When he first calculated this number, he didn't quite believe it. He checked it three times before confirming that it was just that much.

Eighteen thousand yuan, five digits, five syllables, read out with your mouth, it just combines the three nasal vowels of the a sound, and the rhythm is like Li Bai's ancient poetry.

Although Wang Zixu’s goal has always been the Nobel Prize in Literature and the royalties of up to 6 million yuan, that goal has always been too far away for him, and he has not expected to win this award in the first 30 years.

As for those nearby scenes, the manuscript fee of a few hundred yuan for "Xihe Literature and Art" was the limit of his imagination. Even for the author of a leading literary journal, the fee for a manuscript is only a thousand yuan, and it takes a long time.

Only then can you get it.

And Zuo Ziliang's promise was equivalent to promising him a monthly royalties of 18,000 yuan. Wang Zixu could never have imagined such a good thing.

He murmured for a long time before asking what he was most worried about: "You can't afford the royalties, can you?"

Zuo Ziliang was finally annoyed by him and said: "Go, go, who can't afford your salary? In this way, if you can steadily produce two articles a day and more than 60 articles a month,

If the total word count exceeds 120,000 words, I will give you an additional 2,000 yuan as a perfect attendance bonus, do you think that’s okay?”

Wang Zixu was afraid that he would regret it, so he immediately said: "It's a deal."

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

The author whose goal is to win the Nobel Prize in Literature must be responsible for every line he writes. But how can he not be moved when faced with a royalties of 20,000 yuan? This money can solve almost all the problems in his life. Experience

After experiencing the painful battle between heaven and man, he was heartbroken and wanted to go to hell. Anyway, if he didn't write well, he would still be rich. So I just wrote.

In order to fully prepare himself mentally before writing, he went to read Dostoyevsky's biography again. While reading, he smiled happily.

Doskovsky is one of his most admired writers. He has read "The Brothers Karamazov" many times, and every time he reads it, it is a brand new surge. Although Doskovsky did not win the Nobel Prize for Literature, it is obviously the Nobel Prize for Literature.

Isn't it a question for the jury, not for Tuoji?

The Nobel Prize jury always has some back-and-forth elements. In order to attack ideology, the most important writers like Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky did not award awards. Instead, they awarded the prizes to Bunin and Parsons.

For a less important author like Sternak, in Wang Zixu’s view, Doskovsky’s failure to win the prize does not undermine his glory, but is a shame for the Nobel Prize.

However, even such a great writer sometimes owed money. He went gambling in order to pay off his debts, so he owed more debts. Magnificent masterpieces like "Crime and Punishment" were written while owing a lot of debt.

This shows that economic pressure does not damage a writer's creative power, and accelerating the creation speed does not necessarily mean that the quality of creation will be reduced.

The most important thing is that Zuo Ziliang himself said that it doesn't matter if the quality drops, so why should he worry about it for his boss?

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

With his personality, even if he were asked to lower the quality, he simply couldn't do it. He would review every line he wrote, and it had become his habit to practice the calligraphy repeatedly. He would not be able to write without practicing. He used to come back from work

After returning home, he wrote for three hours before going to sleep. Now he had to spend twice as long to deliver the manuscript on time. Not only was the quantity far greater than before, but the quality was not reduced at all.

However, he went to bed later and later, from going to bed on time before 11 o'clock, to crawling into bed at 2 or 3 o'clock in the morning. After waking up his sleeping wife many times, the angry wife complained that it would affect her pregnancy preparations.

So, kicked him out of the room and asked him to sleep in a small room.

After a week of this, Wang Zixu got up at 8 o'clock every morning. His hair was disheveled, his eyes were crooked, his mouth was slanted, and the dark circles under his eyes looked like the bottoms of pots that had been used for ten years. During the meeting, he fell asleep with his head tilted. If it hadn't been for the person next to him,

When he woke up, he almost had time to snore loudly in public. His colleagues at work were surprised and asked him what he was doing at night, but he could only remain silent.

All the time outside of work, Wang Zixu was carving out his script. Whenever he had nothing to do, he would simulate all kinds of love words in his mind. When a female colleague was talking to him, he blurted out a sentence that he didn't even remember saying. What, but the other party was so surprised that his face turned red, and he kept saying that he didn't expect you to be bad at it. After get off work, he came to ask him if he wanted to go drinking together in the evening.

Of course, Wang Zixu did not have that time in the United States. He had devoted himself wholeheartedly to his writing career.

He moved his computer to the balcony of his home, and every night he lit an LED lamp. Unknown insects tapped their heads on the window glass, and crickets chirped outside the window. These sounds were the same as the roar of his computer case and keyboard.

The crisp sounds were mixed together, playing a late-night harmonic.

This intensity of writing not only tested his hand speed, but also squeezed his talent. In the first week, he was able to rely on his past experience to create many wonderful scripts, but he entered a slump in the second week.

, he felt like a sugar cane that had been squeezed, no juice could flow out, and only shriveled powder could be squeezed out.

More and more time was interrupted in his creation. During the breaks in creation, he had to read more books to recharge himself. When the task of writing squeezed him, he squeezed others.

If in the past, Wang Zixu's reading was to search for valleys in the mountains, collect carefully, and drink a cup of the trickling stream, now he is not shying away from the rivers and seas, regardless of whether the water is clear or turbid, and the world is full of them. I drink heavily from the rivers and floods.

Nietzsche said: He who does not want to die of thirst in the world must learn to drink from any cup. He drinks from any cup, as long as it is water.

Several of Watanabe Junichi's books have been dug out by him. He can no longer squeeze out the nutrients from this writer and must turn to others for help, such as David Herbert Lawrence, Milan Kundera, Zhang Xianliang, etc.

Wang Xiaobo... these writers who seemed to be a bit of a gangster in the past have now become nourishment for Wang Zixu.

The nutrients in these writers' words were sucked into his body, processed in his unique way, and flowed out from his fingertips. During this processing, something remained permanently.

He felt like a pure word processing machine. Although he didn't know what he was producing. From Zuo Ziliang's point of view, he should be producing libido.

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

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

Wang Zengqi's rhythm, Zha Liangzheng's rhythm, Shen Congwen's meticulous brushwork, Qian Zhongshu's wonderful metaphors, Lu Xun's coldness, and Wang Xiaobo's playfulness... He swallowed them all into his body and turned them into his own pure energy. .

At night, the lone lamp shines on the colorful window paper on the balcony, and poetic language flows naturally from the fingers. At this moment, the prince's hunched body is curled up in the abbot, but his soul stands majestically on the earth, forming a new peak.
Chapter completed!