Faced with Xia Yu’s confusion, Wen Ziying replied, “It’s too heavy for me! The recipient of the Chen Award, the master of dystopian modern literature—I’m just an ordinary literature-loving girl!”
“Are you really going to quit writing?” Xia Yu asked.
“Tomorrow I’m going to hold a press conference!” Wen Ziying replied firmly.
“Nothing you’ll regret?” Xia Yu asked again. It was better to clarify now than to regret it later.
“If I had left earlier, maybe I would have felt some regret, but now that I’ve already received the Chen Award, what do I have to regret?” Wen Zi Ying countered.
“When you’ve made your decision, I’ll help you find a job,” Xia Yu promised.
“Okay,” Wen Ziying agreed. “Quickly throw away those papers. Let’s play games!”
Xia Yu picked up the manuscript pages and threw them into the trash bin, then opened Wen Ziying’s laptop and started a game.
They played until morning, when Xia Yu returned to his own body.
Wen Ziying stood up and stretched lazily.
Although she had stayed up all night, she didn’t feel tired at all.
Opening a cabinet, she took out all the manuscript pages inside.
These were all the beginnings of novels, essays, and poems she had written before.
Carrying these pages out, Wen Ziying found a cardboard box and placed them inside. She then opened a locked drawer and took out all the original manuscripts of her novels so far, throwing them into the box as well.
Holding the box, she came to the courtyard.
“Miss,” the nanny approached to help, but Wen Ziying refused.
Putting the box down, Wen Ziying asked the nanny for a lighter and set the manuscripts alight.
The flames scorched the air, and black ashes floated upward, rising into the sky and vanishing.
The ashes in Wen Ziying’s heart also slowly dispersed and dissolved.
When her father was still alive, she loved writing stories and essays because it pleased her mother. But after her father’s death, everything changed.
Although when she handed her writings to her mother, Wen Ziying still saw a happy smile, she knew that her mother wasn’t happy for her sake, but rather because there were manuscripts ready for publication.
After a period like this, the young Wen Ziying completely lost her passion and inspiration for creation. What followed instead was pressure from her mother.
Writing had transformed from a joyful activity into an ordinary task, and then into something accompanied by pain.
Even now, in the middle of the night when dreams brought her back, Wen Ziying still felt fear at the memories of those days.
She had written many essays and poems, but not one dared to be submitted. Because when she was young, she wrote these kinds of pieces, and every time a submission was rejected, her mother would press her over a small desk, making her reflect.
By deliberately avoiding writing, Wen Ziying had originally thought she had already forgotten her childhood experiences, believing she had rekindled her passion for writing.
However, six months ago, due to issues related to the adaptation of “White Bird” and failing to complete a book properly, she was criticized online, blocked at her doorstep, and blamed in letters. This made Wen Ziying feel that fear again. Her passion for writing had vanished; the new experiences she struggled to seek were not for the sake of better stories, but simply to avoid blame.
She hated this job, hated the manuscript pages soaked in tears, hated the steel pen held tightly in red hands, hated the low desk she had to bend over, and hated the voices surrounding her.
“Mrs.,” the nanny’s voice brought Wen Ziying back to reality.
Looking toward the gate, Wen Ziying saw her mother, Bian Guping.
Bian Guping stood on the other side of the threshold, staring blankly at the burning manuscripts.
“Keep an eye on my mother,” Wen Ziying said to the nanny.
She strode back into the house, took out the Chen Award trophy, and shoved it into Bian Guping’s arms: “Here, take it. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”
Without waiting for Bian Guping’s reaction, Wen Ziying walked out of the house. She took her bicycle from the garage and rode furiously down the village paths, venting her emotions.
At noon, after mostly exhausting her emotional turmoil, Wen Ziying returned home.
Passing by Bian Guping’s room, she glanced inside. Today, Bian Guping wasn’t staring at the chrysanthemums in the yard but at the Chen Award trophy.
Wen Ziying could no longer remember exactly how her mother had gone mad. Her only memory was paper scraps scattered all over the floor—the day her mother’s most treasured essay about chrysanthemums had been torn to pieces.
Turning away, she went to the kitchen to grab something to eat before returning to her bedroom.
First, she called the publishing house to inform them of her decision, then she posted on an online forum.
After finishing, she tossed her phone aside, finally feeling completely relieved.
No more novels—what should she do next? She wondered.
Previously, every day had been spent either writing novels or plotting them out, occasionally playing games to numb herself, with nothing else in her life.
Now that novels were no longer necessary, half her life suddenly felt empty.
After searching within herself for a while, Wen Ziying found something that interested her.
Who exactly was that self-proclaimed “Doppelgänger Agent”?
Meanwhile, Xia Yu, the Doppelgänger Agent, was reading the post Wen Ziying had just published.
Xia Yu’s first reaction was a sigh: she really had decided to stop writing.
Then he thought of his mission.
Introducing Wen Ziying to work at the Yu family and guiding her life—this task should now be completed. The star fragments would soon be in his hands.
He smiled.
“What are you so happy about?” Xu Youxiang handed him a potato chip.
“There’s something that’s finally coming to an end,” Xia Yu opened his mouth, biting the chip—and also Xu Youxiang’s finger.
After eating a potato chip from Xu Youxiang on the left, An Siyao on the right offered him apple slices.
An Siyao placed the apple slice in Xia Yu’s mouth and immediately pulled her hand back, fearing he might bite her.
But while she managed to escape with just her fingers, her face wasn’t so lucky.
Hu Lianglu, sitting opposite the trio, watched Xia Yu embrace both girls with cold eyes.
“What’s finished?” Xu Youxiang asked again.
Xia Yu thought for a moment before answering, “Something about a game account.”
“Game account” was a code phrase that both An Siyao and Xu Youxiang understood.
“Have you gotten involved with another woman?” Xu Youxiang pulled her hand away, making Xia Yu bite empty air.
“No, I’m happy because I can obtain something—an unusual item, though I’m not exactly sure what it is yet.”
“What is it? I’ll buy it for you,” An Siyao tried to please Xia Yu with money.
“It’s not something ordinary. If it can be seen, I’ll show it to you once I get it.”
After spending more time with the two girls, Xia Yu entered Xu Youxiang’s body. He needed to start working—his research on the treatment for ALS was not yet complete.
In the afternoon, during a break, Xia Yu, using Xu Youxiang’s body, openly viewed Wen Ziying’s announcement of her retirement.
“So you actually have an affair with your junior!” Xu Youxiang huffed but couldn’t help asking curiously, “Was what you were completing helping her leave the literary world?”
“Mm,” Xia Yu nodded. “I’m planning to introduce her to Yu Ningmeng for a translation job. Don’t worry, I won’t show up in person.”
Xia Yu thought that once the introduction was done, the star fragment would probably be his.
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