There was only 186 yuan left in my account. I turned my life around by writing, and sold the rights to my work for millions! Late at night, the scent of osmanthus drifted in through the window.
I livestreamed sales pitches to the empty air until the insults drove me to turn off my phone.
Autumn winds blew outside, and inside, the bills kept piling up.
All I wanted was to go home, back to that autumn when osmanthus filled the courtyard in my Jiangnan hometown.
But I couldn't even afford a train ticket.
Then my phone lit up:
Your novel has passed the contract review.
Eight hundred yuan. Enough for a train ticket home.
But I didn't buy one.
I sat down and started writing.
