I've always wanted to write a captivating story.

An old man and an old woman lay sprawled near the sidewalk at the street corner. A crowd had gathered, many with their phones out, snapping photos.
Fatty said, “Two scammers running into each other—this is the drama of the year.”
Zhang Pa looked around. “Where are the police?”
“No idea,” Fatty replied, turning to someone nearby. “Did anyone call the police?”
“No. Why bother?” the person replied. “But someone did call the TV station.”
Zhang Pa chuckled. “Will the TV station actually come?”
“They said they would.” As soon as he finished, two people hurried over—a man carrying a camera, a woman with a microphone. Barely catching their breath, they began filming.
Fatty muttered, “Reporters are getting more and more boring—anything for a story.”
…
Eventually, the police arrived. Since neither side would back down, everyone was brought to the station for a “chat.”
On the way back, Fatty couldn’t stop laughing. Zhang Pa told him to stop, then said, “If this goes online—two scammers scamming each other—it’ll be the first of its kind, make our city infamous all over the country.”
Fatty paused. “Damn, there we go again, being ‘represented’.”
Just as Fatty said, it was truly the drama of the year—two con artists preying on each other, unheard of.
Zhang Pa grumbled, “The sooner people like that are gone, the better. What’s the point of them living?”
“Don’t bother with them.” Fatty changed the topic. “By the way, someone’s treating me to dinner tonight. Want to come?”
“No, I have to sell books.” He paused, realizing that didn’t sound right, and corrected himself, “I have to work on a script.”
“Screw that, just come and mooch a meal with me,” said Fatty.
Turtle piped up slyly, “Can I bring family?”
Fatty scoffed, “Since when are you family?”
Sixth cut in, “For this meal, I’m willing to go all out—honey.”
“I’ll kill you! Even if we’re a couple, I’d be the husband,” Fatty retorted.
“Fine, as long as I get to eat,” Sixth replied, expectations low.
Soon they were home. Zhang Pa got out first, Fatty following, along with Turtle, Sixth, and the other freeloaders, leaving the poor driver gazing after them through the window. “Don’t forget to call me tonight!” he pleaded.
Fatty grabbed Zhang Pa. “Serious talk: You write online every day and don’t make money. A friend of mine said he knows someone just like you, but he’s doing great, even joined the Writers’ Association. Tonight, come with me—learn from the guy, be humble. Why can he make hundreds of thousands a year, while you can’t make even ten grand?”
Zhang Pa replied, “He’s got the ability.”
“Ability aside, my friend says there are rules. Go listen, you’ve got nothing to lose. If you can use what you learn, you’ll profit.”
Zhang Pa smiled. “Thanks.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Fatty said. “Dress up tonight.” Then he called to Sixth, “Where’s the sissy?”
Sixth replied, “How should I know?”
…
As they chattered, Zhang Pa retreated to his room to work, finishing his daily quota.
Four words: Perseverance is key.
Zhang Pa had been writing stories for ages, and failing for ages. He knew writing required talent, which he did not possess; all he could do was persevere—just a bit longer each day, and the words would pile up. Even if he achieved nothing in the end, at least he’d have written proof that he hadn’t wasted his time.
And when the day came that he left this world, he’d leave something behind as evidence that he’d once been here. Even if no one read it… No, even if only a few people read it, as long as one person remembered his name, his life wouldn’t have been for nothing.

At four in the afternoon, having finished his writing for the day, Zhang Pa shut his computer and called Fatty. “Where are you?”
Fatty asked what for. Zhang Pa said he wanted to shower.
“Wait for me,” Fatty replied.
That wait lasted over half an hour. When Fatty finally appeared, he complained, “I was on a winning streak—why’d you have to call?”
“How much did you win?” Zhang Pa asked.
“Twenty,” Fatty said. “Enough for cab fare.”
They chatted as they walked to Fatty’s place. Zhang Pa showered, changed at home, then they headed to the restaurant.
On the way, Zhang Pa asked, “You’re hosting, right?”
Fatty grunted, “Not really hosting—just the guys getting together to drink.”
At that moment, Sissy called. “When will you get here?”
Zhang Pa asked, “Where to?”
Sissy replied, “Fatty didn’t tell you?”
Zhang Pa remembered and turned to Fatty. “Did you forget something?”
Fatty thought for a moment. “Damn, no wonder something felt off. Serves me right for being single.”
Zhang Pa chuckled and told Sissy, “We have plans tonight, can’t make it.”
“What the hell, you’re ditching me? There are more than ten girls here, and I’m the only guy! Get over here, now!” Sissy was frantic.
Zhang Pa asked, “You want us to pick up the tab?”
“Cut the crap and get over here. I swear, there are more than ten girls, right here in the room.”
“In the room? Where are you, a hotel?”
“Damn you, at a restaurant! Private room! Get over here, Fatty knows the place.”
Zhang Pa said, “Fatty set up a meeting for me to consult a senior writer.”
“That bastard, put him on,” Sissy demanded.
Zhang Pa handed the phone to Fatty.
Fatty explained, “Sorry, sorry, Pa arranged this days ago. Yours came up later, and since Pa said he couldn’t come, I forgot.”
“This is important too! Aren’t we supposed to be shooting a web series? The girls want to write a theme song but are stuck. They want Zhang Pa to write the lyrics, and they’ll compose the music.”
Fatty exclaimed, “Right, that is important.” He thought for a moment. “So what do we do?”
“How should I know? Good thing Zhang Baihong is here to keep the girls busy. Just get over here, both of you.”
“Stall them for now. I’ll see what I can do.”
“If you don’t come, I’ll kill you. And bring more money—I might not have enough.”
Fatty sighed. “That last line is the real point, isn’t it?”
Sissy hung up without answering.
Fatty handed the phone back. “Sissy says you’re to write lyrics, the girls will compose.”
Zhang Pa said, “Too soon, there isn’t even a script yet.”
“Start with the theme song… Do what you can.”
They left their street and hailed a cab to the restaurant.
It was a stew house. They ordered a big pot, a couple of hot dishes, and a few sides—a hearty, delicious meal.

They arrived early, ordered, and waited ten minutes before the others showed up.
Fatty stood to introduce Zhang Pa. “My friend, Da Hai.”
Zhang Pa stood, greeted him, and shook hands. Da Hai introduced his friend: “Famous writer, Pencil.”
Pencil was a fat man; Da Hai even fatter. With Fatty, the three of them together made Zhang Pa look positively skinny.
Then came the drinking and chatting. Fatty kept asking questions about writing online, but not knowing much, his questions were all over the place and not very helpful.
Pencil, though, was talkative—a solid hour of anecdotes.
At first, he spoke of writing techniques, then of industry insider stories: for example, how websites hosted salons, footing the bill to invite successful writers like Pencil to eat, drink, and have fun for a few days.
Hearing this, Zhang Pa realized how wide the gap was between himself and Pencil. He grew more silent at the table. Writers invited to those salons were all “gods” in the field, earning more in a month than Zhang Pa made with an entire book.
Pencil described how, when these top writers met, they’d drink, sing karaoke, sometimes play cards, and always made sure to keep good relations with editors. Some would visit editors as soon as they checked into the hotel…
Listening to stories of this other world, one far out of his reach, Zhang Pa exhaled quietly. The distance was just too great.
Pencil went on to share some rumors—how a certain top writer sold a book for hundreds of thousands, another was switching platforms, another bought a house or a car… and tales of romance, like a writer sleeping with a fan.
This was another world indeed. As the old saying goes, there’s beauty in books—perhaps this is what it means, the longing and dreams of shut-ins.
Gossip made for easy conversation, and the time flew by. But Fatty hadn’t come to listen to small talk; he wanted to find a way forward for Zhang Pa. While toasting, he brought up the main topic, asking Da Hai, “What were those ‘rules’ you mentioned?”
Da Hai turned to Pencil. “Last time you talked about vote-rigging and making money—how does it work?”
Pencil, an expert, smiled. “It’s about faking the charts.” He asked Zhang Pa about his stats—collections and subscriptions.
After a quick analysis, he said, “Those numbers are dead in the water. If it were me, I’d drop the book, leave it unfinished, and start a new one. Writing is about making money.”
Fatty interjected, “This guy’s a fool—he spent years on his last book, barely scraping by each month.”
“Your last book? Was it worse than this one?” Pencil asked.
Zhang Pa replied, “At least I got the minimum guarantee.”
“You could apply for a subsidy—about twice the minimum, maybe a thousand a month,” Pencil said. “You live in the city on just that?”
Fatty confirmed, “And he has to pay rent.”
Zhang Pa said, “I don’t want to apply for the subsidy.”
Fatty asked, “So you’d rather get a few hundred less a month? Are you an idiot?”
Pencil smiled, “With your numbers, if you start a new book and run some promotions, the stats would look better. With good ‘operations,’ things could turn around.” He added, “But operations aren’t the core—the core is your book.”
Fatty asked, “What do you mean by operations?”
Pencil replied, “It’s like how singers and actors get promoted.”
Zhang Pa said, “You mean fake votes.”
“Damn, so you intellectuals call vote-rigging ‘operations’? Impressive,” Fatty laughed.
Pencil said, “Every industry has its unspoken rules. Vote-rigging is one of them—if others are doing it and you’re not, you’ll lose out. For example, I didn’t push hard enough for my last book to crack the top ten, and got overtaken by others using fake votes… There are real benefits to doing it. If you don’t, you won’t understand.” He turned to Zhang Pa, “Get it?”
“I know a bit,” Zhang Pa replied.
Pencil continued, “That’s how it is—most of the top rankings are the result of long-term ‘operations’…”
Fatty interrupted, “Just call it vote-rigging. ‘Operations’—I’m a street thug, it sounds weird.”
“Vote-rigging is one kind of operation. Operations cover more than just that,” Pencil explained.