Three years ago, I wrote a fairy tale novel. Due to the collapse of update data, readers' scoldings, and pressure from editors, I had the book's most popular villain, the Demon King, be stabbed through the heart by a sword in the penultimate chapter, and the novel was unfinished.
Three years later, I fell asleep after revising the manuscript all night in a rental house. When I opened my eyes again, I was lying covered in blood in the sea of red petals I had written.
The villain I wrote to death stood in front of me, holding in his hand the unfinished chapters I had printed out. He looked down at me and said in a calm tone: "Lin Wan, you made me die so hard that you didn't even leave me the words 'I'm not willing'."
He gave me thirty days. If we can't find a way to change his inevitable death within thirty days, we will both be wiped out.
But I couldn't survive even six days—my current body is that of the cannon fodder female character who was stabbed through the throat by the male protagonist in Chapter 37 of the original novel.
But Xie Chenyuan blocked the sword for me.
Later I found out that he had been waiting for more than three years.
He waited for Xue for three years, waiting for the world I wrote to collapse and reorganize, waiting for my unfinished "full text" to become a wall that he could never cross.
Now he pulled me in and thrust a blank silk book into my hand.
He said: "Write. Don't leave until you finish writing this time."
I sat under the blue lamp in the side hall with a charcoal pencil in my hand, looking at the dark purple sky outside the window, and felt that for the first time in my life - I didn't want it to end.
