When Tao Zhiyan wrote his first book, he was still a novice. He had no technique, only emotion.
He wove his own experiences into the book and created "Feng Ze."
And because Tao Zhiyan had been abused at the orphanage as a child, longing every day for someone to save him, he indulged himself by writing himself in as "Feng Ze's" first love.
If no one would save me, I would save myself.
But as he kept writing, Tao Zhiyan's mindset changed.
"Feng Ze" felt a little too real. His personality, thoughts, and actions came to Tao Zhiyan without much deliberate planning.
Several times, Tao Zhiyan had nearly lost himself in the story.
So he abandoned it after only a few tens of thousands of words, before the two of them had even grown up.
After dropping the story, Tao Zhiyan had considered continuing it more than once. But whenever he sat down at his computer, he couldn't write a single word, and could only give up.
Tao Zhiyan looked at Feng Ze before him.
He looked at the character he had created, now standing before him in the flesh.
A sudden, indescribable sense of fulfillment washed over him.
The alcohol hadn't worn off yet, and his head was still foggy. The intensity of that emotion made Tao Zhiyan's heart pound a little too hard.
Tao Zhiyan leaned back slightly against the wall and stared at Feng Ze for a long time.
At last, he gave a sudden chuckle, his eyes curving as he slowly said, "So you did grow up well..."
At those words, Feng Ze abruptly clenched his fists, his eyes reddening.
It was him...
It was Tao Zhiyan.
His Tao Zhiyan had come back.
He couldn't describe what he felt. It was as though a string stretched