Merchant of the Underworld

Meng Dongye was sitting next to a big bed, with his Apple notebook in front of him, and his pen hanging on the wall opposite the notebook with a red rope.

He was typing there, but next to him stood three expressionless men, all of whom looked young, staring directly at the pen!

There was another man lying on Meng Dongye's back, his hands pressed against his, and his four hands were typing on the keyboard quickly, making a crackling sound.

The three men reached out and touched the pen from time to time. Meng Dongye could not see these lonely ghosts, but every time the pen shook, he would curse.

"Get away, don't try to take it! It's mine!"

I finally understood the role of Shenghua Miaobi. It does not provide inspiration in itself, but the ghost killed by it ghostwrites for the current owner.

I walked over and saw that Meng Dongye was writing a new script. Although it was very fast, it was full of typos and it was impossible to read it.

And his current appearance is also very scary. He was originally a gentle man with a beard, but now he has become so thin that only skin and bones are left. His eye sockets are sunken, with big dark circles under his eyes. He hasn't slept for an unknown period of time, and there is a trail of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth. He has lost a lot of baldness and has grown a lot of white hair. I remember he still had thick black hair when I last saw him.

He was completely immersed in his creation, and even when I walked up to him and waved my hand in front of his eyes, he didn't feel it.

I recited a few lines of "Tao Te Ching" silently, and the four ghosts suddenly got into the wall and disappeared. These things are generally weaker during the day.

After the ghost disappeared, Meng Dongye's typing speed suddenly slowed down, and I called him: "Teacher Meng?"

"Ah?" He raised his head, his eyes dull and confused: "Why did you get in?"

"Weren't you talking to us on the answering machine just now?"

"Yes, yes, look at my brain." He saved the document, stood up and stretched: "My waist is sore after sitting for too long."

The computer table was full of cigarette butts and empty beverage bottles. There were also several beverage bottles under the computer desk, filled with yellow urine. It was so tough that he didn’t even have a few seconds to go to the toilet. Willing to waste.

Meng Dongye hunched over to the living room to make tea for us. When he grabbed the tea leaves from the iron box, his hands kept shaking. As a result, the whole box of tea leaves was scattered on the table, and another water glass was knocked over. He looked around for a rag to clean up. He was as slow as an old man in his dying years. Yin Xinyue hurried over to help him sit down and said, "Teacher Meng, please stop working, I will clean up."

"The reception was not good, the reception was not good." He sat down stiffly: "Mr. Zhang, your work is really useful. I feel that my creative state has returned to its peak!"

This is called the peak period. If we had come a few days later, we would probably be able to collect his body directly.

I felt sour in my heart. It was half of my responsibility that a good person was tortured like this.

"Screenwriter Meng, your script has been handed in, so stop it. I'm really worried about your health," I said.

"No, I feel like I can still write. I'm writing a fantasy drama. I have high expectations for it. I've already shown the sample to a big director and he plans to buy it for 200,000 an episode. Next! You simply don’t know how amazing this is. In the past, I only wrote spy war dramas and Qing palace dramas, but now I can even write fantasy dramas. As soon as I put my hands on the keyboard, it seems to move on its own, and in my mind Just imagine something, and the picture will appear in front of you, just like the real thing, it's simply amazing!" Meng Dongye said excitedly.

This is not written by him at all, but by a dead ghost.

"Do you know what you look like now?" I smiled bitterly.

Meng Dongye touched his cheek and said: "I stayed up too late during this period, so I may be a little haggard, but it doesn't matter, I will take a break after writing this drama."

I asked Li Mazi to bring a mirror over and take a look at Meng Dongye. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief and said in surprise: "Is this what I look like now?"

"What do you think? To put it bluntly, you have already half-stepped into the coffin. If you don't stop, it will be too late!" Li Mazi scolded.

"What should I do? Boss Zhang, you must save me." Meng Dongye looked at himself in fear and said.

"Don't worry, that's why I'm here. To be on the safe side, stay away from the computer from now on. After dark, I will find a way to get rid of these evil spirits in your house." I said.

"There are innocent souls in my home?" Meng Dongye suddenly realized: "I said it feels weird. I always feel like someone is moving around the house. What are the origins of these innocent souls?"

I took out my phone and searched for a few names. There were four writers who were tortured to death by this. One was an online writer who wrote fantasy, one was an online writer who wrote science fiction, one was a physical writer who wrote romance, and one was A physical writer who writes mystery novels.

There are only a few sentences about them on the Internet. They only say that they committed suicide due to too much pressure. By the way, they mention the works they have written.

The public doesn't care about writers these days. A celebrity wearing the wrong pair of pants will be more publicized than a writer's death.

But there is one thing that really concerns me. These four people died relatively close together. The first two died in March, the third died in April, and the fourth died in May. This sum also has a history of thousands of years. Yes, is it possible that it was buried underground before and suddenly started to harm people?

Yin Xinyue and I stayed here, asking Li Mazi to find something for me, and told him to be back before eight o'clock in the evening.

Meng Dongye was leaning on the sofa next to him, yawning like a drug addict. I advised him to go to bed for a while, as he might have to stay up late at night. He said it didn't matter, and then discussed the plot with me. Be very happy.

I was so annoyed. At this time, Yin Xinyue stood up and said to pour some drinks. After a while, she brought three glasses of orange juice and gave one to Meng Dongye. Meng Dongye drank it all in one gulp and continued to talk about the plot. As he spoke, he suddenly yawned and fell asleep leaning on the sofa.

Yin Xinyue said with a smile: "I put sleeping pills in his drink."

"Where did you get it?"

"I took it with me. I was tired from work a while ago and couldn't sleep at night, so I asked the doctor to prescribe a few tablets." Yin Xinyue said with a smile.

"Honey, you are so smart!" My eyes lit up.

While Meng Dongye stopped, I took a look at what he had written. He had written more than 100,000 words in the new script, and his fighting ability was really strong.

I took a few glances and found that, except for a lot of typos, it was indeed a good article.

I asked Yin Xinyue: "Have you ever written a novel?"

She shook her head and said, "The longest article I have ever written in my life is probably the job application, which is four to five thousand words."

"The longest article I have ever written is a self-reflection letter when I was in middle school..." I smiled slightly.

"What kind of apology? Did you lift a girl's skirt or bully a classmate?" Yin Xinyue became interested.

"How can I tell you such dark history?" I said slyly.

"Say it, just say it!"

Yin Xinyue kept pestering me. I said I hadn’t eaten lunch yet, but she said she hadn’t eaten either, so she went down to buy some lunch or something.

After Yin Xinyue left, I tried to put my hands on the keyboard, staring at the wonderful pen. Suddenly, my head buzzed, and my fingers began to tap on the keyboard. I quickly recited the "Tao Te Ching" silently to steady my mind. Only then did he stop, a thick layer of cold sweat already forming on his back.

I looked at the screen, and all the words on the screen were: "Help us...it's so painful...let us out quickly...the hole hasn't been filled yet...please..."

Could it be that those four dead writers are asking me for help?