(In this volume, I just write the story, there is nothing else involved, and there is nothing to refer to, I hope you will simply read the story.) ）

It was already late at night, and the cold rain was falling outside the window, crackling the window.

In a somewhat dark bedroom, Zhang Yaolong was sitting at his desk, sighing and smoking a cigarette.

The light emitted from the laptop screen also reflected his helplessness and sadness at this time.

[What kind of bullshit are you writing! 】

[What we want to see is horror, not to see you write that garbage!] 】

[Jiang Lang is exhausted, don't look at it, he is sorry for our support for so long. 】

[This book is brain-dead, pig's feet. The pen is firm. 】

[Water again, how can you be so watery if you are paralyzed, look at your character creation, do you have to give us disgusting run before you are satisfied? ]

No wonder it's been like this bird for so many years! 】

【……】

Pressing the cigarette butt out in the ashbox, Zhang Yaolong grabbed his hair hard, and had the urge to roar.

But in the end, he held back, as he did many times.

Such a person faces the night, faces loneliness, faces the oppressive night on the computer screen that is somewhat blurry to the human eye, and he doesn't know how many times he has experienced.

He was a little tired and a little annoyed. Of course, it's more confusing.

Because he didn't know what he was supposed to do.

Zhang Yaolong is an author engaged in creation, although the annual output is not high, but he has written several books.

The grades are not very good, but they can barely be called decent, and there is a group of "hardcore" book lovers, so he has always been very happy to write.

But because of the type of creation, he can only find that kind of writing atmosphere in the dead of night, so staying up late for a long time has caused a lot of trouble in his body.

And he also wants to have some new attempts to break through himself as much as possible, so in the last book, he changed his previous style, no longer focusing on thrillers, but focusing more on other aspects.

I thought that no matter whether the grades were good or bad, readers would understand, after all, they had been with each other, but what he didn't expect was that this book has been badly reviewed since it was opened.

Instead of being tolerant, the readers spoke badly, and many of them even scolded him directly when they heard that the style of the book had changed.

Obviously, he no longer writes horrors, but those people still judge him with horror books.

He is troubled by criticism every day, and he always wants to explain, but he is led by many people to deviate from the rhythm.

He wasn't a strong person in his heart, and he didn't think there was anything wrong with wanting to write about his own things, so after being in this emotional trough for a long time, his mentality finally went wrong.

Suffered from very severe depression.

He began to become pessimistic, and he began to feel that the world was full of malice, and many things that might not be good would become serious in his opinion.

He wanted to fight back against those who scolded him, but he was afraid that his own counterattack would cause more hostility from others.

In the end, when he thinks about it, he will find out why he is wrong in everything he does. Why are there so many hateful people?

He himself got into this horn that he seemed to have that he couldn't escape, and his temper began to become more and more irritable, and even his life circle was shrinking smaller and smaller.

He didn't want to write anymore, but he was worried every day if someone would scold him.

Obviously, in his heart, he has frantically admonished himself not to care about those negative things, but he still cares very much.

Those things were like a demonic barrier that was raving him wildly.

He was scared of being scolded, so he wanted to return to his original style, but what awaited him was not the gratitude of the readers, but the criticism that intensified it.

said that the more he wrote, the more he went back, that he ate his old book, and that what he writes now is simply rubbish.

These criticisms are almost unacceptable to a patient with severe depression.

No one knows how much pain he is suffering, and no one knows how much he has paid for it that is grossly mismatched by the gain.

He tried to break through, was scolded, did not break through, and was scolded for eating his old book.

It's all wrong, it's all his fault.

He may simply be superfluous.

It is intolerable by this dark world, by the hearts of those who are swallowed up by darkness.

Zhang Yaolong found his mobile phone at this time, and then called one of his best friends.

Although he knew that the other party was probably asleep at this time, he really needed someone who could accompany him at such a time.

Even if it's just to listen to him complain a few words.

The phone was called for a long time, and the other party answered:

"Hello?"

"Dacheng, are you sleeping?"

"Ah, what's the matter?"

"It's nothing, I just want to talk to you for a while."

"Let's talk about it tomorrow, I'm sleepy."

"Okay then."

The other party hung up the phone, and Zhang Yaolong held the phone and collapsed.

He obviously wanted to find the other person very strongly, but he didn't dare to say it because he was afraid, afraid that his friends would also criticize him.

Lighting another cigarette, Zhang Yaolong walked to the window at this time, then opened the window and lifted the screen.

The wind accompanied by the cold rain, like a big hand waving with all his strength, kept hitting him in the face, and he was powerless to resist.

"What's the point of being alive?

Even if I die, no one will remember me, right? ”

Zhang Yaolong looked out of the howling window, muttering to himself with a wooden expression.

And in the outside world like a pupil, at this time, it was like hiding a demon that lured people to death, and he was frequently waving at Zhang Yaolong.

At last, he climbed onto the ledge, and stood in front of the abyss of despair, staring at the seductive devil below.

But just as he was about to jump off, his phone suddenly rang.

Hearing the ringing of his mobile phone, he was stunned for a few seconds, and then slowly took it out, answered it and put it to his ear.

"Yaolong, did you call me just now? If you don't say this, I can't sleep after tossing and turning. ”

The call was from his good friend, and when he heard his good friend's voice, Zhang Yaolong immediately burst into tears.

Hearing Zhang Yaolong's cry, the other side of the phone hurriedly asked:

"Yaolong, what's wrong with you? Is something wrong? Where are you now? ”

"Dacheng...... Why is the world so dark, why are those people so vicious...... Why doesn't hard work pay off at all...... Why is this happening......"

"Yaolong, what the hell is going on?"

"Everyone criticized me for ......"

"Who criticizes you? Those readers of yours? If you compete with them, they can say whatever they want.

You're not short of money, can't you write it, it's okay. ”

"Why do I always have to let them decide! Why can't I make my own decisions! Zhang Yaolong suddenly roared.

"If you don't write it, won't you make your own decisions?"

"They forced it."

"Where are you now? I'll go to your house now. ”

Dacheng may have heard that something was wrong with Zhang Yaolong, so he didn't say anything more, and planned to rush over directly to take a look. In fact, in recent months, Zhang Yaolong has been a little pessimistic and extreme.

I can't even understand some simple truths.

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