Chapter 97 Dance! dance! dance!
“The script was stolen again?”
“Yes, it was stolen again, but this time it was not sent by a fool among us, but by an undercover agent sent by the opponent to steal it.”
Ye Lan blushed slightly: "It's boring to talk about the past! Tell me about the specific situation, how the enemy operated? What kind of undercover?"
The origin of the turmoil came from "Qingyan" Zhong Susu's manager. She ordered Qiu Ze to dig out Wang Zixu.
After a hard-working Bada worker pondered for a night, Longchang suddenly realized: Compared with inviting the other party’s people, isn’t it many times easier to get the other party’s work?
So he did it. He packed up all the Little Prince's scripts from past to present, and sent them to the group of core speech therapists of "Qingyan" in the name of learning materials for their reference.
Ye Lan gritted her teeth and said, "Sue them!"
Zuo Ziliang smiled bitterly: "We are already going through the legal process, but you don't have to It’s a bit difficult to find them guilty of plagiarism. This may be a long-lasting lawsuit.” Ye Lan said, “Have you found the undercover?”
"You have found it, but even if you eliminate one of them, our speech therapist registration is open, and they can add another one at any time."
Ye Lan said: "Then we will only send it to the core speech therapists, and the script will not be made public."
"Yes, we are here for If you don't let them plagiarize, kill yourself first." "What should we do?" Ye Lan said anxiously, "Are you going to wait for them to copy the copycat? Later, they will accuse us of being the copycat!"
Zuo Ziliang stared at her for a while and suddenly laughed for no reason.
“What are you laughing at?”
"Actually, they are already doing this. Look at the latest ratings of our app."
Ye Lan took a look at his phone and suddenly felt chest tightness and shortness of breath, and even her breast glands were blocked.
[Sisters who came to "Little Prince" to avoid lightning, internal news that "Little Prince" is actually not a person but a team. This team recently broke up and the core writer ran away to the house next door, so the speech therapy skills of both families are now the same. Sisters, be careful, don't buy the mountain or watch the mountain, otherwise you will be the accomplice of the mountain! 】
Comment reply: [Thank you sisters for clearing mines, which company are you talking about? I want to support the genuine version. 】
Comment reply: [The first one recommended by the app store is, sorry I can’t say the name, otherwise it will be judged as an advertisement by the system. ]
Ye Lan beat his chest and returned the phone to Zuo Ziliang:
"Quick! Find a way to make Qingyan go bankrupt! I can't stand it anymore!"
Zuo Ziliang spread his hands: "I do want to."
Ye Lan lay on the sofa and rubbed his chest, raised his head and said, "I'm going to maintain the community and try to improve public opinion. You go contact the official app store to see if this rumor-mongering comment can be deleted... Who are you calling?"
Zuo Ziliang said: "Little Prince."
Ye Lan walked over and pressed his phone.
"Why are you calling him? He is concentrating on his creation, don't disturb him."
Zuo Ziliang raised his head and looked at her in surprise: "I called him just to let him concentrate more on his creation. Qingyan has more channels and funds than us. Before our lawsuit is won, if we want to survive in the same style of play, we must Continue to expand production capacity and keep using new scripts, otherwise we will really become a copycat! "Ye Lan stamped his feet: "But Wang Zixu has reached the limit!" Zuo Ziliang raised his eyebrows: "Ye Lan, you were not like this before. What, you finally feel the charm of the little prince?"
Ye Lan turned his head and said: "Don't talk nonsense. Have you visited the base? In Wang Zixu's condition, I wouldn't be surprised if he urinates blood. Let's keep it as it is. If his body collapses, we will be completely ruined."
p>Zuo Ziliang picked up the phone and carried it to his seat, unmoved and continued to make a call:
“Can you deepen your relationship a little bit? It’s a good thing, but it’s best not to let feelings affect your work. You have to tell him about this. ”
“Is it really okay for you to squeeze him like this?”
“A creator can only gain new life by being squeezed.”
“You don’t mean to squeeze him to death first, right?”
“The little prince is stronger than you think.”
…
Wang Zixu listened to Zuo Ziliang on the phone, looked calm, nodded and said: “…Okay, I know…Okay. No problem."
After hanging up the phone, he glanced at the script writers: "We will double the script output today."
"Huh?" The lost believer opened his mouth.
Wang Zixu said: "I know what you are going to say, and I also know what you are thinking, but don't ask why, and don't disobey orders, otherwise you will be eliminated."
The poet chewed gum and wrote lightly: "Yesterday it was four thousand words, today it is eight thousand words? It's just a joke. When I serialized two books at the same time, I have written more outrageous word counts than this."
"Hey!" The lost believer turned to look at her, "That's because you are gifted!"
Cheng Xing lowered his head and wrote in his notebook with a pen: "It is said that "Life and Death Fatigue" was written at an average speed of 10,000 words per day. Who do we have to make excuses?"
Sakurajiang fisted together: "It means that since someone is born with extraordinary talents, why can't it be me, right?"
Xiaoba nodded: "The first rule of Wenwen Club, everything the teacher Little Prince says are rules. Stop talking, my machine soul is already awakening."
"That's the sixth rule, okay?"
After the believer finished complaining, he closed his eyes with a smile like Lelouch, stretched out his finger and put it between his eyebrows, and said:
“Yeah, yeah, since you have all been injected with chicken blood, I won’t pretend anymore, I can only show my strength.”
Before he finished speaking, everyone After they left, Sakura-chan patted him on the shoulder and said, "I know you're under a lot of pressure, but if you play too much, it's a bit embarrassing, brother."
"..."
Wang Zixu returned to his computer and adjusted the previously set target word count from "4,000 words" to "8,000 words." The second he clicked the confirmation button, Sartre appeared again.
“If you put so much pressure on yourself, is it still too late to call for papers from the Xihe Literary Society? There is only one left…” Sartre lowered his head and glanced at his watch, “The call for papers ends in two days!”
Wang Zixu said: "Just as written."
"Are you really playing with your life?"
The little prince appeared across the dining table: "Sometimes you have to play with your life. If you don't play with your life, life will play with you."
Sartre said: "The key is who are you playing for? If you are playing with your life for the eyes of others, isn't that a punishment?"
The little prince sneered and said: "You are the only one who lives in a high-welfare society. Only those who know how to do it will care about this. Living here, living in Xihe, what day is not torture?
"Zhang Qian, Gou Yingbiao, Shen Qingfeng, these cunts, as long as you show off your temper, they will come over and pinch you. This time it's just another opponent. What can you do? You only have life! ”
Sartre stopped talking and lit his pipe silently.
The little prince did not intend to stop, and continued: "Have you seen "Saint Seiya"? Seiya was lying on the ground, dying, and told Athena that I could not do anything as a goddess, and that I had nothing. Athena said, how could you have nothing? Don't you still have life?"
The little prince looked at Wang Zixu: "We have never had anything, and we were born only to die. What can we do?"
Sartre's face fell into the smoke and said: "The involution of your East Asians always puzzles me."
The little prince said: "Do you still have a pipe? I want to try it too."
Sartre changed one out of thin air and handed it to him.
The two of them were puffing away at the dining table one after another, one mouthful at a time and one mouthful at a time, filling the restaurant with steaming clouds and a fairy-like air.
Wang Zixu said: "There is a plot in "Norwegian Wood". I don't remember it clearly. Please help me recall it. When Watanabe and Nagaze separated, Nagaze gave Watanabe some advice. What was one of them? "
"'Don't pity yourself, pity yourself is a coward'," the little prince reminded, "Is that the sentence?"
"That's the sentence."
"What do you have to sympathize with?" the little prince said, "Is it because your parents are divorced? Or is it because your father is mentally ill? Or is it because your girlfriend stabs you in the back, or because you haven't received an excellent rating for nine years?"
Sartre said: "Stop talking, I'm going to cry again."
The little prince raised his pipe at him: "Only such a soft-hearted old white man would agree. Love you. Who cares about you?"
He leaned over and blew smoke into Wang Zixu's face: "Remember, middle-aged men who have accomplished nothing are the most miserable creatures in the world. They are regarded as competitors by men and as money-making machines. They have neither the immunity of young people nor the heaviest responsibility. If they make one mistake, they will become the fun of the world.
"Zuo Ziliang is right, you must keep dancing, because no one appreciates your dancing. Squeeze yourself while you can still squeeze out the juice. This may be your last chance..."
"That's enough." Wang Zixu stood up unsteadily.
The little prince glanced at Sartre: "Did I go too far just now?"
"Who knows? I don't understand the spiritual world of you East Asians. Don't you have some bushido? ? "
"Fuck off, Bushido is a Japanese thing, I am Chinese."
"Shut up, I just went to pee."
After saying that, he turned around and smiled: "How could my self-esteem be frustrated because of such a trivial matter? Who do you think I am?"
The little prince and Sartre both stared at him. They didn't know what definition he would give himself this time.
“I am a man who still has 50 chances to win the Nobel Prize in Literature.”
“Come on,” Sartre said, “although I refuse to accept the prize.”
The prince made no fuss with them, smiled to himself, walked into the toilet, unbuttoned his belt, and was still thinking about the script and the novel.
The fluid in his body was discharged and the bladder pressure was relieved. He breathed a sigh of relief, but when he lowered his head, he found that the blue urinal was filled with dark red.
His body tilted and fell to the ground.
(End of this chapter)