Fantasy Writers 1860

A foreign journalist interviewed a Britannian citizen: "Do you often read Time magazine?" He replied: "Of course, otherwise how would I know I'm living a happy life?"

After finishing writing, he paused for a moment, then burst out laughing.

He continued writing, one line after another, the pen tip leaping rapidly across the paper:

A man casually remarked on the street, "The king is a fool," and was arrested and sentenced to life imprisonment.

The man retorted, "I didn't say which king." The judge laughed, "I've lived in Britannia for decades. Do you think I don't know which king is a fool?"

Two workers are chatting in the factory.

[A: Did you hear? Parliament is going to discuss giving us a pay raise]

[B: That's great! How much will it go up?]

[A: They're discussing whether to give us a one-copper raise or to give the members of parliament themselves a one-hundred-pound raise.]

[B: Then they'll definitely give us a raise in copper coins!]

[A: Why?]

[B: Because one hundred gold pounds is too little for them]

"This is interesting," he muttered to himself, a smile playing on his lips. Poverty and cold seemed to have been temporarily forgotten; at this moment, his world consisted only of the pen tip, the ink, and the ever-evolving jokes.

[Once, Prime Minister Hollis visited a farm, and the newspaper wanted to report on it. To portray Prime Minister Hollis as approachable, the editors chose a photo of him standing with a group of pigs as the accompanying image. The next day, the newspaper was published with the headline "Prime Minister Hollis with Pigs," and a caption below the photo: "The third from the left is Prime Minister Hollis."]

……

Dorian looked at the densely packed small characters before him and felt a strange sense of satisfaction welling up inside him. He counted them; he had written seven short jokes, which filled both sides of the paper.

He put down his pen, stretched his stiff wrists, and looked at the jokes. A stranger idea popped into his head.

He gave a wicked smile, picked up his pen with a hint of mischievousness, and solemnly wrote a few words as the title at the very top of the page of jokes:

Mr. Hakimi's Jokes

I've decided that my pen name from now on will be Mr. Hachimi.

In the future, I will inevitably create some content that is not suitable for mainstream audiences, so it will not be appropriate to use my real name.

This requires a pseudonym, a secondary account, to post less serious works on the secondary account, while reserving the serious, magnificent works for the main account.

The joke was written by Mr. Hakimi. What does that have to do with me, Dorian Winchester White?

Looking at the signature "Mr. Hakimi" in front of him, Dorian finally couldn't help but laugh out loud.

Perhaps he is the only person in the world who can understand this joke.

Thinking of this, an indescribable sense of melancholy began to well up in my heart.

However, before he could fully savor and appreciate the melancholy of "who can I share this with," he suddenly noticed that the page on the table, which he had just filled with writing, was beginning to radiate a golden light.

What's going on?

Is it possible that after a work is finished, another "Wow, Golden Legend" will appear in this world?

That's not right. The original owner had written many manuscripts before, and he didn't remember anything like this happening.

At first, the light only seeped out from between the words, but soon even the words on the paper themselves were bathed in a golden glow.

The light grew brighter and brighter, and in an instant it illuminated the entire room like the rising sun, so dazzling that Dorian instinctively covered his eyes.

……

"Lady Dislifei! A new Phantom Book has been born!"

Meanwhile, atop the clock tower of Lentinion, a young woman wearing a monocle and a men's suit hurriedly pushed open a heavy wooden door bound with rusted iron plates, her black silk top hat askew, utterly devoid of elegance.

Directly opposite the wooden door was a magnificent, tall, dark red velvet high-backed chair, upon which sat a petite girl, like a porcelain doll, carefully reading a beautifully bound, thick book.

She wore a Victorian-style black lace dress with pearl trim at the neckline and cuffs. The skirt cascaded down the dark red carpet in layers, and her bare feet hovered above the carpet, swaying gently.

"Don't rush, Lily, always remain graceful."

The girl named Disilife slowly raised her head and calmly looked at the girl in the suit in front of her. Her blue eyes were crystal clear, like melting glaciers.

She put down the heavy book in her hand, jumped off the high-backed chair, as lightly as a kitten jumping to the ground, without making a sound.

She came to a narrow rectangular window and, through the crack, saw a flash of golden light in the east, which lasted only a few seconds before disappearing.

"To the east, in the Sheffield district, send a few librarians over to take a look. You go yourself too." Disrife didn't turn around; she simply stood there, continuing to silently gaze at the quiet neighborhood outside through the narrow window.

"Why don't you go take a look? This might be the first fantasy book to be created in the last 100 years," the girl named Lily asked after calming herself down and straightening her crooked hat.

"Not for now," Disifei said calmly.

"Yes, Lady Dislifei." Lily didn't remove her top hat, but simply gave a slight bow before slowly retreating and closing the heavy wooden door behind her.

Once the creaking sounds of the door rubbing against the ground had completely subsided, only Disifei remained in the room, which was filled with towering bookshelves and piled high with books in every space.

She casually returned to the high-backed chair in the center of the room and continued reading the thick book:

"The prophecies of Les Prophéties are about to come true."

She paused her copy of *The Centuries* on a particular page, which read:

[After a century of dormancy, desolation, and darkness, on that isolated western island, an unprecedented light descended. When the tolling of the death knell sounded, the world was saved.]

……

"That golden light yesterday must have just been an illusion..."

The next morning, Dorian carefully folded the paper full of jokes and put it in the inner pocket of his coat, close to his chest, as if it were some rare treasure.

Now, he needs to find a place to sell these "Mr. Hakimi" jokes.

Lentinion Weekly might be worth a try.

After all, they've published those boring jokes about child labor and parliament, so why would they refuse their own obviously funnier jokes?

Furthermore, the original owner had submitted manuscripts to them many times before, and although none of them were accepted, they had become familiar with the organization and should be able to speak up more effectively.

But when he actually arrived at the editorial office of the Lentinion Weekly—a rather dilapidated five-story building—he realized it was better not to get close to this familiar face:

"Dorian? What are you doing here again? Security! Come here and get this guy out of here! Get him out of here!" A well-dressed but polite office worker shouted at Dorian without any regard for his appearance.

Two burly men in black uniforms entered the hall upon hearing the news and quickly identified Dorian.

"Excuse me, sir, please leave. You are not welcome here."

Dorian: ?

Was the original owner really that unpopular?

"Lord Clancy, this time it's truly different! I've actually written something really good! Please take a look!"

Seeing that the two burly men didn't really intend to attack him, Dorian quickly passed between them and grabbed Clancy's arm.

"Get out! Stop polluting my eyes with your garbage! I've had enough!" Clancy forcefully pulled her arm out of Dorian's embrace, turning to the two burly men behind her and saying, "What are you standing there for? Get him out of here!"

The commotion in the hall quickly attracted everyone's attention. Many people on the second-floor elevated corridor stopped their hurried steps and stood curiously by the railing to look down.

"No, no, no, this time it will definitely work. Take a look, it's just a piece of paper, just a piece of paper, it won't take you long!" Dorian took the paper out of his coat pocket and unfolded it.

"I won't look! I won't look!" Clancy shouted, but faced with Dorian's unexpected sneak attack, she was still forced to see the piece of paper in his hand.

As the senior editor of the Lentinion Weekly, his reading and comprehension speed is much faster than the average person, so by the time he realized what he was reading, it was already too late.

He stopped trying to shake off Dorian's hand and slowly ceased struggling, his expression serious as he fell silent.