I am not a literary giant

The call was connected.

"Hey, Qingluo, my aunt asked me why you haven't come home yet."

"Didn't I tell you? I run."

Ning Chunyan glanced at the time.

"Running? It's so late, and you're still running? That's very unsafe. Why won't you let me go with you?"

"Are you stupid? Running is such a private thing, how can you just run in front of other people?"

"Didn't you see 'Chungking Express'? And you said you don't like watching movies!"

"What 'Chungking Express'?"

"...It's nothing, just be careful with your knees."

"No need to pay attention anymore, we've already finished."

Chen Qingluo sat on the steps beside the playground, wearing only a short-sleeved T-shirt, completely soaked in sweat, her whole body sticky. If she were to stick her hand vertically into her breasts and then pull it out, she could definitely scoop out a pool of water.

She said into the phone, "Quick, I need to come to your house."

Ning Chunyan asked, "What are you doing at my house?"

"Your house is closer," Chen Qingluo said. "I've been brainstorming an idea, and now I have the opening of a 2-word novel in my head. I need to write it down quickly so I don't forget it. Hurry, hurry, I want to go to your house. Will you allow it?"

"Huh? Huh?? You're slowing down a bit, I can't keep up..."

"Hurry up, say less. The brain regions for writing and language are the same. If you say any more, the novel I just finished conceiving will fly away."

"Okay, okay, come here. I'll come down and get you."

Ning Chunyan came downstairs wearing a bear-patterned pajama. Chen Qingluo walked over with a murderous aura. Ning Chunyan didn't dare to ask any questions or say anything. She simply led her upstairs.

Like a bandit, Chen Qingluo rushed into Ning Chunyan's room, locked the door, dragged out a chair, sat down in front of her computer, threw Wang Zixu's manuscript on the ground to clear the desktop, and then took off her sweat-soaked top and threw it on Wang Zixu's manuscript, revealing her high-set white bra and slender waist. She then placed her hands on Ning Chunyan's keyboard.

Ning Chunyan was both shocked and furious but dared not speak out, and lay on the bed watching her create.

Chen Qingluo's typing speed was fast and smooth, which went beyond the scope of typing. It was as if she was pouring the words in her mind onto the computer. Her fingers were so fast that they left afterimages, and the cursor on the screen kept moving without stopping.

Although we can't see what she's writing, her absorbed expression and frantic typing speed create an overwhelming sense of pressure.

For writers, creation is a very private matter and cannot be easily shared with others. Seeing the passion behind the words makes it difficult to maintain a calm and detached reading experience.

But Chen Qingluo did it anyway, oblivious to everyone else. She couldn't care less about anything else anymore. Behind her madness, Ning Chunyan seemed to see a soul silently weeping.

It could also be her imagination.

Ning Chunyan couldn't help but exclaim, "Crazy woman! Crazy woman!"

Chen Qingluo completely ignored her.

She knew she was completely in a state of flow; she wouldn't even feel an earthquake now. The last time she'd seen someone typing so intently was when Wang Zixu was revising a manuscript in Mei Rucheng's office.

Chen Qingluo's monotonous input sound became the best hypnotic tool, and Ning Chunyan fell asleep without realizing it.

When she opened her eyes again, the sky outside the window was just beginning to brighten. Chen Qingluo was staring intently at the computer screen, rubbing her fingers as she put her short-sleeved shirt back on.

Ning Chunyan rubbed her sleepy eyes: "You're done writing?"

"It's not finished yet," Chen Qingluo said. "I've only written the beginning."

"How many words?"

She crept up behind Chen Qingluo and was startled when she saw the number of words in the lower right corner—more than 15,000 words.

"Did you write all of this in one night?" Ning Chunyan was mostly awake now.

Chen Qingluo nodded: "You keep an eye on it for me, I'm going to take a nap."

Ning Chunyan said, "I haven't brushed my teeth yet."

"Is brushing your teeth more important than my novel?"

"Brushing your teeth is important. Because your teeth are in your own mouth."

After Ning Chunyan finished brushing her teeth, Chen Qingluo lay on her bed in a very unladylike manner, her eyes closed and unconscious, as if she were in a coma.

She sat down in front of the computer, scrolled the mouse wheel to the very beginning of the story, and slowly read on.

Then she sank in.

When she reached the part where the story ended, she gasped for breath as if she were surfacing from underwater.

What is this? Is this a novel? Did Chen Qingluo write this?

Who is practicing Tai Chi? Who is unleashing the Lion's Roar?

When did Chen Qingluo acquire such skill?

She jumped onto the bed and shook Chen Qingluo vigorously, but Chen Qingluo remained unconscious. She patted her little face, and Chen Qingluo slowly woke up, staring at her with a dazed look.

How long do you plan to write this?

"20 words," Chen Qingluo said.

Ning Chunyan said excitedly, "Then I think this year's Mao Dun Literature Prize is already a sure thing! How did you break through? Just keep writing like this, and you won't just be a talented woman, you'll be a literary master! Hurry up and finish it! Write 15,000 words a day, publish it next month, and then become my editor-in-chief. I'm waiting for our magazine to soar to new heights!"

Before she could finish speaking, Chen Qingluo had already fallen asleep again.

She climbed back to the table, helped Chen Qingluo adjust the formatting, clicked print, clipped the manuscript paper with a paperclip, and then rushed out of the room, waving her arms.

"Dad! Come take a look! This is the beginning of Qingluo's new work!"

Ning Bingru had just gotten up and was staring blankly at the unfamiliar women's shoes at the door when her daughter stuffed a manuscript paper into her arms.

"Qingluo is here? When did she arrive?"

"Stop asking, just look!" Ning Chunyan exclaimed breathlessly. "We'll talk after you see it!"

Ning Bingru returned to her room, found her reading glasses, put them on, and after reading the text, looked up and asked, "How many words does she plan to write?"

20.

Ning Bingru said, "Then this year's Mao Dun Literature Prize is in the bag."

"Right? I think so too."

The door opened, and my mother came in carrying groceries. As she changed her shoes, she said, "Is Qingluo here? I saw her shoes yesterday, but I didn't dare disturb her since your door was closed."

Ning Bingru, holding the manuscript, said to his wife, "Come and take a look at Qingluo's new work."

The mother, staring at the manuscript, said, "Qingluo, have you got an idea? Let me wash my hands first."

After drying her hands, she sat down on the sofa, picked up the manuscript, and began to read. After finishing, she looked up and asked, "Is this a short story or a novel?"

"It's a long novel; she said she plans to write 20 words."

The mother said, "Isn't that her aiming for this year's Mao Dun Literature Prize? Qingluo has made great progress!"

Chen Qingluo turned over in bed, her tightly closed eyelids trembling slightly, her lips moving softly as if she were having a dream; strands of her blue hair clung to her face, and her short-sleeved shirt was flipped up in her sleep, revealing a section of her snow-white waist, exuding an eerie beauty.

……

Wang Zixu didn't go to work again the next day. Once a person crosses their bottom line, there's no end to their downward spiral.

He's a bully at his workplace now, and even if he doesn't go for a day or two, no one would dare say anything.

He hummed a song as he packed up the fruit from his home, preparing to go to his father's house. Before going, he planned to use his writing fees to buy some cigarettes and alcohol as a token of his filial piety.