I am not a literary giant

Chapter 98 The End of the World and the Hard-Boiled Wonderland

When Prince Xu woke up, he was surrounded by a deathly pale white light.

The surroundings were shadowy and shrouded in a pale white halo, as if someone had placed a piece of frosted glass filled with moisture in front of him. He was suspended in this pale whiteness like a helicopter, with only warm yellow light flickering above his head, making him feel as if he were in a fairyland.

If he is in a fairyland, then he is probably indeed dead.

Thinking about death actually calmed Prince Xu down.

No need to consider the list of responsibilities, the gaze of others, or the selection of the next 50 Nobel Prizes in Literature.

He hoped for an unlimited supply of bountiful harvests in Wonderland, and at least one squatting device—if the world ended here, and time came to a close here, he would at least have unlimited freedom, enough time to build a real Stegosaurus.

Just as he was about to succumb to this peaceful and joyful state, a woman in white tore through the void and called out, "Family member of bed 76, is the family member of bed 76 here?"

A woman nearby responded, "Oh, you're here!"

The woman walked over and whispered something. Wang Zixu's eyes focused, and he realized that the glowing thing above his head was an IV drip, which still contained half a bottle of clear, transparent liquid.

The air was filled with the smells of oranges, rice, disinfectant, and urine mixed with saline solution. Sunlight slanted in, leaving several fiery red lines on the back of his hand. The needle, wrapped in adhesive tape, silently fed glucose solution into his body, leaving his wrist feeling cool.

"You're awake?"

The woman returned. A warm, soft hand touched his forehead, checking his temperature. She seemed to sense something, then silently withdrew her hand, sat back down, and continued playing on her phone.

He turned his head and looked at the "family member of bed number 76".

She sat on a sky-blue chair by the bed, her long legs, encased in black stockings, crossed and placed diagonally to cover the areas of her bodycon skirt that were prone to revealing too much. Silver earrings were visible beneath her loose black hair, and her red lips, painted with lipstick, stood out starkly against the pale backdrop.

For a moment, he thought it was his wife, but upon closer inspection, he realized it was Ye Lan. Wang Zixu stared at Ye Lan for a while before realizing, "Oh, so I'm in the hospital."

How long did I sleep?

"Three or four hours, I guess." Ye Lan didn't even look up. "I told Zuo Ziliang a long time ago that I couldn't exploit you anymore, but who knew you two, one dared to say it and the other dared to listen, you're really two donkeys. Two stubborn donkeys, two smelly, hard-headed, stupid, and inflexible big stubborn donkeys..."

Prince Xu then asked, "What illness do I have?"

Ye Lan said, "Lack of sleep, malnutrition, hypoglycemia, anxiety, and possibly high intraocular pressure."

Prince Xu raised his head: "That's it?"

Ye Lan glared at him: "What do you mean 'that's all'? The doctor said it's the first time he's seen someone collapse from exhaustion."

The prince asked tentatively, "Why am I bleeding from my stool?"

"After discussion, everyone agreed that it was probably because you ate too much red amaranth at noon. That's not blood, it's red pigment."

"..."

Prince Xu felt a great weight lifted off his shoulders. He was both amused and exasperated. He secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

He never got a medical checkup, believing that all illnesses were discovered through examinations. He knew this avoidance of medical care was terribly wrong, but he refused to change. So, when he saw the red liquid in the toilet bowl, he felt he had finally received his just deserts. And then, with a sense of relief, he fainted.

To his surprise, despite hearing a long list of ailments, none of them were life-threatening. His health was much better than he had imagined.

"Thank goodness, I thought I had no chance."

Ye Lan looked at him: "What opportunity?"

"The chance to win the Nobel Prize."

After he finished speaking, noticing that Ye Lan's expression was even more puzzled, he explained:

"The Nobel Prize in Literature is not awarded to dead people; once someone dies, they no longer have the opportunity to receive the prize."

"Hahaha... That's a good joke. You still have the energy to joke around. Looks like you'll be discharged soon."

Wang Zixu threw back the covers: "I can be discharged from the hospital now."

Ye Lan seemed to have anticipated his reaction, quickly pulling the blanket back over him and placing her hand on his leg: "Are you crazy? The doctor said you need to stay in the hospital for at least another day of observation!"

Prince Xu was a little weak. He struggled for a while but couldn't get up. He lay back on the bed, feeling quite desperate.

Several hours have already been wasted today.

He could have finished writing a script of several thousand words, completed the call for papers for the Xihe Literary Society, and prepared for the next day's classes... Unfortunately, all of that time was wasted, and now he would waste another whole day in this damn hospital.

He suddenly felt a deep regret, regret for every single day he had wasted in his life. He wished he could pray fervently to the god of time, begging for just one more day...

"Haha, Su Xuelian is actually allergic to rice, how pitiful!" Ye Lan chuckled to herself while looking at her phone.

...Just borrow her time.

Wang Zixu stretched out his body on the hospital bed. He had thought he was going to die just now, but for a moment he felt very relaxed, which made him feel ashamed—if Hemingway knew, he would definitely scold him for lacking a tough guy spirit.

If he were to die, Gou Yingbiao would feign grief and deliver a eulogy at his funeral, then casually award this year's Outstanding Contribution to Diao Yiwen; if he were to die, Qingyan would truly be on equal footing with Wen Ai, and Qiu Ze would be grinning from ear to ear; if he were to die, the Nobel Prize in Literature would be awarded to 50 other writers without any fanfare, and he would not be among them.

In short, if he were to die, it would be a wonderful thing for many people, but not so wonderful for him. Even so, he must live on.

When fate doesn't favor you, living well is the greatest resistance against fate.

Wang Zixu turned his head and asked, "Why are you here to keep watch? Where are the scriptwriters?"

Ye Lan said, "Originally, one of them should have been the one to accompany me, but I was too eager. I even drove all the way here, making them think I was very free, so they kept me here."

Prince Xu said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Ye Lan was turned to the side, so his expression was not visible.

Ye Lan spoke of it casually. In reality, the situation at the time was somewhat similar to a scene in Wang Xiaobo's "The Golden Age".

In the book, the protagonist, Wang Er, was hit on the back with a carrying pole and fainted from the pain. Everyone said his back was broken and he was going to die. Upon hearing this, Chen Qingyang rushed down the mountain and shouted in Wang Er's ear, "If your back is broken, I'll take care of you for the rest of my life!" — So everyone assumed that the two of them were having an affair.

After receiving the call, Ye Lan grabbed her high heels, drove barefoot at high speed, and rushed into the base, repeatedly asking, "Where is he? Where is he? Where is he?" Then she helped carry Wang Zixu and dragged him to the hospital in her car.

Because they acted too enthusiastically, everyone assumed they had an ambiguous relationship and tacitly left. Ye Lan was furious when she realized she was the only one left to care for Wang Zixu, but she couldn't abandon him, so she just sat there playing on her phone.

"Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure, as long as you don't ask me to clean up after you, I'll help you with a few things."

What Wang Zixu didn't know was that Ye Lan didn't actually want to sit in the hospital playing on her phone. The reason she was sitting there was that she was waiting for Wang Zixu to cause her trouble. She wasn't afraid of trouble; she was afraid of being useless.

Wang Zixu, oblivious to her thoughts, simply said, "Could you bring me my laptop? I need to write a novel."

Ye Lan glared at her: "Still writing? You're in this state, what's the point of writing? Just get some rest."

"..."

Wang Zixu glared at her. Women are all like that; at first they say they're willing to do anything for you, but when you actually make a suggestion, they get upset. That seems really unfair. That's why Wang Zixu glared at her.

Ye Lan didn't think she was being unreasonable; she felt she was doing it for Wang Zixu's health. Even though Wang Zixu was glaring at her, she wasn't upset.

Because of the oxytocin, she felt sorry for Prince Xu—although he was already 30, he still seemed like a young man deserving of care and a loving hug. Of course, she didn't actually intend to hug him. It was just a feeling in her mind.

Finally, Ye Lan's tone softened a little: "If you're going to rest, then rest properly. Why rush things? It won't make a difference if you wait a day or two."

"The deadline is the day after tomorrow. If I don't write it today, and I don't write it tomorrow, there's no point in writing it afterwards."

Ye Lan felt sorry for him and said, "Never mind, I really can't do anything with you. I'll go get it."

Ye Lan walked towards the door, then suddenly turned back and asked, "Besides writing novels, you don't have any other needs?"

Wang Zixu shook his head: "I only need to write novels. Writing novels is a necessity of life."

Ye Lan went out. She had always thought Wang Zixu was a strange person, and now she thought he was even more so.

When Ye Lan returned, Wang Zi humbly and contentedly placed the laptop on his lap.

His laptop, an LNV bought five years ago, was as heavy as an ox. After running for only two minutes, it started breathing heavily and heating up like it was frying an egg, making him wince in pain from the heat.

He tried to push the laptop forward as much as possible, but gravity kept causing it to fall and hit his lower abdomen. And whenever he moved, the area in his hand where he had the injection swelled up like a pig's trotter.

Ye Lan stared at his contorted face with a strange expression, finding him increasingly odd. But could he really tell her about this? If he did, she would be even more likely to blame him for his formalistic approach at the hospital, acting like a pushover. Wang Zixu could only swallow his anger and suffer in silence for now.

He thought with a sense of despair that this terrible writing environment alone had already created a huge gap between them. How could he compete with Lin Luo and Shen Qingfeng like this? Why was he always so unlucky at crucial moments?

From his thinking, we can see that the prince, even at 30, still retained some childishness. If this is how he considers bad luck, then he's been unlucky since his very birth.

While he was lying in the hospital screaming from the heat of the computer, Diao Yiwen's work was being reviewed in person by Yanzishan, who pointed out what was good and what was bad, and how she should write it to win an award.

Yan Zishan is a well-known writer in China. Several Chinese writers have been on the Nobel Prize in Literature odds list for many years, and he is one of them, ranking 7th.

Fortunately, Wang Zixu was unaware of this. If he had known, he might have been even more disheartened and wouldn't have dared to submit his work anymore.

(End of this chapter)