I'm not a literary giant

Chapter 97 Dance! Dance! Dance!
"The script was stolen again?"

"Yes, it was stolen again, but this time it wasn't some idiot in our company who delivered it to someone personally, but someone from the rival company sent someone undercover to steal it."

Ye Lan blushed slightly: "It's boring to keep talking about the past! Tell me the details, how did the opponent operate? What undercover?"

The origin of the turmoil came from a disorderly order from manager "Qingyan" Zhong Susu, who ordered Qiu Ze to poach Wang Zixu.

After pondering all night, the hard-working workers in Benboerba suddenly realized: Isn't it much easier to get the other party's work here than to invite their people?

So he did just that. He packed up all the scripts of The Little Prince from ancient times to the 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 don't get too excited. It's a bit difficult to prove that they plagiarized, and this may be a long-lasting lawsuit."

Ye Lan said: "Have you found the undercover?"

"They found him, but even if they kill him, our speech therapist registration is open, and they can always put another one in."

Ye Lan said, “Then we will only send it to core speech therapists, and the script will not be made public.”

"That's right. In order to prevent them from plagiarizing, we have to cut ourselves in the foot first."

"What should we do?" Ye Lan said anxiously, "Should we just sit and wait for them to copy us? Later, they will turn the tables and say that we are the copycats!"

Zuo Ziliang stared at her for a while, and suddenly laughed for no reason.

"why are you laughing?"

"In fact, they are already doing this. Look at the latest ratings of our app."

Ye Lan took his phone and took a look at it. She suddenly felt chest tightness and shortness of breath, and even her mammary ducts were blocked.

[Sisters who came for the "Little Prince" should avoid it. According to inside information, the "Little Prince" is not a person but a team. This team has recently quarreled and split up. The core editor left and went to the next door company. Therefore, the speech therapy techniques of the two companies are now the same. Sisters, be careful. Don't buy a mountain and don't look at the mountain. Otherwise, you will be the accomplice of the mountain! ]

Comment reply: [Thank you sister for clearing the minefield. Which one are you talking about? I will support the genuine product. ]

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 pounded his chest and returned the phone to Zuo Ziliang:

"Quick! Find a way to shut down Qingyan! I can't stand it anymore!"

Zuo Ziliang spread his hands: "I do want to."

Ye Lan lay on the sofa, rubbing his chest, raised his head and said, "I will go to maintain the community and try to create good 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 answered his call.

"Why are you calling him? He's concentrating on his creation, don't disturb him."

Zuo Ziliang looked up at her in surprise: "I called him to ask him to concentrate more on his creation. Qingyan has more channels and funds than us. Before we win the lawsuit, if we want to survive in the same way, we must continue to expand production capacity and keep piling up new scripts, otherwise we will really become a copycat!"

Ye Lan stamped his feet: "But Wang Zixu has reached his limit!"

Zuo Ziliang raised his eyebrows: "Ye Lan, you were not like this before. Why, have you finally felt the charm of the little prince?"

Ye Lan turned her head away: "Don't talk nonsense. Have you been to the base? With Wang Zixu's condition, I wouldn't be surprised if he urinated blood. Let's keep it as it is. If his body collapses, we'll be completely finished."

Zuo Ziliang picked up the phone and went to his seat, unmoved, and continued to make the call:

"It's a good thing that you two can deepen your relationship, but it's best not to let your feelings affect your work. You have to tell him about this."

"Is it really okay for you to squeeze him like this?"

“Creators can only be reborn through exploitation.”

"You don't mean to squeeze him to death first, do you?"

"The little prince is stronger than you think."

……

Wang Zixu listened to Zuo Ziliang on the phone, his face calm, and nodded: "...Okay, I know...Okay. No problem."

After hanging up the phone, he glanced at the script writers and said, "We are going to double our script production today. And it will be the same in the future."

"Ah?" 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 his gum and said casually, "Yesterday it was 4,000 words, today it is 8,000 words? It's nothing. When I was serializing two books at the same time before, I wrote more outrageous words than this."

"Hey!" The lost believer turned to look at her, "That's because you have a special talent, right!"

Cheng Xing lowered his head and wrote on his notebook: "It is said that Life and Death Are Wearing Me Out was created at an average speed of 10,000 words per day. What right do we have to make excuses?" Yingjiang put her fists together: "What it means is that since someone is born with extraordinary talents, why can't it be me, right?"

Xiao Ba nodded: "The first rule of the Wen Ai Club is that everything that the Little Prince teacher says is a rule. Don't say anymore, my machine soul is already awakening."

"That's rule number six, okay?"

After the believer finished his complaints, he smiled like Lelouch, closed his eyes, put his finger between his eyebrows, and said:
"Yeah, yeah, since you're all so excited, I won't pretend anymore. I'll just have to show my strength."

Before he finished speaking, everyone dispersed. Yingjiang patted his shoulder and said, "I know you are under a lot of pressure, but it's a bit awkward if you play it too immaturely, brother."

"..."

Wang Zixu returned to his computer and adjusted the target word count he had set previously from "4000 words" to "8000 words". The moment he clicked the OK button, Sartre appeared again.

"If you put so much pressure on yourself, will you still have time to submit your essays for the Xihe Literary Society? There are only..." Sartre looked down at his watch, "There are only two days left before the submission deadline!"

Wang Zixu said, "Write it down."

"Are you really risking your life?"

The little prince appeared across the table and said: "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 you are playing for. If you play with your life for the sake of other people's eyes, isn't that torture?"

The little prince sneered and said, "Only people like you who live in a high-welfare society would care about this. Living here, living in Xihe, every day is a punishment.
"Zhang Qian, Gou Yingbiao, Shen Qingfeng, these bitches will come and pinch you if you show any sign of weakness. This time, you just have one more opponent. What can you do? You only have your life!"

Sartre stopped talking and silently lit his pipe.

The little prince did not intend to stop, and continued: "Have you seen "Saint Seiya"? Seiya was lying on the ground, dying, and said to Athena, "Goddess, I can't do anything. I have nothing." Athena said, "How can you have nothing? Don't you still have life?"

The little prince looked at the prince Xu and said, "We have never had anything. We are born with only one life. What can we do?"

Sartre's face was engulfed in smoke, and he said, "You East Asians' involutionary behavior always puzzles me."

"Do you have any pipe left?" asked the little prince. "I would like to try it, too."

Sartre conjured one out of thin air and handed it to him.

The two of them took turns puffing away at the dining table, taking a puff at each other, making the restaurant filled with mist and a fairy-like air.

Wang Zixu said: "There is a plot in "Norwegian Wood" that I don't remember very clearly. Can you help me recall it? When Watanabe and Nagazawa parted ways, Nagazawa gave Watanabe some advice. What was one of them?"

"'Don't pity yourself. It's a coward'," the little prince suggested. "Is that it?"

“That’s it.”

"Why do you deserve sympathy?" the little prince asked. "Is it because your parents are divorced? Or because your father is insane? Or because your girlfriend stabbed you in the back, or because you haven't been rated as an excellent student for nine years?"

Sartre said, "Stop talking. I'm going to cry."

The little prince raised his pipe at him: "Only this kind of soft-hearted old white man will sympathize with you. Who cares about you?"

He leaned forward and blew smoke onto Wang Zixu's face: "Remember, middle-aged men who have accomplished nothing are the most pathetic creatures in the world. They are regarded as competitors by men and money-making machines by women. They do not have the immunity from mistakes of young people, but they also shoulder the heaviest responsibilities. If they take a wrong step, they will become the fun of the world.

"Zuo Ziliang is right. You must keep dancing because no one appreciates your dancing style. Squeeze yourself while you can still squeeze out the juice. This may be your last chance..."

"That's enough." The prince stood up shakily.

The little prince glanced at Sartre and said, "Did I go too far just now?"

"Who knows? I don't understand the spiritual world of you East Asians. Don't you have something called Bushido?"

"Get lost, Bushido is Japanese, I am Chinese."

Wang Zixu walked towards the bathroom: "Shut up, I'm just going to pee."

After saying that, he turned around and smiled: "How could my self-esteem be hurt by such a small matter? Who do you think I am?"

The little prince and Sartre both stared at him. They didn't know how he would define himself this time.

"I am a man who has 50 chances to win the Nobel Prize in Literature."

"Come on," Sartre said, "although I refuse the award."

The little prince slapped him and said, "Can't you just let him finish pretending?"

Wang Zixu didn't bother with the two of them. He just smiled to himself, walked into the bathroom, unbuckled his belt, and his mind was still full of thoughts about the script and the novel.

The liquid in his body was discharged and the bladder pressure was relieved. He breathed a sigh of relief, but when he looked down, he found a dark red pool in the blue toilet bowl.

He tilted and fell to the ground.

(End of this chapter)