Wang Zixu’s desk is facing the door. This position was specially chosen by him so that when someone visits, he can immediately hide the novel document he is writing and open a web page to pretend to read the news.
He doesn’t have much work. He answers the phone when there is a phone and writes novels when there is no phone. Apart from that, he has nothing else to do.
No one in the work unit knows that he is writing a novel. He had read a sentence somewhere early on: Don't tell others your ideals, and don't give people the chance to laugh at you.
Here, effort itself is a ridiculous thing, especially when there is no reward. If someone catches you writing a novel, they're bound to ask you where you published it. Wang Zixu had never published it anywhere, so he was very embarrassed. So he pretends to be browsing the web every time. This is different from other colleagues who always pretend to be working. Therefore, in the annual assessment, his performance score will always be qualified.
In addition, this reserve also has other hidden costs. For example, he has not eaten out for many years.
The entertainment of middle-aged people is eating and drinking. In the midst of the banquets and quarrels, his colleagues always felt a sense of accomplishment, which he didn't quite understand. At first, when people invited him to go, he always refused for various reasons. Later, people stopped asking him.
Over the years, some people have miraculously solved the staffing problem, and some have contracted chain fast food restaurants. These are not unrelated to what was said at the wine table. He knew that many opportunities passed him by due to these rejections.
But he doesn’t care, he has 50 chances to win the Nobel Prize for Literature.
He doesn’t like to talk at all. Sometimes, he felt that he was a knife, and letting him join in the ordinary life conversations was like putting a knife on tofu. When the blade of the knife passed through the tofu, the tofu didn't even have time to moan.
While he was writing, colleagues often wandered over and walked around his office, holding up their belts and talking loudly about stocks, pork, paydays, and the woman who jumped from the top floor of the Food and Drug Administration the day before yesterday. These things were too close to be poetic, and too far away to be felt, which made him uncomfortable.
Working hard to think about ways to continue besides writing is like running to a store 1 kilometer away for an unimportant product. What is suspicious is that his colleagues always know such things. He suspects that they are staff of some kind of news media, responsible for spreading these anecdotes to the extreme ends of society, frequently and efficiently.
He actually understands that he only needs to express his opinions in a timely manner, try to be as clear and superficial as possible, and can also add some modal words to ask questions, ask questions, and follow their topics. Daily communication is not that difficult.
But he would always say some concluding words to bring the topic to an abrupt end. No one could continue to follow his words. If there were, it would most likely be because they did not understand. But he just couldn't help saying these words because he had already thought about them. Thinking about it but deliberately not saying it makes him sick.
He felt that he was a knife that could cut tofu without any need for a cook or a butcher, relying only on its own weight, and his interpersonal relationships were cut in this way. In fact, he could be gentler and not show the sharpness, but then it would not be a knife.
He thought. The purpose of a knife is to cut, no matter what it is cutting.
The wife’s hand was cut by a kitchen knife.
After hanging up the phone, Wang Zixu threw away the cigarette butts and hurried home. When he got home, his wife had bandaged his hands and set out the dishes and chopsticks for him to eat. After taking a few bites, tears started to flow down his face.
“I was not feeling well today, so I didn’t go to the store to help. I wanted to take a rest. I didn’t go anywhere all day, so I did hygiene at home. The more I did, the more I did. I bought that grapefruit last month and asked you to put it on the table first. You really just put it on the table, and it was rotten. You never took it away. If I didn’t do it, that grapefruit would have been there all my life?
"I'm so tired. I work two jobs every day and do housework. I cut my finger. I'm the only one at home. I can't count on anyone, and you can't count on anything else. I really don't want to live this kind of life anymore... If I hadn't married you, wouldn't I have lived this kind of life?"
He didn't know how to comfort his wife, she just kept crying. All the warm words were said in the first three years of their marriage.
There is no need to say anything in defense. What the wife said is the truth, but it is only the emotional truth from her perspective. If it is from his perspective, this may not be the case. But every time he thought of a counterargument, she could always think of three, and he could never tell her the same.
He really wanted to get her to think from her perspective, but every time he tried, it always aroused more complaints from her. In the end, he understood a truth: if a woman knows how to think from her perspective, she is no longer a woman.
He used to be the captain of the school debate team when he was in college. He once thought that the root of persuasion was eloquence, but later he thought it was thought. His ideas once helped him succeed in the debate, but later he found that they were all wrong.
Now, he realizes that there are limits to thought and spirit. This limit is much lower than the limit of matter. Wherever thoughts can touch, matter has already planted its flag there, just like the eternal motto - matter determines consciousness.
So, he transferred 500 yuan to his wife.
His wife was sitting on the sofa with her back to him. She took out her phone, looked at it, and wiped her tears. After a while, she turned around with tears in her eyes and asked, "Why are you transferring money to me?"
Wang Zixu said, this is my manuscript fee. I submitted the manuscript today and called me.
“What kind of royalties?”
“It’s the royalties for the novel I mentioned last time. The magazine called me today and happily sent me the money.”< /p>
The wife sniffed loudly, and then asked: "Only 500 in total?"
"Only 500, after all, I am not famous."
"500 is a lot, I mean a lot." The wife said, "It takes half a month just to eat. How come you have so much money to write an article? Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
He said, you lost your temper as soon as you came back, and I didn't have the chance to tell you.
His wife grabbed his hand: "I'm sorry, it's my fault. I won't talk about you anymore. It's a great thing to get the royalties. I should congratulate you for taking one step closer to your dream."
"Thank you."
He felt that these words were too polite to say as a couple.
My wife wiped away her tears and said, the food has become cold while we are busy talking. I will heat it up for you. By the way, what magazine are you publishing in?
"It's a small magazine, and you don't even know it." He said.
“Even if I don’t know, I will know it if you tell me.”
My wife carried the food into the kitchen. Even though she said this, she didn’t ask what magazine it was.
They have differences on everything. Every time they disagree, they compromise with each other until they reach a level that is acceptable to both parties, and then the matter is over. This is the secret to the longevity of their marriage. This time she was also used to compromising.
But he would like to thank her for her compromise. If she continues to ask, he will be unable to resist because this magazine does not exist. If he told me which magazine it was from, and if he opened it and looked at it, the lie would be broken without his novel.
This royalties was born out of fiction. Novels are the art of fiction. As a pursuer of the Nobel Prize for Literature, the only thing that Wang Zixu is good at is fiction.
If given the chance, Wang Zixu would tell her wife: Never believe a novelist’s words.
Although he is not a novelist yet.