The Foolhardy Young Man

At first, Lin Chuan had only considered the Happy Family writing contest a perk for his fans.

Ever since filming Spoon Killer Demon, Lin Chuan had been holding fan giveaways on Weibo and Bika Net.

First, to build buzz for his work.

Second, to give something back to his fans.

The Happy Family writing contest was another way of giving back to them.

The reason Lin Chuan was willing to treat his fans well

was that he wanted to be kind to his past self.

In his previous life, Lin Chuan had been a construction worker, with no special forms of entertainment.

When he didn't have to work, he'd pour himself a big bottle of iced tea, stir-fry a couple of dishes, eat them with garlic and some noodles,

and spend the whole afternoon watching movies on his computer.

That was the best way to relax!

Lin Chuan thought that if he hadn't gotten the system in this life and were still an ordinary person,

and if he'd watched a short film on Bika Net, thought it was pretty good, and followed the director on Weibo,

then left a comment and won a prize,

he would definitely have been thrilled.

It was the same after Happy Family became a box office hit.

Lin Chuan hoped to bring his fans that same happiness.

Imagine an ordinary fan

seeing that Happy Family was holding a writing contest and submitting a story just to try their luck, never expecting to win.

They'd get hundreds of thousands in prize money, and plenty of big names would ask to work with them.

Their life would change in an instant.

But then some nobody named Fang Qingyong had come along, threatening to teach Lin Chuan a lesson.

Lin Chuan couldn't be bothered with a clown like him.

He posted three classic short stories on Weibo: My Uncle Jules, A Bowl of Clear Soup Soba Noodles, and Cabbage Soup.

Then he logged off Weibo.

He bought a high-speed rail ticket to Fujian, ready to discuss the lunar base with the local bigwigs.

Meanwhile, Fang Qingyong was scrolling through Weibo.

Ever since entering the Happy Family writing contest, Fang Qingyong's popularity had been steadily rising.

Before, he'd just been a third-rate man of letters in Taiwan. But after he declared that he would teach Lin Chuan a lesson,

quite a few people had shown him their support in private.

Fang Qingyong found it gratifying.

Of course, plenty of people had also posted on Weibo to criticize him.

He could understand it when university teachers like Hou Yunlai, Ma Wei, and Xu Xiu spoke up.

It was only natural for Lin Chuan's close friends, like Ren Hang and Liu Jiayun, to come forward too.

Fang Qingyong had watched the celebration after Happy Family grossed over a hundred million in three days.

He knew those people were very close to Lin Chuan.

But who the hell were Wang Dong and Jiang Kui?

One was a risqué photographer, the other a voice actor, and they were sticking up for Lin Chuan too?

Fang Qingyong had also run into a Lin Chuan fan named Old Zhou.

He'd sent him a few-hundred-character essay in a private message.

Fang Qingyong was a stickler for details and had high standards when it came to writing.

Old Zhou's long message had been nothing but flattery, and at first Fang Qingyong had rather enjoyed it.

He'd replied with a like, a flower, and a smile.

But then Old Zhou sent him a picture, circling the first character of every line.

Put together, they spelled out: Fang Qingyong is a fucking idiot.

Fang Qingyong was about to explode with rage.

Seriously, what kind of grown adult made such childish jokes?

If Fang Qingyong had been a young man, he probably would have complained:

What the hell? Did Lin Chuan's group of friends come here to gang up on me?

But Fang Qingyong was an old stick-in-the-mud. All he could do was rage helplessly.

Fang Qingyong posted a screenshot of the chat on Weibo with the caption:

[Heh, is this the caliber of a certain director's fans? What a joke. Did you think this would make me angry?]

He'd expected his fans to console him.

But the comment section was full of people just there to watch the drama unfold.

"Still running your mouth here? Director Lin posted something. That garbage you wrote is supposed to be an entry in the contest? What a joke."

"After reading Director Lin's post, I finally know what a good story looks like. Some people are old enough to have lived a lifetime, but all they've done is live like dogs!"

"Director Lin wrote something like that and didn't even enter the contest, while some shameless old-timers are riding the wave of the times and trying to steal food from young people's bowls. Could your greed look any uglier?"

Lin Chuan had posted something?

And he thought he could write?

Fang Qingyong's eyebrows shot up, and his heart burned with excitement.

As the saying went, everyone had their own specialty.

Though Fang Qingyong wasn't well-known among men of letters and could only be called third-rate at best,

Lin Chuan was a director.

What kind of good story could he possibly write?

Yet this hotheaded young man had chosen to challenge Fang Qingyong in the very field he knew best.

It was like lighting a lantern in a latrine—asking for death.

What an arrogant, foolish young man!

Fang Qingyong sneered and immediately opened Lin Chuan's Weibo page to see his latest post.

It consisted of three pictures.

Fang Qingyong squinted, but couldn't make out the tiny print. He went to fetch his reading glasses and put them on.

He began reading Lin Chuan's first story: My Uncle Jules.

The story was told from the first-person perspective of a child:

A little boy told the story of his uncle Jules.

At the time, the boy's family was struggling financially, and they scrimped and saved.

But every Sunday, they dressed in their best clothes and went for a walk along the seaside pier, hoping to run into the boy's uncle—his father's younger brother, Jules.

The boy went on to tell the story of his uncle Jules.

At first, Jules had been a dissolute playboy. He hadn't just squandered his own inheritance; he'd also blown through most of the boy's father's inheritance.

After being sent off to South America, Jules somehow made a fortune.

Now he was the hope of the whole family.

The boy had two sisters who couldn't seem to get married.

A young civil servant who was interested in the boy's second sister finally worked up the nerve to propose.

The boy suspected that it was because, one day, his father had shown the civil servant a letter from Uncle Jules.

The boy's family eagerly accepted the proposal, and decided they would take a trip to Jersey Island after the wedding.

The whole family arrived on the island, full of pride.

When the father saw two gentlemen treating two elegantly dressed ladies to oysters, he was moved.

He decided to treat his own daughters to oysters, too.

But he came back looking pale.

The man selling the oysters seemed to be his younger brother, Jules.

The very Jules who was supposed to be a rich man!

At first, the mother refused to believe it. But later, she discreetly asked the captain about it.

The oyster seller had relatives back home, and owed them money.

Apparently, he'd once been quite well-off.

Once they'd confirmed the oyster seller's identity, the family was thrown into a panic. They were afraid their new son-in-law would discover who Jules was.

In the end, the boy went and bought oysters from Jules himself.

Seeing his uncle Jules's aged face, the boy felt sorry for him and gave him an extra ten centimes as a tip.

His mother scolded him, and his father gave her a look toward their son-in-law.

His mother immediately fell silent.

The story ended with these words:

"When we returned, we took the Saint-Malo boat instead, so we wouldn't run into him."

When he finished reading, Fang Qingyong's face burned as if someone had slapped him.

He silently deleted his own Weibo post and deactivated his account.

There were two more stories from Lin Chuan, but Fang Qingyong didn't read them.

He knew that after just this one story, he was already no match for him.

Reading the other two would only bring further humiliation.

So it turned out the one who'd overestimated himself wasn't someone else. It was me...

Fang Qingyong let out a long sigh, as if his soul had left his body.

The next day, Lin Chuan took the high-speed train to the Fujian Science Fiction Base.

He met with the person in charge.

Lin Chuan had no way of knowing what Fang Qingyong was thinking, nor did he care.

He only hoped that his three short stories would make certain self-important men of letters realize they were out of their depth.

If they couldn't come up with a story better than those three, they should withdraw on their own and save face.

As for whether ordinary readers would be discouraged from entering,

Lin Chuan didn't think they would.

Sincere emotion mattered more than carefully polished words.

As long as people online were willing to tell stories about those around them, they could still touch people's hearts!

Lin Chuan got off at the station and shook hands warmly with the science fiction base's representative, who had come to meet him.

"Hello, Director Xu. I didn't expect you to come meet me in person!"

"Director Lin, having you come here is what truly honors us!"

The man who had come to welcome Lin Chuan was in his fifties.

His temples were white, and he was lean. His eyes were bright and his gaze unwavering, and he had a hearty smile.