A rear projector was hung on the first floor, and everyone could see it in the middle of the exhibition area. The talent carrying the camera took advantage of the most coquettish opportunity to make Wang Zixu's big face public.

Xiao Mengyin cursed in her heart that these people always want to make big news.

Whenever there are any signs of a fight, these people who do news will come to the fire as soon as possible. When the fire starts to burn, they will show a compassionate and worried attitude to call on everyone to calm down. It's really too cheap.

But the audience really took this trick, with gloating expressions on their faces, and they looked at each other with a smile and praised the person next to them, saying, "This photographer understands a little."

Everyone present is insiders, and everyone knows who is popular recently. On the surface, no one mentions it, but after all, everyone is decent and has raised the price of people. But in private, many people have even seen a lot of Erchuang.

The essential attribute of human beings is jealousy. Those who engage in literature are not as calm as the public imagines. On the contrary, jealousy in literature is stronger than ordinary people. The one who is the most jealous in the world is not women, but writers.

Everyone tried their best to do marketing, spend money, package, sign sales, and interact with readers... As a result, a boy rushed in like a fool and became popular for no reason. He said that others were not jealous, which must be fake.

Therefore, they who usually hate reporters not only did not disgust the camera's performance this time, but also smiled with understanding.

Tear it, tear it up. Their mentality is like the audience who were beheaded in the late Qing Dynasty. The more they fight, the better the scene will be.

The writers who surrounded him all turned their attention to Wang Zixu. Although he had never spoken, it had become the focus, and this discussion was about to evolve into a scene of execution.

The goblet is empty, and the curved cup wall reflects the light from the crystal lamp, covering the circular seat downstairs, twisting the seemingly regular circle into an ellipse.

An Younan on the second floor was playing with a cup in his hand. His diamond-clad high heels had been taken off. One foot rubbed against his calves, and his toenails were bright red by his snow-white skin.

She lay on her arm, put her arms on the railing, staring at Wang Zixu on the screen, and said in a soft voice:

"Look, someone finally found out that the little fat sheep was still broadcasting the slaughtering process live. How cruel it is.

"The little fat sheep had a recording before to scare away the big bad wolf. Now, you encounter these lions without any armed force. Can you survive with your two kicks?"

Duan Xiaosang was no longer by his side. No one heard An Younan's words to himself, and naturally no one answered this question.

But Xiao Feiyang can be said to be in a very stable mood at present.

It’s not that the little fat sheep doesn’t have the awareness of being a little fat sheep. When the little fat sheep slammed and kicked the stones and rivers, she expected that one day she would suffer this disaster.

As the saying goes, people always criticize others. People with sharp weapons should have the awareness of being killed. Wang Zixu is not a second-tier child, so he will not be so pretentious that he is panicked.

On the contrary, he felt that the counterattack was too late - he thought it was time for the seminar, but he didn't expect Shi Tonghe to collapse in one blow and had no strength to fight back. It was not until today that the rain fell.

If lightning comes eventually, let the storm come more violently!

Zhuang Die continued the previous topic and continued:

"Why did I criticize this peer so indignantly because such a genius, Sholokhov, was almost ruined by unreasonable doubts.

"At that time, Sholokhov was just a 23-year-old man. People generally think that he was so young and so poor, how could he write such profound works?

"It seems that he wanted to prove himself. Sholokhov spent 14 years carefully crafting the novel "Quiet Don". He wanted to use the sequel to respond to the doubts and prove that he was not a ghostwriter.

"But even so, the accusation of his writing service was still unstoppable. Until his death, the grievances on his body were not cleared.

"Literature is really hard, too hard. It is not like mathematics. 1 is 1, 2 is 2, nor is it like physics. It can be used for experiments. It cannot prove itself, so it can only be approached with all your heart and let your soulmate listen to the meaning of the string.

"Our masses still lack guidance in aesthetic education. They do not have the ability to judge literature and speak entirely by prejudice and hatred. Under induction, they will be blind and impulsive, which will destroy the literary discussion environment.

"Since a peer became popular online, I have seen countless insults and curses to the literary association and senior writers. The senior is noble and unwilling to respond, and cannot prove himself. Instead, the shameless person steals traffic.

"In this era of entertainment until death, no one cares about the truth, which is really a double sorrow of literature and the times."

Xiao Mengyin slowly turned her head and secretly looked at Wang Zixu.

He had a blank expression on his face and his eyes were empty, as if Zhuang Die was not criticizing him without name, but someone else. But she then lowered her head and was immediately startled:

Wang Zixu's fist was pinched like a ball of tightly wrapped tape, white and red, with rugged knuckles, like stones exposed on the sea. It seemed that he would punch someone in the next second.

Sholokhov's "ghost" is a case. Although no one has mentioned it now, it was a hot topic back then and everyone knew about it.

Wang Zixu has read all the works of Nobel Prize authors, and has also learned a lot about their lives, so he naturally knows this.

In fact, Xiao's ghostwriting incident has not been conclusive until today. For this matter, the Soviet Union also set up an investigation team to conduct a thorough investigation and finally concluded that he did not have a ghostwriting incident.

But this is useless, because the people think that the superiors are "protecting him".

From 1926 to 1933, Sholokhov received an average of 1,000 letters of curse, curse, and accusation of him every year. Solzhenitsyn, who was also a colleague of the writer, even jumped out to accuse him of stealing manuscripts from another writer, Klyukov.

To be honest, Scholokhov spent 14 years working hard to complete this book from 1929 to 1940, which is enough to prove that he is not a ghostwriter. But public opinion doesn't care about these.

Until the 1970s, there were many people who "created" him, and each of them was different. In short, he had to be a ghostwriter. Even if he was not a ghostwriter, he was written by someone else.

Because Sholokhov was a "person" appointed by Stalin, he was a symbol of the Soviet literary world and a positive example. Under the influence of internal struggles, the Cold War and other current situations, everyone had their own opinions.

As a result, the pain of the times became Sholokhov's personal sorrow. He never cleared the suspicion of "ghosting" throughout his life.

The later he became more aware that the writer could not prove himself. He could not prove himself through writing. What guaranteed his status was the power in his hands and the support of the leader.

Therefore, he became more and more greedy for power, and in order to protect his privileges, he became more and more radical. His friend sighed: "Mikhail (Sholokhov) killed part of himself to prove the innocence of the other part."

In short, this storm ruined him, and he never wrote a work of the same level as "Quiet Don".

Until 1999, the original manuscript of "The Quiet Don" was found and kept in the attic of Sholokhov's relative's house. After identification, the handwriting was true and the age was determined, which shows that he did not have a ghostwriter. But he had been dead for 20 years at that time.

But even with such evidence, we can still continue to question: Can there be a manuscript prove that there is no ghostwriter? Why didn't he take it out at that time? Why did the manuscript fall into the home of a relative? Is it possible that it was forged by the Russians?

This shows that the writers can't prove themselves. Finally, as Sholokhov said, "Only the grasslands and rivers of the Don River know whether the "Quiet Don" was made by itself."

Zhuang Die compared Xiaolokhov to Shi Tonghe, and Wang Zixu to accuser of bad intentions, meaning that his doubts ruined an innocent writer.

Here is the point of Wang Zixu’s anger:

Aren't what you said all my words?

It was Shi Tonghe who had some connections to mess with him, and two phone calls almost made "Shi Zhonghuo" die of death;

He gathered a group of people again. When "The Fire in the Stone" was still in its infancy, he planned to make a final decision and slapped it to death.

If it weren't for Wang Zixu's head that broke the south wall, if it wasn't for him revising the book overdrawn, if it wasn't for him being careful, and with many friends helping him...

As long as you take a wrong step at that time, "Fuer in the Stone" will really die.

Even until now, he still has to work hard to publish this book.

He was framed, he was rumored, oppressed by the right to speak, and was forced to go crazy, and he was more like Sholokhov, who was obviously him.

These people not only refer to deer as horses, but also turn black and white, but now they are even taking away his painful name!

For him, these people have works, reputation, connections, and for him, an author who even needs to worry about publishing, they have everything.

And he had nothing but writing and pain. They had already poured dirty water on his works, and now they were so greedy that even his pain had to be taken for themselves!

The bloodshot climbed up Wang Zixu's eyes and was about to penetrate the sclera.

One hand slapped him on the shoulder.

He was startled and turned around and saw that it was Sartre.

"If the gaze of the other alienates you, makes you feel pain, and is inevitable, remember that the essence of existence is resistance," Sartre said. "Man must still have chaos in himself to give birth to a dancing star."

"Isn't this Nietzsche's words?" Wang Zixu asked.

Sartre smiled and did not answer, and the little prince appeared from the other side: "In short, fuck him."

Xiao Mengyin looked at Wang Zixu who was muttering to himself, unable to hear what he was saying, and was a little worried about his mental state.

Zhuang Die passionately scolded Wang Zixu without naming him, then changed his subject and talked about the Nobel Prize in Literature again.

The content in front annoyed Wang Zixu, and the content in the back made him frown, feeling that it was not nutritious. But after his speech, there was an enduring applause from the scene.

Wang Zixu knew that the applause was not for his subsequent speech, but mainly for the previous content. It was for the cheering of scolding him.

The next speech was Meng Xin. Wang Zixu didn't know what she was going to talk about, but Zhuang Die just ordered him, and her speech was naturally said that Wang Zixu brought him.

Moreover, the content of her speech surprised Wang Zixu.

This female poet, whose writing style is as cold as a human, speaks as concise and spicy as her poems, full of sharp irony without showing its sharpness and heart-scareless words, which makes people feel breathless.

She also didn't name her name, but everyone could hear her implicit meaning. Such words were always even more hurtful when they said from the beauty. Some people looked at Wang Zixu with gloating and watched his expression.

Next is the next one, and the next one... As if an appointment was made, everyone began to talk about Wang Zixu's crazy behavior.

When Wang Zixu thought about it, he understood: he is now a traffic responsibility. In other words, he is a living target. There is nothing better way to establish his own personality than criticizing a traffic responsibility.

Chen Qingluo was quietly staying on the sofa in the lounge, with her legs spread out, and a magazine was placed.

The female front desk came over, added water to her, and said softly: "Mr. Gu will be here soon."

Chen Qingluo did not respond.

The female front desk said again: "A discussion meeting is being held outside now. The scene is very lively. Do you want to go and have a look?"

Chen Qingluo woke up like a dream.

“What topic?”

"About the Nobel Prize in Literature." The female front desk repeated the theme and said, "Many well-known writers participated."

Chen Qingluo immediately lowered her head: "No interest."

She refused too decisively and skillfully, so that the female front desk felt very frustrated. So she stopped talking, walked back to her position silently, and continued to stand.

...

The seat formation is round, and the order of speeches is clockwise. It is clear who the next speaker is. The audience's emotions are getting more and more enthusiastic.

The speaker approaches Wang Zixu like a clock hand, which is to accumulate a sense of expectation. When he reaches the front of Wang Zixu, his sense of expectation has reached its peak.
To be continued...