129 Text-based games I have played before

Dreams are beautiful, but reality is harsh.

Those guys had intended to continue picking on Yun Zheng and his four friends, but Class 18 was now unprecedentedly united, and their plan turned into a tragedy. When school let out, everyone was leaving in a relaxed manner when suddenly a group of people surrounded the five of them and began to attack.

Yun Zheng and his friends were all injured, though not enough to hinder their movement, it did make fighting difficult. After they held out for a moment, Wang Jiang led a charge, followed by Li Shan, Yu Yuan, and a crowd of students who feared a life without excitement, all swarming in.

The outcome was forty-six against thirteen. Those punks were given a thorough thrashing. The cheerleader, Liu Yue, was particularly fierce; she actually had a pair of nunchucks in her bookbag. Regardless of whether she knew how to use them, she swung them around to pummel the underdogs.

In three minutes, the gang of hooligans was driven off. The students of Class 18 gathered to exchange combat experiences and summarize lessons learned. Liu Yue was thrilled. This life—no, this schooling—was so colorful; this was what a beautiful youth was all about. To commemorate this great victory, she pulled out two thousand yuan, and the group headed off for barbecue and beer.

Because there were so many of them, they had to choose the cheapest skewer joint. Before leaving, they called Zhang Pa to ask if he had undergone his hemorrhoid surgery yet. If not, he should come and eat some grilled chili peppers—they were absolutely, incredibly spicy.

Zhang Pa was speechless. He looked at the table of food in front of him, which he couldn't finish himself, thought for a moment, said yes, packed up the food, and headed to the skewer joint.

This place was not the kind of trendy, boutique eatery seen on television. It was filled with cheap, battered tin tables and small stools. The tables were topped with ceramic tiles, and upon those sat rusty little stoves filled with crushed charcoal. The shop entrance was tiny, and it only had two tables with five customers. When this group of students arrived, the street in front of the shop was instantly packed.

Old Pi had a head for business. He asked the owner, "How many meat skewers do you have? How much will it all cost?"

The owner naturally quoted a high price. Old Pi waved his hand airily, "We'll take the lot. One thousand two hundred yuan, deal?"

It was a deal; the small shop couldn't prepare much anyway. The owner said the drinks would be extra. Old Pi said, "Don't charge wholesale prices for the beer, can you give us the price from the corner store?"

That was naturally fine, and so they began to eat. With forty-six people, the atmosphere was incredibly lively. Before long, Zhang Pa arrived with his leftovers, and the students cheered. Zhang Pa remarked, "You rich kids are truly decadent."

Since the formation of Class 18’s "army," they had fought four group brawls, each time winning easily, even against the big-time thugs from the streets. While drinking beer, Yu Yuan suggested, "Let’s become sworn brothers. The forty-six dragons of Class 18, Grade 9, No. 119 Middle School."

No sooner had he finished than Wang Jiang slapped him: "What about Boss Zhang?"

Yu Yuan gave an "ah," then immediately corrected himself: "The forty-seven dragons of Class 18, Grade 9, No. 119 Middle School. You’re the mother dragon." The last four words were directed at Liu Yue.

"That sounds awful. I’m a phoenix," Liu Yue protested.

"Phoenix, schmoenix. It doesn't rhyme. Just make do," Yu Yuan replied.

"Then I'm the Big Dragon," Liu Yue insisted. "If you don't agree, I won't treat you to barbecue anymore."

"No problem, you’re the Big Dragon... but what about the teacher?" Yu Yuan asked.

Liu Yue said, "Whoever has the money is the boss. I am the Big Dragon."

"11931847," Zhang Pa muttered the string of numbers. "What is that? It doesn't flow and it doesn't rhyme."

"I think it’s great. 11931847. If we add a code at the end, like Liu Yue being 01, her ID would be 1193184701," Yu Yuan suggested.

"Brother, don't you think that's messy?" Old Pi asked.

Yu Yuan said, "Messy? What's messy? This is our collective. Whenever we go out and shout those eight digits, people will think we’re national secret agents."

"I’m drunk just hearing that," Old Pi grumbled.

Zhang Pa smiled: "Eat up and let's call it a night."

He wanted to break up the party, but the students wouldn't have it. They gathered around to ask about his hemorrhoids, when the surgery was, insisting they would visit him in the hospital. They asked if it hurt like crazy right now, if he was enduring the pain just to talk, and even asked if he was bleeding rivers when he went to the bathroom...

Zhang Pa said, "Are you guys bored out of your minds? We're eating! Do we have to talk about the 'back door'?"

With his firm intervention, the party broke up at nine in the evening. Zhang Pa headed home with Old Pi and the others. On the way, he received a call from Long Xiaole, who started by thanking him, then explained that he had gone home to sleep after leaving the hospital and had just woken up. He apologized, then added that his father wanted to meet Zhang Pa and would send a car to pick him up the next morning.

Zhang Pa said it wasn't necessary.

Long Xiaole said, "It is necessary, absolutely necessary. You are my savior."

Zhang Pa said it wasn't that serious; those people were likely just after money and wouldn't have hurt him.

Long Xiaole replied, "That’s what happened in the end, but no one could have known what would happen. You truly saved me. I’m picking you up tomorrow morning."

Zhang Pa asked, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, everything is perfect." He repeated, "I'll pick you up tomorrow."

Zhang Pa said forget it, just give him the address and he would go himself.

Long Xiaole said, "I must pick you up. It’s a matter of respect."

Zhang Pa said, "Don't bother with that. Just give me the address, I'll take a taxi."

Seeing Zhang Pa’s resolve, Long Xiaole thought for a moment and said, "Alright, I live on the first floor of Building 1, Kowloon Garden."

"The whole floor is your home? Impressive," Zhang Pa said.

Long Xiaole replied, "The whole three floors are my home."

Zhang Pa said, "Rich people really are something."

After hanging up, Old Pi, who was in the same car, asked what was up with the rich guy. Zhang Pa glanced at him: "When do the results come out?"

Old Pi immediately fell silent.

Zhang Pa said, "It's been two days since the exams ended. I haven't asked you guys yet—how do you feel? What kind of scores can you get?"

Old Pi stayed silent, and Da Niu didn't say anything either.

Zhang Pa thought for a moment and said, "We agreed that the condition for the midterm was passing."

Old Pi quickly explained, "We’ve been studying, but the time was too short, and we’re also learning the first-year curriculum. It’s normal to fail."

Zhang Pa smiled: "You’re quite certain you’re going to fail."

Old Pi went silent again.

Soon they arrived home. Zhang Pa sat for a few minutes, pondering the day's events, then turned on his computer, uploaded his draft to the internet, finished his daily update task, and turned off the computer to sleep.

It wasn't really sleep; he lay there thinking about Miao Zili, Wang Zhongxing, and the others. In the face of power, individual strength is equivalent to nothing. Even if the Monkey King were reincarnated, he couldn't withstand a bombardment of artillery shells. And Zhang Pa was no Monkey King, while Wang Zhongxing and his lot had the background to call in the artillery.

He thought for half an hour without finding a solution, then exhaustion set in, and he drifted into a deep sleep.

The next day, he woke up, uploaded his saved draft for timed release, and then continued writing the story in his document. He was in the "new book" phase; he had communicated with his editor before posting, and once he hit thirty thousand words, he could sign a contract. It was a perk for veteran authors—he didn't have to post directly to the site and wait for an editor to notice him.

The normal process involved opening an author account, uploading the work, and hoping it caught an editor's eye or performed well enough to get a contract and a chance to earn money. If he had followed that standard process with the first eight openings he wrote, he could have written hundreds of thousands of words without ever getting a contract.

What did hundreds of thousands of words mean? At six thousand words a day, that’s 180,000 words a month. Hundreds of thousands of words meant at least two or three months of work. After signing, the website would provide recommendations and help with promotion. If he had to wait hundreds of thousands of words to sign and get recommended... the book’s performance could be imagined.

Zhang Pa’s first book took over a million words to get a contract. He wrote in obscurity for over a year, persisting for over a year. When he finally lost hope, he thought he’d try one last time and submitted a request. The editor-in-chief sent a message saying he couldn't let him write for nothing and made an exception to sign the book. From then on, he had the qualification for a full-attendance bonus and a chance to make money.

During those fourteen months before signing, Zhang Pa went through his toughest time. He didn't go home for the New Year, instead watching the gala at an internet cafe. From the first to the fifth day of the Lunar New Year, he ate five packs of "extra value" instant noodles—eaten dry.

Many times, he couldn't even understand what he was thinking. He really couldn't, he truly couldn't understand.

Logically, he could have been a waiter, a delivery man... well, he had actually done those jobs; to survive, Zhang Pa had worked many jobs. These weren't the point. What mattered was that, no matter what he did, he always felt that a person should do one thing in their life.

Sometimes he would think: If I died tomorrow, what would I leave behind in this world?

He thought and thought, many times, so he quit his jobs, or was fired by his bosses... Right, that was his life before writing, back before he came to the provincial capital.

Later, after much soul-searching, and upon learning that Gong Zhu had come to the provincial capital to study, Zhang Pa quit his job once more, took his savings, and came to this city without hesitation. He found the cheapest rent in "Happiness Lane," set up camp, and started writing.

He wrote that book for fourteen months, until he was about to give up, and finally got the contract. On the day he received the contract, Zhang Pa dragged the "Fatty" out to drink, to celebrate, and to envision a beautiful future.

But as the saying goes, dreams are beautiful, and reality is harsh. After signing, Zhang Pa didn't have a beautiful future. He quietly collected the full-attendance bonus for twenty months—six hundred yuan a month—plus his royalties, and his monthly income was mostly less than a thousand yuan.

It was this thousand yuan that the people in Happiness Lane mocked him for over and over. They called him stupid, an idiot, said it wasn't worth it, that it wasn't realistic, that people should be practical, that dreams were worthless...

Dreams are incredibly deceptive. If you aren't financially secure, it's best not to talk lightly about "pursuing" things. Otherwise, those two words will tear your skin off layer by layer, leaving you bloody and raw, leaving you standing beneath everyone's feet, leaving you without the luxury of hoping for a future.

Humans have responsibilities. They have families, they must care for their families and be filial to their parents. A job can help you do these things; a dream cannot. A dream will make you drift away from everyone.

As an aside, there are talent shows every year that produce champions and overnight stars, but does anyone know that the stars you see are never poor?

But fortunately, once he signed, he had an income and could keep writing. Zhang Pa didn't have to give up his dream.

His dream was: If one day he were to die, there would still be stories he had written in this world, proving that he had once been here.