the book’s goddess

“You…” In the café, Gu Ruoyan set down her coffee cup, hesitating slightly. “I heard you’re a writer?” A soft saxophone melody drifted through the café. Afternoon sunlight poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, spilling across the table. At its center, a rose glistened with dewdrops, vivid and fragrant. The setting was beautiful. Gu Ruoyan was beautiful too. For this blind date, she had deliberately chosen a long dress she rarely wore, letting down her usually neat, high ponytail. Her jet-black hair fell like a waterfall, lending her an air of elegance. She had come with expectations. But the man sitting across from her left her somewhat disappointed. He was tall and fairly handsome, yet dressed casually, his stubble not even properly shaved. At the very least, it showed that he hadn’t taken this blind date as seriously as she had. That aside, he also seemed lacking in spirit. He looked nervous facing her, like a shut-in who stayed home playing games all day and rarely met people. Hmm… a writer. Maybe writers were like this? Decadent, unkempt, socially awkward? Still, writers sounded interesting… That, too, was one of the reasons Gu Ruoyan had been willing to take this blind date seriously—despite the fact that, for someone who prided herself on being well-read, she had never heard of this so-called writer before. Chu Ge sat opposite her, hands propping up his chin, his heart pounding. He had gone through countless blind dates arranged by his mother. They were usually just for show—both sides understood it tacitly. They’d eat, part ways, and not even exchange contact info. He hadn’t expected this time’s date to be such an elegant, beautiful woman. Someone this pretty should be acting in dramas—why was she on a blind date?! He was completely unprepared. “I’m talking to you…” Gu Ruoyan sighed. “Aunt Wu said you’re a writer. Could you tell me about your works? I’d like to read some.” “…Ah, yes.” Chu Ge cleared his throat. “I’ve written many novels, but I feel they haven’t fully showcased my true level. As the ancients said—writing carries the Dao. At present, I’m conceiving a grand narrative set in a special historical period, focusing on the vast universe and the boundless natural world, expressing the indomitable struggle of ordinary people at the bottom of society, pondering profound questions about the fate of China and even all humanity, and shouldering the social responsibility a writer ought to bear! Thus, I’ve been searching for my muse…” “Can you speak like a normal person?” Gu Ruoyan clasped her hands on the table, eyes lowered. Chu Ge awkwardly withdrew his flailing hands. “Uh… I’m currently writing a xianxia w*******l. The underdog kind.” A look of understanding dawned in Gu Ruoyan’s eyes. So this was a… web novelist. Did web novelists count as writers? She wasn’t sure. In any case, it was a field she didn’t understand at all—very different from her usual conception of a “writer.” “What’s your monthly income? Is it stable? Do you have social insurance and a housing fund?” “Rousseau once said: ‘If I write for bread, it will soon suffocate my genius and destroy my talent. Nothing vigorous or great can come from a pen driven solely by profit. Need and greed may make me write faster, but they cannot make me write better—’” “Human language.” “…Not very stable. Sometimes it’s low. This month it’s over ten thousand.” Chu Ge’s gaze flickered slightly. “As for insurance and housing funds… you can pay social security yourself these days…” “So basically unemployed—” Gu Ruoyan blurted out, then swallowed the rest of the sentence. Chu Ge smiled faintly and said nothing. Gu Ruoyan immediately regretted it. That had been hurtful… But at twenty-seven or twenty-eight and still unemployed—if he wrote an autobiography, it’d be a textbook underdog story. How was this blind date supposed to continue? In the end, she smiled apologetically and stood up. “I still have something to take care of…” Chu Ge sighed. “Please, go ahead.” …… Many people had said that Chu Ge’s parents hadn’t chosen a good name for him. “Surrounded by enemies on all sides” was terrible luck—it doomed him to struggle at everything. Other things aside, if he couldn’t even find a girlfriend, there was another phrase for it: destined to die alone. Not to mention the homophone for “virgin.” That was just asking for it. Thus, Chu Ge had gone on eleven blind dates—none successful. Of course, the previous failures were actually because he hadn’t wanted a relationship at all. What was so fun about women compared to games? If not for his mother’s nagging, those eleven blind dates wouldn’t even have existed. What a pity… This one had been truly beautiful—so beautiful it still felt unreal to him. That fleeting heartbeat at first sight hadn’t calmed down even now. Chu Ge sat quietly in his seat, gazing at the dewdrops on the rose petals. He didn’t watch Gu Ruoyan’s graceful retreating figure. After two or three seconds, he seemed to relax entirely, lazily leaning back against the soft chair, lifting the barely touched coffee and taking a slow sip. As if nothing had happened at all. One hundred and twenty yuan for a cup of coffee. Chu Ge didn’t know whether this bitter drink—so much like his current mood—could prolong life, but why did it have to be so expensive? He lazily took out his phone, opened QQ, and clicked into a group chat named “Brothers at War.” It was a small group—just over three hundred people including Chu Ge. Compared to those so-called two-thousand-member ghost groups, this one was small but lively. Everyone typed like a Gatling g*n; step away for a bathroom break and you’d come back to 99+ messages. Such activity in a small group owed much to Chu Ge. Someone once summarized what made a group active, listing twenty points at length. The most important first point was that it needed a dumbass group owner… It was a spot-on summary. Chu Ge was that owner. This was his reader group. He was the author, writing under his real name, Chu Ge. As for “Brothers at War”—it meant a group of readers in one room, “fighting”… never mind. At the moment, the group seemed to have reached a tacit agreement over some news screenshot and was chanting in unison. “Fear of marriage +1 today.” “Fear of marriage +1 today.” Out of habit, Chu Ge clicked +1. Chu Ge: “Fear of marriage +1 today.” “……” The group fell silent for a moment before someone asked: “Boss Chu? Weren’t you on a blind date? You’re back already?” “How long does a blind date take?” Chu Ge typed, forcing a calm tone. “It GG’d.” The group erupted again: “Good that it GG’d! Women aren’t as fun as writing books. You still haven’t updated today!” Chu Ge’s fingers paused over the keyboard for a few seconds. He didn’t reply. Most people didn’t care how you felt on the other side of the screen. They only cared whether you’d updated today. That was why Chu Ge rarely took breaks even when he was sick—because the usual response wasn’t “Get some rest,” but “Another excuse.” Only long-time, emotionally invested readers were different. Unfortunately, Chu Ge didn’t have such an accumulation yet. In the end, he was still just someone a blind date could dismiss as unemployed… He put his phone away and downed the half-cold coffee in one gulp. “Check, please.” The waiter came over. “One hundred and twenty.” Chu Ge froze. “Wasn’t it two cups? Half price today?” “The lady paid for her own.” Chu Ge instinctively turned his head to look outside the window, then remembered Gu Ruoyan had left at least five minutes ago. Though her careless words had stung, he didn’t resent her. Most people viewed this profession the same way—it was something he’d long grown used to. Besides, his own performance under pressure had been ridiculously exaggerated… What nonsense had he even been spouting? Chu Ge couldn’t understand why someone with Gu Ruoyan’s looks and temperament still needed a blind date. If he were to guess maliciously… Forget it. Why bother? A passerby’s past had nothing to do with him. For him now, the truly uncomfortable reality was that line in the group chat: Today’s update still wasn’t finished. If he kept dawdling, he’d break his streak.