I am not a literary giant

He didn't quite believe the number at first, and checked it three times before confirming that it was indeed that many.

Eighteen thousand yuan, a five-digit number, five syllables, when read aloud, it just happens to include the three front nasal finals of the 'a' sound, and the rhythm is like the ancient style of Li Bai's poems.

Although Wang Zixu's goal has always been the Nobel Prize in Literature and the 600 million yuan in royalties, that goal has always been too far-fetched for him, and he has not expected to win this honor in his first 30 years.

As for the scenery nearby, the few hundred yuan in manuscript fees from "Xihe Literature" was the limit of his imagination. Even for authors of top literary journals, the fee for a single manuscript was only a few thousand yuan, and it would take a long time to receive it.

Zuo Ziliang's promise was tantamount to a monthly royalty of 18,000 yuan. Wang Zixu never dreamed of such a good thing.

He hesitated for a long time before finally asking the question that worried him most: "You won't be unable to pay the royalties, will you?"

Zuo Ziliang finally got annoyed with him and said, "Go away, go away, who do you think I am that I can't afford to pay you? Here's the deal: if you can consistently produce two articles a day, more than 60 articles a month, and a total word count of over 12 words, I'll give you an extra 2000 yuan attendance bonus. How about that?"

Prince Xu, fearing that he might go back on his word, immediately said, "It's a deal."

Despite Zuo Ziliang's assurance, Wang Zixu was still worried about the decline in writing quality.

An author aiming for the Nobel Prize in Literature must be responsible for every line he writes. But how could he remain unmoved by a royalties of 20,000 yuan? This amount could solve almost all his financial problems. After a painful internal struggle, he made a snap decision: "To hell with it, I'll still get paid even if it's bad. I'll just keep writing."

To prepare himself mentally before writing, he went and reread Dostoevsky's biography. He smiled with satisfaction as he read.

Dostoevsky was one of his most admired writers. He had read *The Brothers Karamazov* many times, each time experiencing a new surge of emotion. Although Dostoevsky didn't win the Nobel Prize in Literature, wasn't that clearly a problem with the Nobel Prize committee, not with Dostoevsky himself?

The Nobel Prize committee always has a somewhat veiled element. In order to attack ideology, they don't award the prize to the most important writers like Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, but instead give it to less important authors like Bunin and Pasternak. In Wang Zixu's view, Dostoevsky's failure to win the prize doesn't diminish his brilliance; rather, it's a disgrace to the Nobel Prize.

Even such a great writer had his share of debts. He gambled to pay them off, incurring even more debt. His monumental work, *Crime and Punishment*, was written while he was heavily in debt. This demonstrates that financial pressure does not diminish a writer's creativity, and that a faster writing pace does not necessarily mean a lower quality.

Most importantly, since Zuo Ziliang himself said that the decline in quality didn't matter, why should he worry about it for the boss?

With this mindset in mind, Wang Zixu began to write more diligently. After writing for about half an hour, he realized that he might have been manipulated by Zuo Ziliang.

Given his personality, even if he were asked to lower the quality, he simply couldn't do it. He scrutinizes every line he writes, and repeatedly practicing his characters has become a habit; he can't write without practicing. Before, he would write for three hours after get off work and then go to sleep, but now he has to spend twice as much time to submit his work on time, not only in quantity but also in quality.

However, he started going to bed later and later, going from going to bed promptly before 11 p.m. to not getting into bed until 2 or 3 a.m. After repeatedly waking his sleeping wife, she became angry and kicked him out of the room, telling him to sleep in the small room, citing the impact on their ability to conceive.

After a week, Wang Zixu started waking up at 8 a.m. every morning with messy hair, crooked eyes and mouth, and dark circles under his eyes like the bottom of a pot that had been used for ten years. He would fall asleep with his head tilted to the side during meetings, and if he hadn't been woken up by the person next to him, he would have almost been able to snore loudly in front of everyone. His colleagues at work were surprised and asked him what he had been doing at night, but he could only keep quiet.

Outside of work, Wang Zixu spent all his time refining his scripts. Whenever he had free time, he would mentally rehearse all sorts of sweet nothings. When a female colleague spoke to him, he would blurt out a line, not even remembering what he said afterward. The colleague, however, would blush with surprise and exclaim that she never expected him to have become so naughty. After get off work, she would even come to ask him if he wanted to go for drinks that night.

Wang Zixu, of course, didn't have the time for that in America. He had already devoted himself entirely to his writing career.

He moved his computer to the balcony of his home, and every night he would turn on an LED light. Unidentified insects would tap their heads against the windowpane, and crickets would chirp outside. These sounds, along with the roar of his computer case and the crisp sound of his keyboard, created a harmonious symphony in the dead of night.

This intensity of writing not only tested his typing speed but also squeezed his talent. In the first week, he was able to create many wonderful scripts based on his past experience, but he fell into a slump in the second week. He felt like a sugarcane that had been squeezed dry, no longer able to produce juice, only dry powder.

He was increasingly interrupted during his creative process, and in these breaks, he had to read more books to recharge himself. The task of writing drained him, so he drained others.

If Wang Zixu's reading in the past was like searching for streams and valleys in the deep mountains, carefully collecting and drinking a cup of trickling water, now it is like braving rivers and seas, regardless of whether the water is clear or turbid, and in this turbulent world, I drink deeply from the torrents.

Nietzsche said: "He who does not wish to die of thirst among men must learn to drink deeply from every cup. He drinks deeply from every cup, as long as it is water."

Junichi Watanabe's books were worn out from his reading; he could no longer extract any nourishment from the author and had to turn to others for help. David Herbert Lawrence, Milan Kundera, Zhang Xianliang, Wang Xiaobo... these writers who had previously seemed somewhat roguish had now become Wang Zixu's source of inspiration.

He absorbed the nourishment from these writers' words, processed it in his unique way, and let it flow from his fingertips. In this process, something remained permanently.

He felt like a pure text-processing machine, though he didn't know what he was creating. According to Zuo Ziliang, he was creating libido.

He felt his writing skills were improving rapidly. Not just improving, but improving rapidly.

He now feels that his writing style was still too immature in the past. For example, the metaphor of "Yangshao people and pottery" that was highly praised by Zuo Ziliang was actually not up to par. He can now write better metaphors, which are more precise, direct, and impactful.

He absorbed all of Wang Zengqi's rhythm, Cha Liangzheng's rhyme, Shen Congwen's meticulous brushwork, Qian Zhongshu's witty metaphors, Lu Xun's coldness, and Wang Xiaobo's playfulness, transforming them into his own pure energy.

The solitary lamp at night illuminates the colorful window paper on the balcony, creating a dazzling display. Poetic language flows naturally from his fingertips. At this moment, Wang Zixu's hunched body is curled up in the small room, but his soul stands tall on the earth, becoming a new peak.

Neither Zuo Ziliang nor Wang Zixu expected that the verbal promise they made so easily would completely ignite the entire app, causing a huge uproar behind their backs.