"May, Monday. Target went out to do some shopping … Chatted with an artist at the market. Other than that, everything is normal!
"Tuesday, everything is normal!
"Wednesday, target ate at Papa Huo Bo … Everything is normal …
"Thursday, target prepared to start new writing … Bought a blank notebook, pen, and ink from the shop … Keep an eye on him …
"Friday, everything is normal!
"Saturday, target started improvising … Mostly poems and the beginnings of novels … Unable to determine if they are contaminated, keep an eye on them … Samples have been sent for testing …
"Sunday, target fell into a frenzied state of writing … Unable to determine if it is accompanied by delirium … Preparing to interfere forcefully … Target returned to normal after 30 seconds. Stop interfering … Report …"
— Excerpt from Luo Fu's Investigator Diary.
…
"Finally … this eastern practitioner, western warlock of misfortune, his truesoul exploded and he fell into the embrace of River Styx?
"What kind of strange things am I writing?"
Rocca stared at the novel he had written in a daze.
Or rather, it was a little like the end of the novel, with more scribbles and poems in front of it … It was a little confusing.
Before a literary creation was formed into words, the author must have already had a framework in his mind.
But when he looked at his own words, he felt very … unfamiliar!
Even though he had written the ending, Rocca had no memory of the beginning or the middle part.
Thinking back to the state he had been in when he was writing … It reminded him of the first time he was drunk. It was when he had just graduated from the Faculty of Arts. A few of his friends had forced him to drink a large glass of "Rum Bomb." It was a type of sparkling sweet wine mixed with high alcohol content. It could make the drinker faint and unconscious.
The state he had been in when he was writing was similar to having a memory lapse after drinking too much. He could not remember what had happened at all.
"Ever since that time, my condition seems to have worsened …"
Rocca muttered. He pulled open the drawer and found a large brown glass medicine bottle. He took out a white pill and swallowed it with cold water.
His attending doctor told him that he had a slight mental problem, but he did not need to worry too much. Regular medication would alleviate the symptoms. Moreover, most people in the city in this era had some physical or mental illnesses. This was a normal phenomenon.
"I don't think it's normal at all …"
Roca tore off a page from the notebook, crumpled it into a ball, and accurately threw it into the already half-filled wastepaper basket.
As a freelance writer, the royalties he received from regularly submitting articles to newspapers, magazines, and publishing houses were his only source of income. It paid for his house rent, daily expenses, and medical expenses …
"Hmm … If the situation becomes more serious, do I need to enter a mental hospital to recuperate? No … Once you go to that kind of place, you won't be able to get out, because you can't prove that you're mentally sound … There's also the high hospitalization fees. Wait, why would a mentally ill person care about the fees? "
Roca was amused by his own wild imagination. He felt that this could be used as a joke in his new novel.
Yes, although he was a writer, he wrote all kinds of words.
Novels were the main source of income, but not every novel could be recognized by the publishing house.
Other than that, poems were shorter and consumed less space, so it was easier for them to gain the favor of some literary magazines.
Although the fee wasn't much, it was a powerful supplement in times of need.
Other than that, he had even written gossip articles for some tabloids. This was unbecoming of an author, but for the sake of making a living … At the very least, when he published his articles, Rocca changed his pen name.
"That time … What was the situation?"
After taking the medicine, Roca rubbed his eyebrows. "I seem to have forgotten something … But the doctor said that it was a traumatic reaction. I shouldn't force it and should slowly accept it …"
He felt a little dizzy. It was like this every time he took the medicine. Hence, he directly fell onto the bed and started snoring not long after.
Whoosh whoosh!
The night breeze blew and opened the window.
A black shadow jumped in from the window and picked up the draft paper on the table.
…
Roca was dreaming.
It seemed to be a strange adventure. If he could write it, it should be able to attract some attention.
But the scenes flashed too quickly. The characters seemed to be shrouded in a thin layer of fog, making it hard to see clearly.
Moreover, there were only some fragmented scenes. It was difficult to bring any inspiration and it was especially tiring!
However, tonight's dream seemed to be a little different. That character seemed to have become a little clearer?
The next day.
Roca got up and saw that everything in the room was the same as last night. He subconsciously shouted, "Stats window!?"
There was silence all around.
There was no screen appearing in front of his eyes.
"Why would I suddenly think of this term? Is it because of the teenager's chuunibyou? Or do I want to confirm that I'm special? "
Roca shook his head and laughed. He walked to the dining room and opened the heavy and thick fridge. He sniffed the milk inside and felt that it was okay. He could not help but nod and pour himself a cup. Then, he placed two pieces of oatmeal bread into the toaster to bake.
Ding!
The two pieces of bread that were baked automatically jumped up and were taken out by Roca. He dipped them in ketchup and made them into a simple sandwich. Together with the milk, it became a breakfast.
If he had enough royalties, he would have chosen to add a piece of fried bacon or an egg. But now, Roca was troubled by nightmares and had to pay a large sum of medical fees. His standard of living had inevitably dropped.
"But as an author, even a down-and-out author, I still have freedom!"
Roca drove the second-hand car that he bought with a loan and prepared to go to his friends' place.
They would regularly organize some cultural salons, similar to a reading club, to exchange writing experiences and techniques.
The people who participated were not only authors, but there were also artists and musicians … Although most of them could only perform on the streets, considering Roca's status, it was about the same.
If he could attract one or two rich businessmen or ladies from the upper class, it would be something that the organizers would feel proud of. It was worth bragging about for many days.
While driving, Roca felt the strong wind blowing past his ears. He felt the dizziness in his head lessen. "I seem to have heard that name yesterday … It's a little strange … Fang Xian? … No, no, it should be Fang Xian?
"Hmm, a strange name. If I use him as the main character, the readers won't accept it, right?
"But maybe I can change his name and use it to write a novel?
"Why … do I still feel that something is wrong?"
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