Wang Yang fell headlong into the turbulent Republic of China era. Looking around, he realized he was utterly powerless: he knew nothing about training a modern army or the sciences, and had no interest in the treacherous worlds of politics and business.
“Transmigrators are useless at everything. The ancients really weren’t wrong,” he sighed to himself. “Oh well. Since I’m here, I might as well make the best of it.”
So, taking inspiration from the great Jin Yong, he “wrote” The Lost Map of Dragon Abyss. All he wanted was to earn enough to get by and live quietly in a corner of the world.
But as soon as he put pen to paper, events slipped beyond his control. These masterpieces from another world, forged through the painstaking efforts of countless people, crashed into this world like boulders thrown into still water, stirring up unprecedented storms. Young students went wild for them, literary elders were shaken, and overnight, Wang Yang found himself unwillingly elevated to the pantheon of great writers, his fame soaring and his brilliance on full display.
Yet the brighter the light, the deeper the shadows. The turbulent times pushed him relentlessly forward, leaving him nowhere to retreat. Some revered his writing as a guiding light and worshipped him; others saw him as a thorn in their side and wished they could get rid of him. Praise and curses intertwined, flowers and daggers went hand in hand. Only then did Wang Yang awaken to the truth: in this great age, even if all he wanted was to quietly “copy books,” that alone had become an unavoidable stance, drawing him into the currents of fate.
Literary men in the Republic of China had no trouble writing books. They had no force at their disposal and they were all using their brains.
Good book, worth reading
I like this kind of writing the most.
Tsk, another 404 🤦
Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on
Why don't you continue writing?
Not a cool article. A little frustrated and irritable.
Also OK 👍👍👍