After his parents divorced, Ito Xun, who left the town, received a phone call that brought him back to the town.
But everything was just the beginning of an illusion. He still didn't solve anything while struggling in the small town.
(This is my first time writing a book, and I can only do this because of my mental and physical exhaustion)
Reader comments
I'm not good at anything, so I want to leave something behind.
I like reading novels of this type, so I came up with this idea.
It's just the product of trying to write, without an outline, just write whatever comes to mind.
It was very painful for me to write during that period. It was so painful that I had no idea how the plot would develop, so I could only listen to the voice of instinct and write messy words.
I was very conflicted when I typed the last words. I was so conflicted that whenever I think about the fact that I wrote these contents, I will feel crazy because of the existence of black history.
Due to my own reasons and lack of experience, the writing is not good, it is too complicated and messy, and the storyline is not rich.
It's hard to face it, I just feel like I've made a piece of garbage.
Those days I could dream about characters asking me why I was killing them.
It's only now, more than half a year later, that I can muster the patience to read these again.
I can no longer feel what I was thinking when I wrote it, and I can't even sympathize with myself at that time.
I just feel messy, trying desperately to write something but not being able to do it well.
Pure and unsightly.
I have written a lot of beginnings and ideas in the past six months, but I can no longer express my inner fears as smoothly as I did at the beginning.
It's even difficult to form sentences (although it wasn't very good at first)
Now that New Year's Day is approaching, I am writing this paragraph to bring closure to the more than 300,000 words that were born and died due to selfishness.
Thanks to the readers who gave me great confidence.
I don't know if I still have the courage and time to write a new book, but now
I can face this content.
I wish everyone who reads this peace of mind.
Above, 2026-2-9, night 23.32
I'm currently reading Chapter 10. How should I put it? I don't have much to say about the plot. I just feel a little uncomfortable after reading it. I don't know why. Maybe it's sympathy for the character or something else. I don't know myself. Come on.
Well written, but a bit too bland
Very good, very good. I was fascinated by it. I couldn't sleep in the middle of the night. There are a lot of words. It's awesome [like]
Tomatoes are the most underrated
It's good to watch, but it's a bit overwhelming to watch. The protagonist is always wrapped up in other people's emotions.
I'm not good at anything, so I want to leave something behind. I like reading novels of this type, so I came up with this idea. It's just the product of trying to write, without an outline, just write whatever comes to mind. It was very painful for me to write during that period. It was so painful that I had no idea how the plot would develop, so I could only listen to the voice of instinct and write messy words. I was very conflicted when I typed the last words. I was so conflicted that whenever I think about the fact that I wrote these contents, I will feel crazy because of the existence of black history. Due to my own reasons and lack of experience, the writing is not good, it is too complicated and messy, and the storyline is not rich. It's hard to face it, I just feel like I've made a piece of garbage. Those days I could dream about characters asking me why I was killing them. It's only now, more than half a year later, that I can muster the patience to read these again. I can no longer feel what I was thinking when I wrote it, and I can't even sympathize with myself at that time. I just feel messy, trying desperately to write something but not being able to do it well. Pure and unsightly. I have written a lot of beginnings and ideas in the past six months, but I can no longer express my inner fears as smoothly as I did at the beginning. It's even difficult to form sentences (although it wasn't very good at first) Now that New Year's Day is approaching, I am writing this paragraph to bring closure to the more than 300,000 words that were born and died due to selfishness. Thanks to the readers who gave me great confidence. I don't know if I still have the courage and time to write a new book, but now I can face this content. I wish everyone who reads this peace of mind. Above, 2026-2-9, night 23.32
I'm currently reading Chapter 10. How should I put it? I don't have much to say about the plot. I just feel a little uncomfortable after reading it. I don't know why. Maybe it's sympathy for the character or something else. I don't know myself. Come on.
Well written, but a bit too bland
Very good, very good. I was fascinated by it. I couldn't sleep in the middle of the night. There are a lot of words. It's awesome [like]
Tomatoes are the most underrated
It's good to watch, but it's a bit overwhelming to watch. The protagonist is always wrapped up in other people's emotions.