Chapter 158 Golden Age

Chapter 158 Golden Age

Chapter 158 Golden Age
The restaurant that Prince Xu decided to go to is on Binhai Road, a place that reminds people of the exaggerated descriptions of Guo Jingming in his famous works - a maze-like city, white foreigners who talk loudly, dazzling luxury goods, aloof shop assistants, and streets full of elegant sports cars such as Ferrari, Lamborghini, and Koenigsegg.

He sat by the window, the expensive spotlights shining brightly, making him look like a high-end commodity even in his fake suit.

An old woman walked past the window, suddenly turned around and looked at him through the window. This glance revealed the class gap and identity chasm. If one could find a good angle to take a photo at this time, it would surely arouse strong resonance in people's hearts.

Wang Zixu believes that what the world is like actually depends on how you look at it. Just like him and the old lady, when everyone looks at this picture with sympathy and sighs about this materialistic age, who knows if the old lady lives near Binhai Road and was compensated with 20 houses after the house was demolished?
Perhaps Wang Zixu is the one who deserves sympathy.

Wang Zixu had no idea of ​​the old lady's background. For others, the background of Wang Zixu sitting in this magnificent window was also unknown.

How things really are in the world is a fact. Apart from the facts, everything else is speculation. Speculation is fiction. People's evaluation of people and their praise and criticism are mostly based on the fiction in their minds.

Whether you sympathize with the old lady or sympathize with Wang Zixu, you are just making up a reason in your mind for them to need sympathy and forcibly attributing your own sentimentality to them.

Both of them have sympathy, and then sympathize with all mankind, and feel that all living beings are suffering, which is Buddha; both of them have no sympathy, and then do not sympathize with any living being, which is demon. Both of them are firm and unshakable, and will not be easily influenced by external things.

It is extremely difficult for human beings to become Buddhas or demons. Most of them wander between the two, projecting their limited emotions onto a small number of people, so they are easily happy and sad.

When something makes people feel bad, looking at it from a different perspective may give you a completely different feeling, because the fictional part is different. Humans are animals that are constantly creating fiction.

Wang Zixu is a person who sells fiction. Whether he is writing novels or pretending to be the little prince to create libido, he is secretly disguising what he feels as reality and selling it to those who are willing to pay. Of course, he tries to tell only the truth, which is the responsibility of a serious writer.

However, reality is also subjective. For him at this moment and in this place, it is true that he can see tall plane trees planted on the roadside through the window, it is true that he can feel the sea breeze blowing on this street at night, and it is also true that he cannot afford any of the cars parked on the roadside.

These chaotic realities together constitute a complex and meaningless world. Humans give meaning to this world with their own eyes. He extracts these realities, combines them into a certain shape, and then presents them to people. This is his job.

In this sense, he feels that he has a great responsibility.

When Wang Zixu was in a daze, he would think, and when he thought, he would think of these things. These thoughts made him easily become cold and unhappy.

Just as Wang Zixu's thoughts were drifting higher and higher, the editor finally arrived. He looked to be around 40 years old, with a serious expression. He was wearing a brown shirt with his sleeves neatly rolled up, revealing an old-fashioned watch.

Wang Zixu's first impression of him was that he was a very upright person.

The editor walked over to the table and sat down face to face with him, placing his briefcase on the chair next to him. "My last name is Hao, you can call me Editor Hao. You may not have heard of my name, but you must have heard of the manuscripts I have reviewed. The works of Yan Zishan and Xiao Mengyin were all reviewed by me."

This opening remark was arrogant and shocking, and Wang Zixu was shocked in the first second. He quickly stretched out his hand and shook his hand: "Hello, hello."

Hao continued, "What about your situation? Chairman Shi told me about it. I also know your concerns, so I just got straight to the point... By the way, the food can be served. Time is limited, so we can talk while we eat."

Wang Zixu said, "The dishes haven't been ordered yet. We're waiting for you to come over and order. Waiter!"

Editor Hao took the menu and smiled sarcastically: "Just order the dishes... I'll order a traditional scallion-fried sea cucumber, a Huaiyang golden lion's head, a salted pigeon, a garlic-baked East China Sea small yellow croaker, and then Wagyu beef with rice. That's all."

These dishes were not cheap, and it was obvious that this person had not considered helping Wang Zixu save money. He handed the menu to Wang Zixu, who took it with reluctance and randomly ordered two cold dishes.

Editor Hao took a sip of water and said, "By the way, where were we just now? Chairman Shi introduced you, so I'll just say it straight... did you bring the manuscript?"

Wang Zixu quickly took out the manuscript: "I brought it."

Editor Hao took the manuscript, glanced at it, and then looked up and said, "I'll be frank. This is definitely the one you know. Can I take the manuscript back with me?"

He spoke vaguely. Wang Zixu didn't understand and wanted to ask for clarification. However, seeing Hao Bian's serious expression, he didn't dare to ask too much for fear of angering him. He just nodded and asked, "Yes. Do you mean, can I publish it?"

Editor Hao sneered, neither saying yes nor no, he just said, "Chairman Shi recommended it, are you still worried about publishing it?"

Wang Zixu felt relieved and suddenly he didn't feel so painful about checking the bill anymore.

Editor Hao flipped through the thick manuscript, looked up and said, "Please briefly explain your thinking. This is so thick that it will take a month just to review it. Tell me your thinking so that I can sort it out when I go back."

Wang Zixu then told him his outline and ideas in great detail. Editor Hao did not interrupt him, but nodded and said "hmm" from time to time.

After finishing his speech, Hao looked up and said, "Very good!"

"is it?"

"That's a good idea." Hao Bian lowered his head to eat, "Okay, I get it. I personally think your idea is pretty good."

The prince breathed a sigh of relief: "Thank you."

Hao Bian used chopsticks to pry open the lion's head, then changed to an iron spoon to scoop up the minced meat, dipped it in a little soup at the bottom of the plate and put it into his mouth; he also turned the beef slices to allow the gravy and rice to be fully mixed, picked up a sea cucumber, placed it on the rice, and put them all into his mouth with a spoon.

Wang Zixu slapped his thigh: "Oh, I forgot to order a drink."

While chewing, Hao said, "No, I don't drink sugary drinks. My blood lipids are a bit high."

He cut the pigeon with a knife and fork, poured the scallion sauce over the meat, picked up a leg and started chewing it, making a crisp sound.

In a blink of an eye, he had finished eating the sea cucumber and both legs of the squab. Wang Zixu could only pick up some cold dishes. He had no appetite and asked, "Editor Hao, do you have many submissions?"

"A lot, a lot, like snowflakes." Editor Hao said as he chewed, "They're piled up like a mountain. The primary task of our interns is to review the mountain of manuscripts. We sit there every day at work and read them. When the internship period is over, we don't have to read them anymore."

"Intern." Wang Zixu was a little disappointed. "Then are there many high-quality manuscripts?"

Hao Bian put down his bowl and chopsticks, with oil still on his lips.

"Let me tell you this, the main source of manuscripts for our magazine is commissioned manuscripts. We also have submission channels, but we basically don't use manuscripts that come in." "Why?"

Editor Hao was stunned by the question: "Why? Of course it's because the quality is too poor. Most of the contributors are old cadres who have nothing to do at home after retirement and suddenly remembered their literary dreams. They wrote something and sent it to me, but it's not readable at all."

Wang Zixu recalled what he saw and heard in the editorial office of Xihe Literature and Art, and lamented that it was the same everywhere.

Editor Hao added: "We mainly commission articles from famous authors. The quality of their articles is controllable and it is easier to review them. Looking for articles in public submissions is like panning for gold in a sea of ​​shit."

Wang Zixu asked cautiously, "What if there are not enough commissioned manuscripts?"

"How can it be not enough?" Editor Hao laughed, "We have a lot of manuscripts, and there is not enough space."

Wang Zixu asked: "My article is so long, can it be published?"

Editor Hao paused, as if he was considering his words: "Your article is indeed in trouble. If you want to publish it, we will open a special column for you. We don't have many columns for long articles in our magazine. Generally, only famous writers are qualified to publish long articles!"

After hearing this, Wang Zixu felt even more uneasy: "Then... then I'm sorry to bother you."

After saying this, he sat down in his seat with a melancholy look. He had submitted his manuscripts everywhere before but they were not accepted. The reason was probably obvious. If it weren't for Shi Tonghe's words, he wouldn't have been able to sit here and talk directly to the editor. Thinking of this, he seemed like someone who got in through the back door, and he felt a little uncomfortable.

After the meal, the bill for the two of them was 3800 yuan, including a % service charge. Wang Zixu grimaced when he paid, and the waiter thought he had a toothache and asked him if he needed warm water. Wang Zixu said no. What he needed was a calculator.

The meal cost nearly four thousand yuan, and he couldn't earn that much from writing an article. He was really losing money to publish in a magazine. The more Wang Zixu thought about it, the more he felt that he was being taken advantage of.

This place was not chosen by him, but by Zuo Ziliang. Zuo Ziliang knew a little about the inside story and told him when he was choosing the seat: since you are worried about offending people, then choose a place where when others want to harm you, they will remember this meal and be able to help you. So Wang Zixu decided on this place.

Now that I think about it, at least 3800 out of the 3000 yuan was public relations expenses caused by offending Shi Tonghe.

Shi Tonghe, you are so precious!

Fortunately, he has money.

After paying the bill, Wang Zixu thought to himself, it's a good thing that he writes novels. If it weren't for the money he made from writing novels, he wouldn't even be qualified to submit them. No wonder a top student like Yingjiang also writes novels.

Before saying goodbye, he added Hao Bian on WeChat. After returning home, he sent an emoticon to the person, and the other party also sent an emoticon. Because he didn't know how to chat and was afraid of disturbing the other party, Wang Zixu didn't continue talking and waited with hope.

Five days passed like this. There was no news from Hao Bian.

Wang Zixu finished smoking on the toilet in the bathroom, turned on the exhaust fan, washed his hands, and looked out the bathroom window. Half of the window was a building and the other half was the blue sky.

As the postgraduate entrance examination of Nanjing University is approaching, the deadline for Feishi’s essay submission is also getting closer.

He stood up, packed his clothes, and set off for Nanjing University.

He contacted Hao Bian once yesterday, and he was told to wait for news. He didn't feel comfortable to urge him, but Fei Shi's deadline was approaching, which made him anxious.

It would be quite embarrassing if the manuscript submission time is delayed too long and you miss this year's essay competition and cannot make it in time for next year's.

He parked the car in front of the magazine office, got out and went upstairs. Wang Zixu took out his key and opened the door.

Recently he has been going to work at the magazine every day. He is not a person who likes to get up early, but compared to the others, he is considered diligent. He is the first to arrive and the first to open the door every day.

This has resulted in him becoming more skilled at opening and closing the rolling door recently.

After mopping the floor, opening the windows for ventilation, tidying up the tables and chairs, and throwing away the tea residue left over from yesterday, the blackbirds outside the window began to sing. He sat under the windowsill and began to review the manuscript.

After he started working as an editor, he gradually came to understand Hao. Every day, new manuscripts were sent to him, some in letters, but more in mailboxes. If you are not careful, a large number of them will accumulate, eventually forming a mountain of manuscripts.

The more the manuscripts piled up, the less he wanted to review them, so he simply threw them to interns. Those manuscripts that condensed his hard work and hope lay there, quietly waiting to be reviewed by the emperor, and finally thrown into the trash can. In order to avoid this situation, Wang Zixu insisted on reviewing the saved manuscripts every day.

Even if he would have to reject all the manuscripts in the end, he would rather read them first before rejecting them, at least those manuscripts would have a reader.

After processing several accumulated manuscripts, Wang Zixu stood up to stretch his body, but saw a stack of manuscript papers on Ning Chunyan's desk. He looked around and confirmed that this manuscript was not among the rejected manuscripts, nor among the accepted manuscripts. Could it be that an article was missed in the manuscripts awaiting review?
He picked up the stack of manuscript paper and began to read. At first glance, he was attracted.

The texture of the text in this manuscript is completely different from the works of the newbies he just read. The author's talent for controlling words can be seen with the naked eye. Even the punctuation marks in the text can reveal the author's delicate and sensitive soul.

Wang Zixu sat down in his seat and poured himself a cup of tea, without taking his eyes off the manuscript in his hand.

This should be considered a love story, or a tragic love story like Wuthering Heights. Wang Zixu believes that the era when Wuthering Heights was written was the golden age of novel creation. There were blue oceans everywhere, and there were so many stories in the world that had not been created. Novelists at that time were extremely happy, and they had countless new themes to explore.

But in this era, all stories have been written, all topics have been explored, and the stories created with great effort are bound to become repetitive or old-fashioned.

The golden age has passed and people can no longer get the same shock as before.

The manuscript in his hand, although a modern work, gave him a kind of soul-touching feeling that only the golden age could have. With its old-fashioned and solid style and spiritual and vivid words, Wang Zixu felt that this manuscript could not only be published in the "New Appreciation" magazine, but it could even win a literary award.

He looked through the manuscript but could not find the author's contact information. He could only see the title of the book. There was a noise at the door, and Wang Zixu shouted excitedly:
"Ning Chunyan, Ning Chunyan! I found a new literary talent award for our magazine! Who sent this article "Beauvoir's Devotion" on your desk? Who is the author?"

With a light "click", the door was opened, and a cold face completely different from Ning Chunyan appeared at the door.

"Stop shouting, that's my manuscript, I'm the author."

(End of this chapter)