one."

There are many kinds of frustration and unfulfilled ambitions. Most of them are manic-depressive disorder, where people think they are the best in the world and want to be arrogant. In fact, they can't even reach the level of real masters. They make grand pronouncements in the early stages, but fall silent after being hit hard.

"But you have a rare kind of depression. So depressed that I'm speechless. When we discuss you in the office, what are you feeling? Grief-stricken? Proud? Or secretly pleased?"

Wang Zixu said, "To be honest, I'm not in the mood. Confucius said, 'Is it not the mark of a gentleman to remain unperturbed when others do not understand him?'"

Ning Chunyan said, "Then it seems to be grief and indignation."

The Cayenne crunched over the small twigs and camphor berries on the ground, making a crisp "crackling" sound.

Wang Zixu had no desire to argue with Ning Chunyan. The more he argued, the more he felt like the indignant Kong Yiji, spouting nonsense about "a gentleman remains steadfast in poverty" and "what a fool."

He suddenly realized that this was all Ning Chunyan's scheme. She just wanted to see him argue. Luckily, he didn't fall for it.

Ning Chunyan smiled and brushed the hair that fell to her face, clearing her throat: "I actually came to tell you that Director Mei actually quite admires you."

"Yeah?"

"After you left, he praised you behind your back for a long time," Ning Chunyan said, "and also scolded you for a long time."

Prince Xu said, "I disappointed him."

Ning Chunyan said, "I understand you."

"Um?"

"I don't like socializing or business dinners either. I prefer to stay home and do things I enjoy. Talking to someone like Shen Qingfeng makes me feel really uncomfortable. To be honest, I think he's a..."

She mouthed a vulgar word, and Prince Xu was shocked, never expecting that such a refined lady would use such a word.

Ning Chunyan continued, "But you have no choice but to talk to them. Although they are all nominally refined and scholarly, they are very particular about social etiquette, and each one is more vindictive than the last, with a frightening number of petty tricks. If you offend one of them without careful attention, they can make you miserable behind your back."

Wang Zixu said, "That sounds pretty boring."

Ning Chunyan sighed: "Yes. It's quite boring. So, now that you know the truth about the literary world, would you still want to squeeze in?"

Prince Xu said, "Of course I'm willing. It's the same in other parts of the world."

Ning Chunyan laughed: "You're quite a clever person."

After walking for a while, Wang Zixu said, "I'll turn this way and go home."

Ning Chunyan cleared her throat again and held out her phone: "How about we add each other on WeChat?"

Prince Xu said, "I am already married."

Ning Chunyan looked deeply offended, her emotions somewhat unstable: "Do you know how impolite you are!"

Prince Xu asked in surprise, "What's wrong?"

Ning Chunyan looked hurt: "I asked you for your WeChat not because... not because I wanted your body. Besides your wife, don't you have any other women in your phone?"

Wang Zixu paused, then said, "Yes, my mother, my grandmother..."

Ning Chunyan looked speechless: "Then let me tell you today, not every member of the opposite sex who asks for your WeChat wants to date you! That's really rude of you!"

Wang Zixu guiltily took out his phone: "Oh, so... should I scan your phone or will you scan mine?"

"No more! No more! You're married! I'm not good enough for you!"

"You deserve it. You deserve it."

"I understand. What you just said is true. You really don't know how to talk." Ning Chunyan looked incredulous. "How could someone like you have a wife?"

Despite saying that, the two eventually exchanged contact information. When Ning Chunyan returned home, her retired university professor father was sitting in a recliner in the living room reading a book, wearing reading glasses.

"Dad, I'm home."

The elderly father put down his reading glasses, glanced at his daughter who had rushed into her room with the upper edge of his eye, and asked slowly:

"How did your meeting with Mei Rucheng go today? Did you learn anything?"

He received no reply from his daughter. After a long while, she finally came out of her room and handed him a note. The old father held up the note and read aloud the words on it:

"Lying down, I gaze upon the white plum blossoms in the winter moonlight, as if I were witnessing a blanket of snow covering the village before me." Was this written by Mei Rucheng?

Ning Chunyan didn't answer his question, but instead asked, "Mr. Ning, given your years of knowledge of classical Chinese poetry and prose, what do you think of this poem?"

Ning Bingru held up the slip of paper, recited it repeatedly, and then said, "There's only one line of poetry, so it's impossible to analyze it from the perspective of thought or overall style. It was written by a modern person, so there's not much to discuss in terms of meter. If we only talk about the imagery, it still has a strong classical feel, but it focuses too much on describing the scenery and lacks depth. The writing isn't very concise either. However, the artistic conception is quite good."

Ning Chunyan asked with a smile, "What if I told you that this poem was written in half a minute?"