What is Creation?

I used to be able to say the answer with confidence.

Creation is expression, the continuation of thought, and the meaning of everything that I have existed to this day.

As long as I loosen the shackles that bind my soul, words will construct a gorgeous world of madness for me.

Sometimes I feel ...... Only in those worlds is my existence real.

And what is here at this moment is nothing more than a shell pulled by the gravity of reality.

An ordinary person who can only write.

How painful it is for a superstitious fantasyist writer to admit that he is just an ordinary person.

Watching the perfect dream in my heart shatter in my own hands.

The only way to escape such pain is to create a new, more real world.

And then—

Forget about yourself and indulge in it.

I've thought about many worlds, many unknown wonders, and sometimes I seem to be able to touch those hazy outlines in the Civic: the night from the original explosion to the present, the morning when the Milky Way's 400 billion stars shine......

I know, none of them are real.

Not perfect, not vivid.

It's just a fragment of spirituality, like the moment when the light shines through the curtain gap, full of warm gold wrapped in floating dust, fragile to hazy.

At that moment, the Milky Way exploded and the stars fell.

At that moment, I was struck by its sheer beauty.

At that moment, I would believe it was real.

Then, the moment they fall on paper, they fall from the distant void and become a kind of inherent "fantasy story".

There is no difference.

It's boring.

Yes, yes, I know.

Words can't fly, but imagination can.

But how am I going to convey my imagination to you?

I...... Can't do it.

Ancient mythologists believed that we were children of the earth and the sky. If we fail to destroy ourselves, at some point in the future, humanity will heed the call to the skies.

So in this ephemeral civilization that crawls on the ground, we give the grandest imagination to the "heavenly world".

What will be in the sky?

Mystics believe that it is heaven, that it is bliss, that it is the territory of God.

Rationalists think it's space, it's darkness, it's billions of stars.

And skeptics may feel that there is nothing there.

Or maybe there are all.

I had to swing between the three and then had to settle down.

I'm probably a "cosmicist".

As the most ordinary and insignificant human being, he is delusional about unifying truth and divinity.

- Know everything, control everything, perfect everything, create everything.

God certainly exists, and is a collection of all things.

One day, humanity will defeat the gods and go to the ultimate realm.

The glorious dawn is ushered in in front of us, and the rising is not the rising sun but the galaxy.

But that's too far away, isn't it?

So we need stories, stories that never happened.

From it, you will get a vision of the end that you can't see in this life.

The upper limit of what can be seen is the upper limit of the author's expressiveness.

Actually, I'm not sure if you all think so.

It's just that...... At least that's what I thought.

I started writing for the sights I wanted to see but no one else was writing about.

You should be able to understand.

As soon as some ideas are born, people feel the pain of exclusivity.

Keeping alone is evil, and dedication is justice.

I would like to share with you something that came to my mind by chance, so let's write it.

The initial dilemma was incomplete.

One of the great revelations of space exploration is the image of the Earth: limited and lonely. Even my imagination is the same......

I tried to grasp a ray of light that permeated the universe, only to see the endless darkness behind it.

All books start from this light, and the extended imagination will fill the whole world.

So, I can only begin to imagine -

Imagining the universe, imagining the stars scattered in eternal darkness, I can only imagine, but I can't imagine......

How can we build a world?

The easiest way to do this is to apply reality.

This reality we live in is the perfect object for reference.

You've all heard the saying, "Art comes from reality, but it's higher than reality." ”

"Practical significance" has become the supreme weight for judging a book.

Then it is reasonable to take "the reality of the worldview" as a direction of writing.

Yes, that's it, it just needs to be delineated with reality......

A certain part?

Words are finite after all, but reality is infinite.

So, on that uneventful night, I finally understood the meaning of fantasy literature.

The so-called "fantasy" is to extract the extreme fragments of "reality".

- Combine and combine them, dye them with color, and let them bloom.

We love fantasy.

I like its unique beauty in the world, and I prefer the reflection of reality that it throws on a certain side.

Illusions without any basis in reality should not exist in the first place.

Because "I know", I can "understand", and eventually "I will".

Layers of in-depth literary empathy give readers the opportunity to experience another life.

I thought, that's what I'm going to write.

I deleted my first book and got a new lease on life.

I began to look for transcendent horizons, works that had the most extreme creativity.

From modern online literature, to modern science fiction, and finally back to ancient mythology.

If myths have specific authors, those authors must be worthy of worship as "gods of literature."

They are the source of human art and the cornerstone of civilization.

No matter how great a writer may be, he will not be able to approach the kind of influence that is rooted in the personality of all living beings alone.

"Myth" thus becomes the crown and end of cultural development.

Become synonymous with the trend that can rule the times.

According to the development of the times, science fiction should become a contemporary myth.

They have indeed become myths, but not in contemporary times, but in the golden age that has passed.

The greatest works of science fiction are in the last century.

Our cosmic feelings, including the stars and the sea, were lost in the last century.

They say that this century belongs to virtual reality.

Belongs to cyberpunk.

But 1/5 of the time has passed, and the dawn that tears the night has not yet arrived.

The wave of information has dazzled everyone in the middle of it, and it has also brought about a more violent collision of ideas than ever before.

Something should be born here.

But no.

I know you're waiting, and I'm waiting.

I also know that many of you are watching me, but I ......

I don't think I can do it.

I'm not a genius.

A true genius can squander his God-given talents.

Just like Orson Lem.

He's the author I admire the most, and he's the one I want to surpass, if that's not a stretch.

No one can fail to be impressed by his words.

You can feel that power, a trauma that hits the soul, like a revelation.

I imitated him for a long time before I started writing books.

From the perspective of the pen to the path of thinking.

This didn't make me the next Orsson, it only made me understand why "every era has its own culture".

We, no, all of us in this era, cannot follow the path of an epoch.

Even if the retro trend returns, even if the Renaissance returns.

Times are changing, and so is cultural orientation.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, my generation is born in the postmodern present.

This is an age of suspicion and rebellion, and it is also an age of frequent thwart of reason.

Looks...... Technology is developing too fast, culture is developing too slowly.

But reality is far from keeping up with the pace of thought.

The laws of time, space, and nature, all realities are mercilessly shattering our vision of looking back at ourselves and our curiosity about the unknowable world.

What theories will be overturned, what fields will be opened.

With each passing day, time is so fast that it is difficult to even perceive.

What year does your memory stay in?

What year is it?

Do you suddenly realize that many years have passed as if yesterday's deeds had passed?

Yes, I would.

I will do both.

The light of memory swayed around everything, and the withered leaves spoke of the past, longing for the sights and sounds that would never be there again.

In a world where the future is looming, I am again nostalgic for the not-so-distant past.

No emotion is unwarranted.

What's behind the nostalgia?

You don't need to think about this question for a long time.

Maybe the answer has always been in my heart, but I don't dare to admit it.

- I'm afraid.

Then gradually, I began to feel unwilling.

This is perhaps a stage that every author has had.

- Everyone who has tried to put their thoughts into words.

It's one thing in your mind, and it's another when you write it.

Unrecognizable.

From potential inspiration to concrete thinking, it is the first boundary that I have not been able to break through, and from the complete world to one-sided words, it is the second shackle that I cannot express.

What is the real creation? I seem to be drifting more and more away from the original idea......

Then all the stars were extinguished, and the long night descended again to this island of life.

How ridiculous is that? In the end, what drove me to write was the fear of writing itself.

If I stop now......

If you stop......

The world no longer exists.

So I can only write, and I will continue to write all the time.

Other people's lives continue on my paper.

I will witness their epics and myths.

By doing so, it seems that more people will believe in the existence of that world.

Do you believe in the existence of the Three Realms of the Milky Way?

You're going to say yes.

But I don't believe it.

I know how it is born from the flashpoint of thought, the nodes of separation converge into a continuous story, and the amorphous characters are modified little by little to be what they should be.

What should it look like?

Such restrictions, such shackles......

What is this that came out of my pen? It's scary.

...... Still can't write it, sorry.

The world is so illusory, fantasy is real.