The Dragons found that once a week, Atokun would go out to meet with his financial broker. His annual income is close to 5 million yuan in NFT coins, which is more than enough for Atokounmpo to earn interest from his inheritance. A very small number of people can win the lottery once in their lifetime and win a grand prize of 5 million yuan, which is already "burning high incense"; And Atokounmpo has 5 million yuan in income every year. He is now, the God of Wealth is merciful------ and some are money.

Atokounmpo and his agent can talk about almost anything, from social topics to investments, the World Cup, and the NBA draft.

When Atokounmpo first intervened in his income, he thought he would not be short of money, and he wanted to write novels and gain the world's approval. Atokounmpo told the Dragons that he had had the idea for a long time. Occasionally, he said, he remembered his father, and they talked about the past------ Atokounmpo's father lived to be 125 years old, and time had an effect on him like a magic bellows that filled him with life for most of his life, and then drained it all in the end. Time drained his cheeks and chest, as well as his arms and feet; Time snatched his teeth like a tyrant brutally, one after another, oppressing his small eyes with dark circles, and his originally thick hair became thin; Time has changed his color, ruthless; Time followed his father's body and soul and attacked his brain, causing him night sweats, tears, and all sorts of unexplained fears, making him gullible and suspicious. The old man's energy has shrunk into the bad temper of an arrogant child, and the father's expectation of power has been replaced by a childish desire to build a pure land full of heaven and praise on earth.

Atokounmpo talked about ------ father who had expected his son to explain his plans for the future, "Now that you have come to this world, you should do something!" Father Djokovic said mildly, "You have to achieve something, right?" ”

Atokounmpo pondered for a moment and said, "I think the best thing for me is writing!" ”

The muscles of his father's face twitched slightly, perhaps imagining in his mind a family poet with long hair and a few lovers. "Write a novel and make it a coming-of-age gift for your child! Become a gift for adults! Atokounmpo finished. Djokovic said softly: "Do you think you have what it takes to make a difference, or do you really want to do something?" "Why do you ask? Of course I do, father. "So when are you going to start?" "Well, you know, I'm going to have an outline plan and a lot of books to read." "I thought you'd read enough." ……

The chat between Atokounmpo and the Draco Twins was sporadic and sporadic before ending rather abruptly. He got up, looked at his watch, and said that he had an appointment with his agent in the afternoon......

The Dracos, who lived in Atokounmpo's house, found that he had categorized and catalogued his authoritative works and tried to come up with chapter titles for his works, divided them by period, but not a single word remained, not even any sign of writing. They felt that he had actually accomplished nothing, as if his approach was contrary to the logic of ordinary orthodox book publishing, as if it was only for his own satisfaction. They followed him secretly and observed him......

On a pleasant afternoon, the sun wanders leisurely at the crossroads, and the swaying shadows of the trees make the leisurely atmosphere so thick that it is impossible to dissolve. At this moment, Atokounmpo sat lazily by the open bay window, picked up a chapter of "The Long Years" and was reading a chapter, and after a few o'clock, he yawned and put the book on the table, humming the song "RightHe."

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You, as you walk idly to the bathroom. He turned on the faucet with voice control, and the bathroom music "Daughter of Heaven" played simultaneously.

He stared at the pictures of Madonna and Sora Aoi on the wall...... Then, he voice-controlled the temperature of the bathtub, and in the graceful symphony "Cuckoo Waltz", the whole person slid into the water lightly, and a sense of relaxed satisfaction arose. After taking a shower, he put on his comfortable clothes and prepared to take a walk from Sunset Boulevard to the Junshang Hotel for dinner with his two friends, Popovich and David Beckham. He had just walked a few steps out when he saw a woman in red loungewear not far away, who was drying her hair. The woman sat on a low wall, next to a cushion of the same color as her clothes, and she leaned her arms on it, looking down condescendingly over the sun-drenched avenue, and Atokounmpo heard the sound of children playing. He stared at her for a moment, feeling as if something was churning inside him, an indescribable sensation that probably stemmed from the warm smell of the afternoon sun. He felt that this woman was beautiful, and suddenly, he realized that it was because of her distance, the real distance in the earthly world, not the rarity and preciousness of the soul. What separates them is air, cascading roofs, and noisy sounds. In an instant, Atokounmpo's evoked state of emotion was different from what he had ever experienced, and at the moment it was closer to love, and he was now thirsting for love.

In the blink of an eye, he approached quickly, and the woman was now standing, her hair tucked behind her back, and Anthony could clearly see her countenance: the woman was bloated, about forty years old, ordinary, not at all conspicuous. Atokounmpo gasped and turned to leave.

At half-past six, Atokounmpo and his friend Popovich sat in the 388-metre-high revolving restaurant on the roof of the Junshang Hotel. Popovich was like a big cat, slender and imposing, with a pair of slender eyes, which were half-open and half-closed most of the time, and his hair was so smooth and supple that it seemed to have been licked by a female cat. During his time at Fudan University, Popovich was recognized as the most unique, brilliant, and original person in his class, always smart and silent in the crowd. Atokounmpo regarded this man as his best friend, the one he admired the most and the one he was most jealous of.

Both were happy to see each other - their eyes were gentle, and they felt relaxed and casual with each other. Looking at Popovich's cat-like face, Atokounmpo's restlessness on the road when he had just arrived had finally calmed down. Their chats are quite casual and come and go. After a while, Beckham came, "Just wait for you to come, let's order." Popovich greeted and began to order food in voice control.

Beckham's appearance is short and ordinary, the kind of person who would go bald in his thirties. He has pale blue eyes, one unusually clear, like Lake Baikal, and the other cloudy like a muddy pond. The high and protruding forehead resembles a Chinese birthday star hanging painting. He was also convex in several places, his lower abdomen bulging slightly, his words spurting out of his mouth like swollen air, and the pockets of his evening gown bulging. Like a sensitive dog, he collects class schedules, lecture outlines, and all kinds of data, and his handheld computer is densely packed with notes, which is his brainchild.

Atokounmpo laughed, "Hello, Beckham, it's nice to see you, we just need to take it easy. Popovich answered: "You're late, we're learning and dissecting your personality." Beckham looked at them: "What did you say?" Tell me and I'll write it down. This afternoon, I cut out 2,000 words from my first book. Popovich said, half-jokingly, half-seriously: "You are really a master of the Nobel Prize in Literature." At the same time, what I was doing was to pass through the sausage. "I think so, I bet you two have been sitting here for so long, and you're talking about wine." "We never get drunk, so we don't look like you hairless boy." Popovich added: "Even if you are drunk, you don't just take the girl you just met on the road home. Beckham pouted: "Only a fool can proudly boast about his drinking." But the problem is, you two seem to be alive in ancient times, following the way you drank 120 million years ago------ and quietly drinking until you get drunk and fall under the table, which is not fun at all, come on, that is not called drinking at all. After dinner, are you going to the theater to see Romeo and Juliet? ”

Popovich replied, "Yes, we're going to think about life's problems tonight." To put it simply, it's a woman. Beckham said casually: "I'm tired of watching it, I've seen it four times." I think when I finish my first novel, I'll write a musical romantic comedy. Popovich said solemnly: "Don't be angry, Beckham, no one will read the works you wrote, it's too sour!" You will become a great and meaningless person who continues to illuminate this meaningless world. Beckham retorted: "Art is not meaningless. Popovich is also more serious: "Art is meaning in itself, not an attempt to make life meaningless." In other words, David Beckham, you're in front of a group of great souls. That's Guan Gong playing with a big knife in front of him------ he can't do it. Atokounmpo took over: "Popovich, I think the world is meaningless, so why write?" Writing is to awaken conscience and strive to give meaning to the world, meaning with conscience, and meaningless without conscience! ”

At this time, the intelligent robot has already served borscht, Salou, and Kiev fried chicken, and the three of them have begun to enjoy Ukrainian food. After dinner, Beckham went home to continue writing, while Atokounmpo and Popovich went to the play. After the play, they went their separate ways, Popovich went to the Japanese late-night cafeteria to hunt for beauty, and Atokounmpo went home to sleep......