Though the chapter was cheerful, I was actually in a terrible mood today. I got pissed off.
In my anniversary post, I said my daughters were reading because so many people had been curious about how my family viewed me writing harems. It was a unified answer, not an invitation for some people to dig deeper and ask whether my daughters understood the driving scenes.
Anyone who spends time online knows not to bring up people's families. Is there something wrong with you, bringing up someone else's children in relation to driving scenes? And you still feel wronged, thinking it was just a joke? I'm also curious whether your mother understands them—could I go joke around with you about that? If you can't even grasp something like this, you idiots should try becoming human first!
Thinking about it, though, it wasn't just a problem with a few individual idiots. There was a general feeling to it all. Writers of harems really were somehow a cut below everyone else; even in their own readers' eyes, this stuff was like being a thief or committing a crime, something too shameful to see the light of day. Otherwise, there wouldn't have been so many people asking before. So don't blame the higher-ups for cracking down so hard—because even readers themselves saw it as something that couldn't be spoken of.
Then when authors were forced by troubles at home and abroad to stop writing, people came out with, "The author betrayed the Party." Write it and you were a thief; stop writing and you were a traitor to the Party. Either way, it was the author's fault. From the moment they put down the first word, they were doomed to be wrong.
I had always felt that the effort I poured into writing exceeded