I'm not a literary giant

Chapter 23 Collective Unconsciousness (Thanks to Mr. Afang for the reward)
In full view of Zuo Ziliang and Ye Lan, Huang Da’s message popped up.

[Boss, do you want to review the quality of today's script? ]

Zuo Ziliang sat up straight when he saw the message, while Ye Lan shut up and said nothing.

"Isn't he here? Ask him if the speech therapist has any feedback on the problem?"

Zuo Ziliang was very emotional. Ye Lan frowned and looked at him, but still inputted what he said.

Huang Da replied:
[Yes, several people gave us feedback, saying that something was wrong with today's script.]

Zuo Ziliang asked: "How many are there?"

[Several, I didn’t ask for the details.]

Zuo Ziliang waved his fist in the air and shouted, "Nice!"

Then, he turned his gaze to Ye Lan: "What do you mean?"

Ye Lan remained silent and typed on her phone: [Ask the operator to take screenshots of the chat records provided by the speech therapist and send them to me. Every single one.]

Huang Da replied: [Oh, OK. ]

Zuo Ziliang raised his eyes and sneered at her: "What? You won't give up until you reach the Yellow River?"

Ye Lan turned off the phone screen and said, "I just don't want to cause any misunderstanding."

Soon, Huang Da sent a screenshot of the chat history.

There are a total of 7 screenshots, and 7 speech therapists have questioned the script in their own tone.

There were even two people who hit the nail on the head and asked if the scriptwriter had been replaced.

After seeing those screenshots, Zuo Ziliang straightened his body with a victorious attitude.

"Did I win? The facts eloquently proved that I was right. The script of The Little Prince is just different! Our speech therapists are great! They are keen on literature! Their level of appreciation is commendable!"

Ye Lan's forehead was sweating as he typed on his phone: [Why don't those speech therapists give feedback in the group? ]

Huang Da said: [Aren’t there a large group of little princes here too? Maybe they are a little embarrassed to ask directly in the group…]

After a while, Huang Da asked: "Do you want to tell the little prince teacher? If you don't know how to tell him, I can tell him."

Ye Lan paused for a moment and typed on his phone:
[No. The Little Prince did not write this script.]

There were only two punctuation marks sent over: "?!"

...Putting down the phone, Ye Lan fell silent.

Within 30 minutes of the script being sent out, the file was only downloaded about a hundred times, and seven people raised questions.

There are definitely more people who truly have doubts in their hearts than this number, but they don't speak out for various reasons.

Moreover, the seven speech therapists raised their doubts from different angles. Some pointed out that the style was different, while others bluntly said that the level of the script was not good enough.

From any angle, this shows that there is indeed a gap between Cheng Xing's manuscript and The Little Prince, a gap that is visible to the naked eye.

Zuo Ziliang asked: "Do you have anything else to say?"

Ye Lan didn't speak for a long time. He bit his lip and tapped his chin with his fingers. After a long while, he finally said, "Is the difference really that big? Why can't I see it?"

Zuo Ziliang sneered: "You can't see that it's your problem. Didn't we agree just now? I will admit defeat if I lose the bet."

Ye Lan sighed, "I admit defeat. But I still can't figure it out. Cheng Xing is a published writer! Where did you find the scriptwriter? Could he really be a Mao Dun Literature Prize winner?" "There are so many things you can't figure out, just think about it yourself."

Zuo Ziliang used the privilege of the victor and strode out of the door. Before leaving, he turned back to look at Ye Lan and said:

"Oh, I almost forgot. At least your direction is correct. Again, as long as you can find a scriptwriter at the level of a little prince, I'll welcome him anytime."

After Zuo Ziliang left, Ye Lan also paid the bill. She left with Cheng Xing, who had just woken up from a dream. On the way, she said apologetically:

"Sorry to take up your time."

Cheng Xing had been in a transparent state just now, and now he seemed to have just floated up from the sea after diving, and said:

"It's okay, sister. I'm really not good enough and my abilities are limited."

Ye Lan said: "Don't say that about yourself. I still believe in your ability. It's mainly because the person that Mr. Zuo hired is too magical. I don't know why everyone says he is very skilled..."

Cheng Xing's face changed and he said, "That person is very skilled."

Ye Lan was stunned: "Ah?"

Cheng Xing said: "Sister, do you have that person's contact information? I really want to talk to him."

Ye Lan smiled bitterly: "That person is Mr. Zuo's relative, and he is the only one who has that person's contact information. Why, do you really think that person is good?"

Cheng Xing said solemnly: "If any of Mr. Zuo's relatives had such writing skills, then I wouldn't need to get involved in literature. I'd just find a piece of tofu and kill myself."

He stretched out his hand, made a swimming gesture, and said, "When I was reading just now, I felt like I was diving deep into it. This is a very wonderful reading experience. Sister Lan, have you ever experienced it? It's like the feeling of being immersed in it.

"It's usually hard to get into this state. You usually need to be very relaxed, make a pot of tea, curl up comfortably on the sofa, and quietly turn the pages of a book to feel the deep dive. As a result, I was given a batch of scripts and entered this state while sitting in the private room of Shang K. Isn't it amazing?
"He really has a very special style and writing style that I can't describe. I feel enjoyment just by looking at these scripts. I can't imagine... what kind of Manchu and Han banquets do your users usually eat?"

Ye Lan was stunned and said, "According to what you said, is he really a Mao Dun Literature Prize winner? But I heard from Zuo Ziliang that this person has not even published any works!"

"Never published?" Cheng Xing was very surprised for a moment, but soon he nodded and said, "That makes sense. If he had published a work, I should know it. But among the writers I know so far, none of them has his style of writing."

He lowered his head and thought for a while, then suddenly said, "Sister Lan, can you get all the scripts he has written? I want to read them carefully and learn from them."

Ye Lan said with some surprise: "Of course you can! I will find it and send it to you when I get back. If you can imitate this style and write with this feeling, I will definitely support you to come and be our scriptwriter."

Cheng Xing nodded and said, "Okay."

When Cheng Xing got home, Ye Lan had already packaged the script and sent it to him. It was more than 200KB in total. After downloading it and opening the folder, he saw documents named by date neatly arranged, which was dazzling.

Cheng Xing sat in front of the computer, wiped the dust off his Ningzhi capacitor 890 keyboard, and moved his fingers vigorously.

Just as Zuo Ziliang judged, although Ye Lan was a very charming woman, her level of literary appreciation could only be described as appalling.

Therefore, she could not realize how important this small 200KB compressed package was. She also could not realize that this thing should not be leaked to anyone easily.

When Cheng Xing heard that the Little Prince had not published any works, the only thought that filled his body was this sentence -

——We want the whole world to know who the little prince was who uprooted the baobab tree. We want the whole world to witness that such words were born.

He had no intention of plagiarizing other people's works. He just wanted to convey this feeling. He wanted to restore the shock he felt when he first saw the script of The Little Prince, and pass this shock on to everyone.

He wanted the name of the little prince who uprooted the baobab tree to be resounding throughout the literary world.

This is the most primitive emotion of human beings, simple and strong. He is like Prometheus, just sharing the fire he stole while it is hot, without thinking about the vulture pecking at his body.

(End of this chapter)