Chapter 132: Clumsy Imitation Of Yu Wei
A dense buzzing sound rang in Yu Wei’s ears, with mosquitoes swarming in groups, making it impossible for him to sleep.
The truck couldn’t fit three people, so Liu Wang found a guesthouse for him and the photographer, while he rested in the truck himself.
It wasn’t that Liu Wang was unwilling to spend more money; he had heard that many colleagues would siphon fuel, and one tank of fuel cost four or five thousand, so getting stolen would mean half a month of work for nothing.
Compared to that constant worry, sleeping in the truck was undoubtedly more reassuring.
Actually, the guesthouse wasn’t much better than the truck…
The room was cramped and damp, with peeling and mottled wall plaster, and the air carried a musty smell mixed with disinfectant; Yu Wei could tolerate all that, but there were simply too many mosquitoes.
Not long after he entered, mosquito bites had already swelled up in patches on his ankles, neck, and arms.
Attracting mosquitoes was just his constitution.
Outside the window, the stove fires at the night market stalls had long gone out, leaving only the rustling sounds of wild dogs rummaging through the garbage heap.
The outlines of the distant mountains were swallowed by the night, with only the dim yellow streetlamp at the guesthouse entrance illuminating a few moths tirelessly crashing into the lampshade.
Originally, the photographer wanted to find a better place to stay, but Yu Wei refused; since it was about experiencing life, they couldn’t make exceptions.
Back when he was a failure, he didn’t have much money either, but he had never stayed in such a cheap guesthouse; the wooden board bed creaked noisily, and this trip had taught him a lot.
They say reading ten thousand books is not as good as traveling ten thousand miles; Yu Wei finally felt it.
He felt he couldn’t sleep either, so he simply turned over, got up, and started writing, finishing tomorrow’s work early so he could sleep in the truck.
The second song Yu Wei prepared was “The Ordinary Road”; many people listened to this one in the truck because there really was a road ahead, and everyone was very ordinary.
Before, he just thought the song was nice, but now he had some deeper understanding.
Yu Wei gazed at his colossal truck; it carried a family’s livelihood and also bent Liu Wang’s back.
His dark-skinned self was actually the same age as Qi Yunming…
Even without redeeming the song yet, the melody and lyrics of this song seemed to already echo in Yu Wei’s ears.
At this moment, inspiration surged in him like a spring.
Inspiration Fist!
After he finished writing the protagonist’s singing scene in one go, dawn had arrived, the mosquito swarm had temporarily retreated, and a new round of rushing was quietly approaching.
“Finished writing?”
The sudden voice startled Yu Wei; he turned around and saw that the photographer Old Zhang was quietly filming him nearby.
“When did you wake up?”
When Yu Wei first started writing, Old Zhang was still sleeping and scratching itches; seeing him like this, it seemed he had been filming for quite a while.
“A little after three; I vaguely heard typing sounds and saw you writing in the corner, so I quickly got up to start filming.”
This was an excellent camera shot: the blocked and rundown guesthouse, Yu Wei seriously writing in the corner, with focused gaze and immersed emotion; the contrast between man and environment was artistically full.
The micro-light atmosphere under the night was full of vibe, plus his inherent storytelling and his love for creation itself; this scene must be remembered.
Don’t underestimate Old Zhang as a program team photographer; he also had artistic pursuit—if Yu Wei became famous worldwide, this photo would definitely be his life’s photo.
Compared to a star shining brightly on stage, the one writing at the desk was the real him.
“This dedicated, huh?”
Skipping sleep for good footage, huh? This is the professional ethics of an old photographer, impressive.
“Didn’t you skip sleep too?”
“I’ll sleep in the truck; how can I sleep when you’re filming on the road?”
Old Zhang was stunned upon hearing this; damn, he was so excited he forgot about that—if he slept, there’d be no footage the next day…
Good thing he wasn’t the driver, or Yu Wei definitely wouldn’t dare ride in his truck.
After simply filling their stomachs, the three got in the truck and continued on their way; if smooth, they could arrive by noon, unload, and head back.
Yu Wei originally planned to sleep, but after staying up all night, he wasn’t that sleepy; he even felt a weird excitement.
Classic all-nighter making him more alert; he’d regret it in the afternoon.
Anyway, since he couldn’t sleep, he simply opened Qi Luo An’s novel that had entered the library.
Overnight, her collections rose from 17 to 27; clearly someone was reading, but he didn’t know if there were comments.
No posts in the book friends circle; comments in the novel had to be checked chapter by chapter.
Just flipping two pages, Yu Wei saw one from a reader named Zhuan Dan Zhuan Piao, in the section where protagonist Wei Yu marketed his writing.
“Yu Wei, right? (sneaky grin)”
Protagonist is a failure, pulling reading numbers by marketing himself; this persona is too obvious—anyone who’s been surfing the internet lately knows who this is.
This reader was quite active; the next page had another message, in the section where protagonist Wei Yu was harshly criticized by colleagues—Zhuan Dan Zhuan Piao directly sharp-commented: this author is probably a little hater.
Qi Luo An had copied these bad reviews from the private messages of the Mao Dibao account, so the scolding was piercingly accurate.
If only seeing this, one might really think the reader was his hater, and a veteran one at that…
But after the protagonist’s golden finger appeared, he didn’t show up again; Yu Wei continued reading until the fifth chapter titled “Malice” in this novel, when he commented again.
“Found a poem, but not the novel? How come no search results.”
This reader was so mild; not a single curse word yet—Yu Wei was truly envious; back when he was mistaken for composing songs, he was already getting personal attacks.
Why didn’t he encounter someone this easygoing?
Yu Wei flipped two more pages and, as expected, when protagonist Wei Yu outlined the general story of the book “Malice,” Zhuan Dan Zhuan Piao spoke up again.
“Did the author make up the novel? Why do plagiarists all like making stuff up to pretend it’s original now?”
All? Were there that many doing this?
Yu Wei rubbed his dry eyes, exited to search for new books in the plagiarism category, and sure enough, found readers complaining in the book friends circle.
“Another one making up works.”
“Uninitiated question: shouldn’t making up works be a poison point? Why are so many entertainment novels writing it this way now.”
“Go ask Yu Wei; he started this trend.”
Blame me?
Seeing these comments shocked Yu Wei himself; he hadn’t checked new books in a while and didn’t expect everyone to be this abstract now?
But thinking about it, it made sense; entertainment novels relied on gimmicks and popularity—after he succeeded with this approach, people started following suit.
But following by making up works wouldn’t sustain popularity; after all, few had the strength for originals…
This was the follow-Yu-Wei 1.0 era: mostly clumsy imitations, unable to write the made-up works, missing the essence.
But soon someone found the trick: make up the first work to build reader expectation if it would really appear later, then normal plagiarist plot afterward.
By the time readers realized it was a clumsy imitation, they were hooked; some would stay, and the results were surprisingly decent.
Making up works became a gimmick for early hype, aimed at attracting gossip-loving readers.
Making up a work to draw traffic, then normal plagiarist afterward—this was the follow-Yu-Wei 2.0 era; everyone knew ordinary people couldn’t copy Yu Wei, so it was just padding.
“There’s something here.”
Colleagues’ creativity was too strong; instead of blindly following, they turned clumsy imitation into the gimmick itself—pure genius.
Thus, Qi Luo An’s novel opening in 2.0 version wasn’t novel; just another author trying to draw traffic with clumsy imitation.
Little did they know Qi Luo An was truly imitating…
This was actually good for her; treating the book as traffic via made-up works meant fewer people cursing her.
It was a different time; as the trend originator, Yu Wei had stepped on plenty of mines.
He went back to the novel and kept flipping; the reader didn’t say another word after that—unclear if he dropped it or lost interest.
But at the seventh chapter on novel creation, he saw a comment from a reader named “E E” with much higher aggression.
“Lmao, protagonist is a clueless failure writing sakura novels, right? Knows the local customs, human relations society, social structure? Just makes it up, afraid others won’t know he has a system?”
Well-reasoned bad reviews were the most attacking; Yu Wei knew this deeply—direct personal attacks made him laugh, but pointing out poison points really hurt…
Lies don’t hurt; truth is the sharp blade.
Casually plagiarizing works was one of the most common poison points in entertainment novels; without understanding, exposure was inevitable.
But Yu Wei wasn’t worried about this; his system came with after-sales service—after perfect mastery, he wouldn’t fear scripture debates.
Forget creation background or ideology; he even had abstract things like source of inspiration.
No more comments after that; no one even noticed his message at the end of the tenth chapter—probably didn’t make it past the seventh…
Imagining Qi Luo An secretly shedding tears over bad reviews, Yu Wei unrighteously smiled; he really wanted to see that expression.
He opened private messages and teased a bit, but early morning, Qi Luo An clearly wasn’t awake yet, so no reply.
Yu Wei just exited the chat when he thought of a more important question, so he went back to ask again.
“Do you know what your grandfather left behind?”
After sending the message, Yu Wei felt sleepy and leaned on the seat, quietly falling asleep.
…
Qi Luo An got up exceptionally late today; hearing about library entry last night, she stayed up late to sleep, but collections only rose a few, with zero comments.
She groggily checked the time, but noticing Yu Wei’s seven messages instantly woke her; sleepiness receded like tide, heart even racing a bit.
What did he say so early?
The first few from Yu Wei simply introduced the so-called 2.0 version; Qi Luo An had researched it, so no big surprise.
Since she wrote her own book, she definitely checked recent new books; peeping a few made it easy to understand.
“Writing books gets you cursed easily; don’t mind it.”
This message was neutral, but it warmed Qi Luo An’s heart; looks like he cared about her.
But she didn’t get the last question; she hadn’t even seen her grandfather—how would she know if Old Deng left anything.
She hadn’t heard Grandmother mention it either?
Ye Ranzhi doted on Qi Luo An, but even so, she never heard from Grandmother about anything Grandfather left.
The huge family fortune counted?
But since Yu Wei specifically asked, it must be important; even if she couldn’t recall, she’d force it—worst case, ask Grandmother; she had to give him an answer.
Qi Luo An hugged her pillow and recalled for a long time, finally remembering some vague childhood memories.
Once as a child, rummaging in the bottom layer of Grandmother’s old wardrobe, her fingertips touched something cold and hard.
She laboriously dragged out a somewhat mottled aluminum box; just as she tried to open it, Grandmother stopped her.
“Good girl, don’t touch this.”
Grandmother’s warm hand gently covered her little hand, voice gentle yet firm, loving gaze carrying a complex emotion she couldn’t understand.
“Not time yet; your share will come eventually.”
Day six of daily updates.
KFC Crazy Thursday, v me 50.
