The book is not actually written according to the original story. I just want to share my thoughts.

When I chose a eunuch, in fact, the reason was really simple and simple. Seventy chapters have been written, and there are already 170,000 words, but the collection has not yet broken through the 300 mark. For other authors who can persevere, I just want to say that I really admire your psychological qualities, but I can't.

Seeing the collection jumping up and down at 280 for three or four weeks in a row, my heart was like a knife.

I think maybe this novel should have died sooner.

So from 100,000 words to 170,000 words, wandering back and forth between eunuchs and eunuchs, I finally chose eunuchs.

I'm glad that no readers are reading this novel, so even if I'm a eunuch, I won't be incomprehensible. So the data that originally made me sad became something that made me happy when I was a eunuch.

How ridiculous is that?

I set Liu Shuiwen in the hope that he will overcome all difficulties to revive entertainment and become a giant who saves human spiritual civilization, but obviously, I am not Liu Shuiwen, and I don't have the right time, place and people. So in the magnificent and turbulent online article, this author called "Relying on the Eunuch" is a eunuch.

It's a sad thing, every time I open my phone and see my own book in the client, I still feel reluctant in my heart.

It's like a mother abandoning her child, like a pair of lovers being torn apart.

I often think of Liu Shuiwen that I imagined. A handsome man with a small scar on his face, sometimes revealing the evil of his nature, sometimes revealing the arrogance and kindness of rebirth. He's tangled and true, he's brave and tenacious.

He can leave school in anger, he can close his door and hide at home to surf the Internet. He will stick a knife in his brother's ribs, and he will also be ruthless to a zealous who does not deserve sympathy.

In fact, I also left school in anger, and I also closed myself in my house. I'd lend my best friend what little money I had, and I'd lash out at someone I hated.

Liu Shuiwen may be me, I may be Liu Shuiwen.

The difference is that he lives in the novel, while I live in the reality of Chiguoguo.

Fiction can be constructed at will, but reality will be difficult because of firewood, rice, oil and salt.

Liu Shuiwen can easily reach the peak of life in the virtual world, but I have to be sad about the passing of time and worry about the overdraft of my bank card.

Life can have many ifs. If I had insisted on writing it at the beginning, I might have gotten ahead, if I hadn't had a eunuch, maybe it would have ushered in spring, and if I had .......

And if these can only be hypothetical, data is the most powerful proof.

But clicking and collecting are like cars that can't climb uphill, and when reviews and rewards are like needle-tip wheat falling to the bottom of the sea, I face reality and accept it.

Life is a mirror, I see me, but also see the inner reluctance and unbearable. I saw others soaring, and I also saw myself in turmoil.

The forging of a saint does not happen overnight, so I am not a saint to this day, so I can't turn a blind eye to the successes of others, and I can't compare myself with my failures.

When comparison turns to envy, I become a speck of ash in the dust, dissipated in the wind and depressed at the bottom of the sea. When the end of the world comes, maybe I'll surface for my final demise.