A New Year's Letter to My Fellow Readers

(Qidian organized an event, and Cuckoo, old and sick, jolted upright from his bed. Let's see if posting a chapter can scrape up a little traffic.

There aren't many books participating in this event so far. Looking over the rules, it says all I need to do is post a free chapter. Hopefully I can mooch a few sips of soup and scraps.)

In the new year, first and foremost, I naturally wish everyone good health and that all your wishes come true!

Another year had passed before I knew it!

For this sort of reflection chapter, in the past, with a cry of "Keyboard, come!" Cuckoo could have typed at breakneck speed—far more passionately than writing the main story.

But for some reason, now when I looked at the screen, I was always left speechless before the page, staring blankly.

Perhaps I was getting old. Only in something like an argument, with blows traded back and forth, could I make my tongue bloom with lotus flowers and write as if possessed!

Still, speaking less had its benefits too: fewer emotional ups and downs, fewer disputes. Lazily loafing about like an old cat or dog was quite nice.

Yet there was still a fire in my heart—a fire that wanted to blaze.

I still remembered that summer many years ago: university, the track field, writing a book for the first time, crashing into walls again and again. Just when I was facing the question of whether to give up, there was a fire burning in my heart. So I simply gave myself one more chance, let it burn without restraint, and only then did I find my way into fiction, luckily discovering a little of my own style and the areas I was best at.

Even now, I had repeatedly