Zhong Weishi looked at the new T-shirt in his hand, somewhat in disbelief. Turning his head in astonishment, he asked, “This, this, you bought this for me ah?”

Gu Lizhou still had a cigarette hanging from his lips, his expression looking relaxed. “Otherwise?”

Zhong Weishi stared at the small flicker of the cigarette tip, still in a daze, and then heard him say, “Hurry up and change. That shirt you’re wearing is an eyesore.”

Zhong Weishi glanced back and tugged at his shirt. If Gu Lizhou hadn’t reminded him, he would’ve forgotten that it was torn.

A’Wei had just noticed the two slits in Zhong Weishi’s shirt. “Did it get ripped when you got caught on the fence ah?”

“En.” Zhong Weishi subconsciously glanced at the price tag and shuddered in shock.

What the heck ah! A dragon robe!

“It’s too expensive,” Zhong Weishi felt certain he couldn’t afford it, looking up and asking, “Can I still get a refund for this?”

Qiangzi and his gang also swarmed over to check the price tag, shouting a string of expletives: “898!”

“What?” Da Fei leaned over in shock.

Gu Lizhou lowered one arm, flicking the ash off his cigarette, and casually said, “It was bought on sale. Consider it a gift, a welcome present from your new neighbor.”

Qiangzi, grinning cheekily, sidled up. “Ge, look, my shirt’s torn too!”

A bunch of people yelled as they pulled on their clothes, “Ours is torn too!”

Gu Lizhou: “…”

Zhong Weishi elbowed Qiangzi and the others back, “Have some face?”

“Beep beep—” A car horn honked twice from across the street, and someone stuck their head out.

“Old Gu.”

It was Cao Zhiheng.

Gu Lizhou stubbed out the half-burnt cigarette, tilting his head slightly. “I’m heading out.”

Zhong Weishi, still in a daze, muttered an “oh,” but by the time he remembered to say thank you, the other had already gotten into his car and disappeared from sight.

The T-shirt was immediately snatched by A’Wei, passed around like a game of hot potato among the group.

It had a simple design: pure white, with a pair of ash-gray wings extending from the collar to both shoulders.

It was bold and had a lot of personality.

It was completely different from the style of clothes Gu Lizhou usually wore, and it seemed like he had picked this one especially for Zhong Weishi.

“Not gonna lie ah, expensive clothes really do have different materials ah. Feels super nice to the touch.”

“That’s just how it felt ah…”

“Didn’t he say he bought it on sale? It shouldn’t be that expensive.”

Zhong Weishi calculated. Even if the fvcking boss ran away and slashed the prices to rock-bottom, a discount would still mean 90 yuan for one shirt.

90 yuan. That was enough for him to buy a dozen shirts at the small goods market!

And this clearly wasn’t some street stall item. No way this came from a place where the boss bailed and sold stuff with a very large discounted price.

“Hey! Stop touching it with those greasy hands, you’re getting it all over the shirt.” Zhong Weishi snatched the T-shirt back from Qiangzi.

“I wiped my hands before touching it.” Qiangzi clicked his tongue repeatedly. “Look at how precious you love it so dearly. It’s just a piece of rag! Brothers, when I get rich, the first thing I’ll do is buy you two of these 898 ones—one to wear, the other to use as a rag!”

Zhong Weishi laughed. “Retard.”

The car sped along the bustling streets, the window on the passenger side rolled down. Gu Lizhou’s hair was blowing wildly in the wind. Though the sky had darkened, the cityscape outside was still bright and lively.

The words from Old Li at the police station had unintentionally hit a sore spot for him.

Before he knew it, he was already 32 ah.

How many 32 years could one have in life?

It was now June, exactly five years since he had announced his retirement from writing.

Gu Lizhou had loved reading since he was a child, and during his first year of university, he became obsessed with writing.

His highest record was writing non-stop for an entire week without sleep. He could enter the fantasy world he had built at anytime and anywhere, controlling the fates and emotions of his characters.

He was hot-blooded, exhilarated, and sleepless.

At 20, an age where one didn’t know heat from cold, full of youthful vigor, he was like a cactus growing in the desert—thriving wildly even without the nourishment of rain.

He was obsessed with creating, to the point where even his dreams were immersed in his fiction world.

While most students were still daydreaming about when they’d have their first sweet sweet romance, he had already signed with Xinghe Century and become an online writer.

He poured all his energy into his work, constantly acquiring new knowledge in the library, seeking thrills in distant travels, and amassing wave after wave of readers.

He felt like there was never enough time. Even sleeping four or five hours a day gave him a guilty feeling, as if he were wasting time.

He was in a rush to grow, to graduate, to gain more free time.

At 26, he reached his peak.

His fifth full-length novel achieved over a hundred million clicks and more than a million favorites on the site, making him the top writing god at Xinghe Century.

What did these figures mean?

It meant that the combined numbers of those ranked second through tenth didn’t even come close to matching his.

But human energy is ultimately limited, like a burning candle—the brighter the flame, the faster it burns. By the time he realized his body had some problems, it was already too late.

It started with minor ailments such as gastritis, enteritis, cervical spondylitis, mouth sores, eye pain. His weight plummeted.

“You can’t sit for long periods.”

“You can’t be on the computer all the time.”

“Your eyes need rest.”

He knew all of the doctor’s advice, but he couldn’t stop.

Countless people were watching him, waiting for him, and behind him, countless authors were chasing after him.

Who wouldn’t want to stay at the top for just a little longer?

It was like those people constantly challenging and setting the Guinness World Records.

Top-tier creative talents are often madmen.

He continued to relentlessly pour his time and energy into the world of his novels.

If there wasn’t enough time, he cut off his social life. If he didn’t have the energy, he made up for it with more sleep.

But the continuous onset of symptoms began to torment his will.

Herniated discs, shoulder and neck pain, migraines, vitreous floaters—each new condition felt like a warning from above.

One day, he woke up to a persistent buzzing sound in his ears.

The doctor said, “This is noise-induced tinnitus. Have you been suffering from insomnia? Staying up late? Young people shouldn’t always stay up late.”

“You’re too thin. Eat more, exercise more, building up your body is key.”

“If you continue like this, your body will collapse.”

How painful is noise-induced tinnitus?

It feels like cicadas perched by your ear, buzzing incessantly for 24 hours without a break, driving a person to irritability and making it impossible to focus.

And focus is exactly what creativity demands.

It’s not like working on an assembly line, where you can just clock in and out.

It requires constant accumulation, new experiences for stimulation, and bursts of inspiration.

The sudden onset of tinnitus was like a final warning from above—you must rest.

His worsening condition forced him to slow down.

“It’s been almost a month since the break ah. This isn’t fun to follow anymore.”

“Can you at least respect the readers waiting for updates ah? How many times has he taken breaks in these three months?”

“Fame really changes people ah.”

“I think that’s all there is to the writing. Seems like he’s out of ideas.”

People fear fame, just as pigs fear getting fat;1Pigs fear getting fat for slaughter. The meaning for the two phrases is that fame has its price. and it’s the same in every industry.

At that time, Gu Lizhou adjusted his mindset quickly, accepted the criticisms with a smile, and apologized to his readers. Once his tinnitus was treated, he didn’t go on hiatus again.

Until the emergence of that sensational incident that shocked the whole internet happened.

#Famous Author Wanlizhou Molested Female Fans#

#Wanlizhou Hotel Photos#

#Wanlizhou’s Real Name#

#Wanlizhou’s Horrible Character#

#Wanlizhou Plagiarized Enneagram#

#Wanlizhou and Nine-Star Were Schoolmates#

…

This was a premeditated power struggle.

The “evidence” from the other party was solid, catching him completely off guard.

It was at that moment that Gu Lizhou truly experienced the cruelty of human heart and the coldness of human nature—far more terrifying than anything in the world of his novels.

Fame is like water in the ocean.

Water can carry a boat, but it can also capsize one.

Overnight, he became notorious.

Though his team swiftly responded with public relations, refuting all plagiarism claims, hiring the most renowned legal team to defend him in court, and even getting the female fan to release a video clarifying the situation, they couldn’t stop the spread of rumors.

“After molesting a female fan, Wanlizhou threatened her to delete her post.” “Female fan develops severe depression from harassment.” “Wanlizhou only became famous through hype.” Eye-catching headlines like these appeared one after another.

Just like how people immediately think of Sun Wukong when hearing the name Liuxiaolingtong, many online users now associate the name “Wanlizhou” with the molestation of female fans and plagiarism of works.

Through the screen, it was impossible to distinguish between truth and lies, but curiosity is an innate human trait.

The fans on both sides tore each other apart.

Nine-Star’s work shot up from seventh to second place in terms of clicks.

A person who is obsessed with creating can endure the loneliness of long nights, withstand physical problems, and tolerate harsh reader critiques.

But there would still come a moment when it all became overwhelmingly crushing.

It felt like he had just gone through a sudden tsunami, draining all his passion and energy. As he quietly gazed at the devastated world around him, he suddenly felt… tired, and weary, like he didn’t want to continue anymore.

On June 10th, a 4.8 million-word fantasy novel titled “Wraiths” was marked complete, and the author posted a handwritten long-term leave notice on Weibo.

Eight years of time summarized in 800 words, laid down on a single sheet of paper.

The last sentence read: “Thank you for your trust, thank you for your companionship. Until we meet again, if fate allows.”

The handwriting was bold, graceful, and forceful.

What seemed like a few light words were like an invisible gate that completely severed the past from the present.

A large group of fans cried out.

The story of Wanlizhou was thus sealed away in the memory chest of a generation.

That once proud peak of his career had become the most unspeakable chapter of his past in the end.

If someone were to ask him, after his health improved, would he ever write again?

His answer would be no.

A legend is still a legend; better to leave it unbroken.

But no matter how many years pass, he will always miss the things he once loved and was so passionate about.

If asked, does he have any regrets?

The answer would differ at different stages.

His eyes warmed as the craving for a cigarette crept up again.

Gu Lizhou reached into his pants pocket for his cigarettes.

Cao Zhiheng glanced at him. “Don’t smoke in my car ah. My girlfriend will smell it and accuse me again.”

Gu Lizhou sighed and reluctantly put it back in his pocket.

“Got something on your mind?” Cao Zhiheng easily saw through him.

Gu Lizhou leaned his elbow on the edge of the window, resting his chin on his hand, muttering to himself, “Nothing much, just feels like something’s missing in life.”

“Missing a partner!” Cao Zhiheng blurted out.

Gu Lizhou acted as if he hadn’t heard.

Cao Zhiheng continued, “I’m serious, don’t doubt me. Girlfriends are such wonderful creatures. If not that, maybe get a proper job—it’s really easy to get depressed when you overthink too much…”

Once Cao Zhiheng started talking, there was no stopping him, but Gu Lizhou’s thoughts drifted far away, carried by the wind.

“My main job is acting. On the side… I’m a model, a waiter, a campus errand runner, a food critic, and an ambassador for promoting agricultural products…”

“Qiangzi said we should celebrate…”

“After a trip to the police station, we came out safe and sound ah! Isn’t that something worth celebrating?”

He looks so happy and fulfilled.

He and the people around him all seemed so happy.

Gu Lizhou was a little envious.

After the late-night gathering ended, Qiangzi drove Zhong Weishi back to the neighbourhood.

Qiangzi had drunk quite a bit, and Zhong Weishi felt concerned, “Drive carefully on the road ah. Send me a message when you get home.”

“What’s the point of sending a message if you haven’t topped up your phone?” Huangfu Qiang laughed.

Zhong Weishi chuckled, “I’ll top it up as soon as I get back.”

Now that the lights in the hallway were fixed, Zhong Weishi was still quite unaccustomed to it. At night, he could clearly see the rows of small ads… and Er’Gou’s picture.

He walked over, tore down the missing person flyer, and crumpled it into a ball. When he was about to toss it away, he remembered the bundle of sticks, so he stuffed the paper ball into his pocket instead.

People are really different from each other.

Even though he occasionally saw big stars on set, there was rarely an opportunity to exchange even a greeting, so he didn’t feel much impact from it.

But after Gu Lizhou appeared in this place, Zhong Weishi truly felt the gap between the rich and the poor; not just in money.

Cultural standards, moral character, family upbringing… these things, ingrained deep into one’s bones, shape a complete soul and at the same time form a person’s unique temperament.

If he had a family, would he be a different Zhong Weishi?

Would it be better than now?

“Knock knock knock—”

Cao Zhiheng opened the door and was immediately hit by the smell of alcohol. The boy’s cheeks were flushed, so he should have drunk a lot.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

Zhong Weishi licked his lips and glanced inside, “Uh, is Gu Lizhou here?”

Cao Zhiheng: “He’s taking a bath.”

Zhong Wei Shi let out an “Oh”. He was just about to say he’d come back later, but Cao Zhiheng had already turned and yelled towards the bathroom, “Old Gu, the kid from 301 is looking for you.”

“Looking for me for what?”

The soundproofing of the bathroom wasn’t good, and Gu Lizhou’s voice was mixed with the sound of a stream of water: “Tell him to wait, I’m in the middle of a shower.”

“He asked you to wait,” Cao Zhiheng said.

Zhong Weishi grinned, showing his teeth, “I heard him.”