[comprehensive] accumulated gold and bone

"are you OK."

Kodama estimates that Meihui will come to see Meihui when she comes home from court.

"I'm worried that you will be overwhelmed by the comments made against you online."

"My mobile phone can't connect to the Internet, and I don't go out except to go to the court recently."

Meihui and her were separated by a door with a wide anti-theft chain, so she didn't intend to invite her to sit in, and Kodama was used to it.

"So, are the people who used to spray paint swear words on your door no longer?"

"I don't know why, it didn't appear again."

From the corner of the eye, she saw a ball of golden yellow, Meihui frowned, and Kodama explained: "He sent me here, and he also knows Fuchou."

Mei Hui lowered her eyes and thought for a while, closed the door and untied the anti-theft chain, and leaned against the door: "If you don't mind."

Kodama was wary at first that she had taken a fancy to Kise, but later found that she seemed to be only interested in Fushou, and was happy to talk about Fushou's various feats.

After finishing speaking, Kodama asked the thoughtful Meihui: "If you could describe him in one word, what would you use?"

"Sexy."

Huang Lai, who only had a cold face in his mind, first smiled, and after thinking about it, he realized that it was quite appropriate: "Why?"

"Because his behavior does not have the style that everyone thinks of sexy, as long as the word sexy is used on him, it does not have such a superficial meaning." Meihui is just talking about her personal point of view, "and drama and tragedy can also create sexy. .”

"Drama makes a little sense, but what about tragedy?"

"Goethe said that everything that makes people happy often becomes the source of his misfortune. He has a devilish talent. He manipulates secrets, mediates between multiple forces, and makes profits from them with ease."

"That's right, what a tragedy."

"That's his limitation. He's in the right place at the right time, but he can't make that moment himself, create a map."

The careless Kise began to listen to her attentively.Kodama was silent, this is exactly what she envied Meihui.

"There is no doubt that he is an extremely cunning and natural speculator, but he is not a pioneer and operator. Otherwise, he would not have to walk in the cracks of the law and be trapped by lack of talent." Maybe she thought that she He has the same distress as Fu Cho, so he opened up to him so easily, "I think he himself has noticed it, and he is tortured by it, just like the protagonist in my novel."

I don't quite understand, but I feel that her analysis is very powerful, Huang Lai asked with great interest: "My new book will play a lawyer with a tragic ending, what do you think of me?"

"You are not fit for tragedy."

"I can act."

"You are not suitable for acting."

"..."

The day before the trial, Kise went to Fuchou's house again.

"I saw Meihui early, I got in touch with her, and thought she was quite interesting."

Fuchao is looking for cases, and casually said: "Who is the producer of your new play?"

"You still care about this? Memorizing the lines and analyzing the lines made me dizzy, I didn't pay much attention, and forgot." Huang Lai insisted on his topic, "She feels that there is nothing more sad than heart-to-heart, and nothing can hit her anymore."

"not necessarily."

"What do you know?" Seeing that the cases he checked were all related to copyright, Huang Lai didn't care much, "Reputation will be her weakness."

Fuchao put down the file and found a pack of cigarettes.

"Such an addiction."

After Huang Lai finished speaking, when he lit the fire for him, he found that there was no ashtray in his house, and he didn't smoke much in private.

"She is as fragile as if she has no skin." Fuchou said, "One sentence can make her give up the appeal."

The outcome of this trial should be out.

Meihui arrived at the courthouse on time, the main entrance was full of reporters, Fufu met her at the secluded side entrance, she arranged her hair and wore a long skirt, even though the long skirt had trousers on and light makeup, she rushed out uncomfortably. He smiled.

Fu Chou smiled and praised: "Today is really beautiful."

Mei Hui pursed her lips and lowered her head.

"Don't bow your head when you smile, how cute you are when you smile."

You Jing coughed, and turned around to look around.He saw Kodama, who provided makeup technical support, in the corner not far away, and Kise was also there, with an expression that he couldn't bear to look directly at.

The time for the court session was approaching, and a probing young man came, holding a light novel, and ran towards Meihui excitedly, while Kodama approached out of vigilance.

"Real people look better than newspapers, I'm your fan!"

The young man handed over a pen, flipping through the cover of the colorful light novels to sign, Mei Hui was at a loss: "How did you find this?"

"My dad is a judge."

"Oh……"

"Your book is very interesting! Especially at the end, the reason why the man who jumped off the building committed suicide at the beginning is so ridiculous, the protagonist is too hypocritical."

"..." She was completely silent.

"Shouldn't you thank me?"

She froze: "What?"

"Blessings and thanks are just written under the signature."

She pushed away the book and pen: "Go away."

"Why do you have such an attitude!" The boy blushed.

"Please go, thank you, goodbye."

When the boy left, she recovered in a daze, covering her forehead with both hands, dumbfounded.

"What am I doing?" She lowered her head deeply, "I'm going back first."

"What about the lawsuit?"

She walked towards the subway station without stopping, didn't speak, as if she was afraid of revealing some secret, she waved her hands back as farewell without looking back.

How difficult it is to get to this point, Fuchao didn't say anything.

"Give up just like that at the door?" Kodama acted angrier than the person involved, "Didn't you never lose a lawsuit?"

"so?"

"You're in love with her, what are you kidding!" Kodama is not worried about Meihui, but he is overwhelmed by incomprehension and inexplicable jealousy. How long have you known each other?"

Fuchao glanced at her coldly: "You say she is unworthy, what do you think I am?"

"..."

phone vibration.

Meihui sent an apology text message: "I'm sorry for slowing you down, I will definitely not break the contract in the future."

You Jing, who had read the novel, was startled: "Tang Hong left such a message to the protagonist before committing suicide."

Fu Chou hummed, deleted the text message and turned off the phone.

At this time, his profile made You Jing flash a thought that he is back.

Fuchou walked into the court, walked through the crowds who were leaving the other courtrooms, and entered the courtroom. Ukyo followed him silently, Kodama left in anger, and Kise fell far behind them.

He sat in the plaintiff's seat under the eyes of everyone, picked up a cigarette and approached the flame of the lighter.

"Smoking is prohibited in the courtroom." Youjing advised.

Fuchao raised his smile that didn't reach his eyes, lazy and philistine.

"You sue me, let's change the judge and open another court."

He took a deep breath of the cigarette, and slowly spit the smoke on Youjing's face.

Huang Lai frowned and looked, one or two were crazy, inexplicable.

The headlines on the front page the next morning showed that Meihui had been lying on the train and died.

A follow-up investigation found that he left a suicide note on the eve of his suicide, a total of three pages, and was burned until only two words and a sentence on the first page of the suicide note remained.

"Send all my writings to Fu Reward."

The plaintiff is dead, the case is over, no one loses, no one wins.

Then Meihui's book became popular.

The media reported her death and tragic life experience, as well as her posthumous work involved in a lawsuit at the end of her life. A large group of fans sprang up from the void in the world to praise this work. I saw that Meihui almost overnight became a female writer who might soon become the world's literary writer. The future is limitless, and she will definitely win the international literary award—if Not dead.

The literary world and the nation were thrown into another carnival, and the publishers involved were making a lot of money, but after all, when the publishing contract was signed, no one wanted to fight for a share or profit from this worthless person and this hopeless book. interests, so today, the well-deserved biggest beneficiary is actually the copyright assignee, the current copyright owner, and rich rewards.

In the conference room, there was a nearly full ashtray and a stack of contract documents that had just been signed in front of the Fuchao desk, and the publisher of Party B and the producer who wanted to adapt the rights were almost gossiping about that set.

"I think she was a smart person, and the timing of her death was just right."

"But Xiben is miserable. The death of our great female writer is all his fault, but why is there no news about him?"

"Disappear to avoid the limelight. Besides, he is not to blame for this matter at all. Aren't all women who engage in literature like that! Generally, life expectancy is not long. There is a Spanish female poet Alphonsina who threw herself into the sea. Didn't say it, said it..." Producer After thinking hard, I remembered, "When you think of me in the future, some of you will also choose to do so, at some point in the future."

"What, that's another one who threw himself into the sea, the poem left by Sappho, the earliest poetess in ancient Greece before her death."

In order to get back [-]%, the producer said: "'Writing is undoubtedly the most painful of all kinds of death' Austrian poetess Ingeberg."

"Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton, American poetesses of the twentieth century, both committed suicide." The publisher was not to be outdone, "Elzer, Martha, Unika, Anne Marie..."

Listening to the two men comparing knowledge with the death of female writers, Fuchao pressed the cigarette into the ashtray.

"Get out."

They all asked with a smile.

"What happened suddenly?"

Fuchao picked up the ashtray and threw it at them.

Cigarette butts scattered all over the floor, and ash covered the table.

The meeting room was empty, and his eyes fell on the name of the dead man in the contract, as if the cigarettes were free of money, one after another, the butts of the cigarettes were twisted on the contract.

People came soon.

"The producers and managers of that play are both members of the Atobe family, but I only wanted to be a spy by the way. I never thought you could lose."

Kise understood everything when he heard the news of the death.

"Hey, is it fun to kill with a knife? Are you still human?"

Wen Yanfu raised his eyebrows, smoked half a cigarette, and played with the pen that signed the contract in his hand, leisurely and resentfully.

"I said that you are so kind to her, co-authoring is hospice care? You look so similar in love saint costume, but in the end you want to use my hand to force her to die!"

He also couldn't explain why he made this accusation, why he was so angry at a woman who had nothing to do with him, maybe because this real person was still talking in front of him a few days ago, and today he was run over by a tram.

"Crush an innocent person who can't squeeze out the benefits, how can you do it? It's a fucking praise for you to say that you are devoid of conscience!"

Perhaps it was the hypocritical outward transfer of guilt, after all, he was also responsible for her death.

"At least I put it together from start to finish."

The rich pay to speak, sincere and amiable.

"Until she died, she thought that there were still people in the world who would treat her sincerely, and she would die with peace."

"……You're really gross."

This sentence was subconscious, and Kise didn't even mean it when he said it.

He used to think that Fu Fu was indescribably interesting, before the bottom line of morality was touched, before a life that could live was turned into rotten meat.

"She's right, I'm not suitable for acting, nor for tragedy."

The cruel side has always existed in Fu Fu, he is not joking, he is not arrogant, he is a villain, extremely vicious.

"I quit this game."

How could he wishfully focus on his fun and ignore such a terrible thing.

Fu Zou suddenly asked: "Has your character, the lawyer in the play, been redeemed?"

"Got."

"How did it end?"

"Sink to the bottom of the river." He had had enough, "You won't end well either."

Kise slammed the door hard.

The lifeless silence lasted for a while, the door opened again, and You Jing walked in.

"You're about to start again." Fuchao said impatiently, "Come on, scold me."

But Ukyo was unexpectedly calm: "What is your real evaluation of this book?"

"She doesn't deserve it."

"how?"

"The writing is half pale and half self-moving, and the plot is full of loopholes. It is more than enough in serious literature and popular literature, and its style is neither fish nor fowl. She is not worthy of her talents."

The person is already dead, what he said was so ugly, so cruel.

This woman made You Jing understand one thing, being in the gregarious is as sad as not being in the gregarious, he thinks he knows how to reply to the people he saw that day in the playground.

"enough."

The smell of smoke was so choking, Ukyo had no intention of staying for a long time.

"This kind of stuff has become popular, it's a bestseller, it's received rave reviews, and it's over-interpreted." Fu Fu didn't hear about it, "She doesn't deserve to be promoted to this position."

The author has something to say:

Copyright assignment refers to the legal act that the copyright owner transfers all or part of the property rights in the copyright to others with compensation or without compensation.This transfer can usually be accomplished by means of sale, exchange, gift or bequest.The copyright owner who transfers the copyright is called the assignor, and the person who accepts the copyright is called the assignee.

The article mentions female poets and their famous sayings, poems and experiences.

Burned letter:

Fufu, after I met you, I once thought that everything was getting better. I was wrong. I met you three years earlier, and I would love you desperately. Now I only have dark speculations about you. In the end, you are indeed better than everyone else. People hurt me deeply, but your cruelty makes me see the reality clearly.

But it doesn't matter, the work I give you is all I have, and if you want anything from me, it's all there is to it.

I don't have enough talent, and I don't have a strong psychological quality to go forward alone for a lifetime. I exhausted my efforts and drained my soul for a work, a defective product, and no one cares about it in the end.Since then, I have been completely exhausted, my soul and blood have dried up, and I can't write a single word.

I used to look down on the hype person the most, but now everything I do, although the original intention is out of desperation for attention and a little vanity, but I still become as contemptuous as a beggar on the street with a healthy body and a strong body. Face and dignity have no value at all, I am not even as good as my perverted brother... I am not a talent, I am not, the reader in front of the court made me understand this, and I walked away with a despicable self-deception he.

I can't live, I thought, but I couldn't.

I once cried until I suffocated in the middle of the night, but I couldn’t immediately end up on a rope for the rest of my life. It was only for a trace of nostalgia and obsession with the completed work. The work was understood by others, just as I was understood.I love writing so much, and put all my depression and love in my pen, but I forgot that my handwriting is not good, I have no pen at all, and it is impossible to be understood.

The relationship between the author and the reader is wonderful. For me, I regard the reader as a living body, and I regard this living body as my lover, and I am constantly ignored, betrayed, controlled, and cast aside in this relationship. , to be tortured, only to feel pain.

Now, looking at the last ray of sunrise, I made up my mind to leave and cut off all pain.

And the real source of the pain is no longer the indignation that blamed the world for being ignorant, but the unacceptable evasion of the truth after enlightenment and sudden enlightenment.

I can't accept my mediocrity, I'm not loved.

I endured hunger and hunger, read classics, honed my character, and revised manuscripts hundreds of times. For ten years, I have insisted on myself. Only now do I know that I can't escape mediocrity and mediocrity.

It's really cruel to me, I can't take it, I can't take it anymore.

I hope there is no afterlife, because I can't even go crazy because of my stubbornness, and I am soberly delayed by my own dissatisfaction.

It's over, it's over.

When I am about to leave, I think who am I sorry for in this world?Who am I in love with?Who loves me?It's a pity that no matter which option is selected, there is no specific person or thing.

Without nostalgia, even with urgency, I found myself surrendering to mediocrity, and I had to stop the momentum.

My life, as I write this letter, is doomed to be burned.

See you no more, everything I love so much.

.........

If my work sells well after I die, let me give the literature I love so much a middle finger.