I am not a literary giant

Junichi Watanabe's novels are known for their themes of extramarital affairs. Wang Zixu had only heard of him before; he had only ever paid attention to the Nobel Prize in Literature, and there were many unfamiliar areas in literature for him.

Moreover, he doesn't think highly of writers who only write about this kind of subject matter.

Extramarital affairs, a subject matter, are like drugs, crime, violence, and sex in American movies—they're designed to grab attention. It's like a table laden with shark fin, bird's nest, and abalone; even a terrible chef will at least have people eating the ingredients. What kind of skill is it to write well on this subject?

But since taking this job, he's bought a lot of Junichi Watanabe's books. Even though Watanabe is a writer like that, everyone can write about extramarital affairs, so why is he the only one so popular? At least in terms of stimulating libido, he's worth learning from. Wang Zixu learned quite a bit from him.

Wang Zixu continued writing in the document:

My gaze moved from your glistening lips down to your tiny toes, painted with red nail polish. The insteps of your feet were snow-white, so white that you could see the delicate blue veins. This made me feel a little pity for you, like the Yangshao people for their newly sculpted pottery. This body was such a small, innocent work of art, and what I was doing felt like shattering it.

……

"The screen is cracked, and it's only been two years." His wife showed him the phone, her face full of frustration. "The people at the phone store said it's leaking liquid, and we should just buy a new one."

"Then buy it," he said. "I should have a new royalty payment coming in soon."

"How many?"

"It's hard to say, but it's at least 600."

"600 isn't enough! You'd be better off earning 6000."

"If I write nine more, I'll have 6000 words," he said. "It's not about the number, it's about the fact that I've gotten the opportunity to be serialized, and I'll be receiving royalties from now on."

……

"Has the payment arrived yet?" Zuo Ziliang called him. "This is the first one. As long as you keep writing like this, your income will only increase. And then, you don't need to write such long articles anymore, you know? 2000 words is enough, generally speaking."

He honestly said: "If I don't write more, I feel like I'm letting down the money."

"Wow! Honest! But I like it," Zuo Ziliang said. "Keep it to 2000 words! That's the requirement. Any more would be a waste. You have enough energy, but they don't. It's not like they're writing a masterpiece."

"I wrote it as a masterpiece."

Zuo Ziliang ignored his stubbornness: "You know what? Your stuff has been very well received. Almost all the women who saw what you wrote about Yangshao pottery and such laughed."

"Is it funny?"

"No, very good." Zuo Ziliang patted his arm. "You've truly blazed a new trail with your ingenuity. Women will be very interested in you; your sentences aren't something an ordinary mind could write. Remember, women don't care about being pleased; they prefer to be conquered. Your writing will conquer them."

Zuo Ziliang understands women very well, but Wang Zixu thinks he doesn't understand writing style. Wang Zixu feels that this isn't writing style; compared to Nobel Prize-winning writers, he's not qualified to use the word "writing style."

He said, "I think it's imagination, and rhetoric is a form of imagination."

Zuo Ziliang said, "Your imagination is an aphrodisiac, even more effective than real aphrodisiacs. This is the order book of our speech therapists after using your script. Look at the user reviews. You have no idea how much libido you have produced."

He opened the product review page on the app, pushed the phone to Wang Zixu, and the screen displayed many enthusiastic positive reviews from users:

[This guy is so charming! My heart was pounding the whole time I chatted with him. He's so witty, handsome, and sexy! Yes, even though it was just text, I could feel how sexy he is! I couldn't take it anymore, I was screaming the whole time! ...]

[Awesome! This guy is so young, but he actually made me, this old auntie, feel like a little girl again! Wow, he's such a good conversationalist...]

[This guy's knowledge is amazing! Listening to him talk is such a pleasure! How can someone be such a good conversationalist! ...]

He only said one sentence, and I was completely swayed by him...

Wang Zixu slowly scrolled through the screen, seemingly trying to etch all these messages into his memory.

He appeared calm on the outside, but his heart was in turmoil—just a few days ago, he could never have imagined that there would be a group of strange women in the world who would be crazy about his words.

Ironically, he tried countless times to prove himself to the literary world, yet he couldn't even please his own wife; but a chance encounter brought him the recognition he had always longed for. This is even more bittersweet than any of O. Henry's comedies—indeed, the core of comedy is always a complete tragedy.

He looked up and found Zuo Ziliang staring at him with a strange expression: "What are you laughing at?"

"I didn't? Did I laugh?"

"You laughed. Take a look at your phone."

Wang Zixu picked up his phone, turned on the front camera, and in the lens, his lips were pursed into a line, and the corners of his mouth were tilted upwards like a fishhook, which he couldn't suppress.

He laughed, a hideous and ugly laugh. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn't have dared to imagine that he would make such a lewd expression.

Zuo Ziliang said, "Don't be like that, it's scary. Just take it easy. It's just a few positive reviews, there will be more and more in the future. I told you, I could tell at a glance that you would be very popular, your writing can conquer women."

Wang Zixu stood up, said goodbye to Zuo Ziliang, and walked out of the coffee shop. He frantically rubbed his face, trying to erase the traces of his smile from just now.

"I am an author who aspires to win the Nobel Prize in Literature," Wang Zixu said to the rearview mirror in the car. "I possess world-class insights; I stand at the height of humanity and understand the deepest aspects of human nature."

After speaking, he calmed down considerably, took a deep breath, and finally soothed the agitation in his chest.

Because he has a keen understanding of human nature, he can easily exploit and manipulate it. No one understands the taste of loneliness better than him, so those users who have something to ask for have no secrets from him.

That's the magic of words.

That's why he felt so despicable. He felt deeply ashamed of his earlier smugness.

Authors aspiring to the Nobel Prize should not be complacent about it. This is the self-cultivation that a great writer should possess.