Which book was this now?
From my first two flops to the current Confucian Sage, somehow it had already been six books.
I still remembered those first two. I wrote like mad, even ten thousand words a day, but neither got a contract.
Then Ten Thousand Years Before the Elves got a contract, and I was over the moon.
After that came Global Professional Era and The Lord Is Very Scientific.
And then Confucian Sage.
Along the way, I met so many friends.
Besides books, we talked about Vast Sky, Sea, and Moon, the earth and the cosmos, life and death, Honor of Kings, ultimate goals, and more.
I came into contact with one vibrant, passionate soul after another.
They didn't come because you were handsome or beautiful.
They didn't come because you were tall or short, fat or thin.
They didn't come because you were rich or poor.
They came only because of the books.
Writing a book was like painting and building a world.
And outside that world, I wasn't the only one watching in solitude.
The readers stood beside me, chatting and laughing.
Together with me, they rejoiced in the characters' happiness, thrilled at their excitement, and grieved at their sorrow.
That world was precisely the medium through which our souls touched.
What was the magic of literature?
It was the resonance born when two living beings beneath the same starry sky encountered the same words across different times and spaces.
Confucius spoke of education without distinction, Laozi told us that the Dao that could be spoken was not the eternal Dao, and Mozi cried out for universal love and against aggression... a thousand years later, we listened to the voices of those philosophers expounding the Way.
Mencius's "Though ten million stand against me, I shall go