Chapter 122 Is It a Dream or Reality?
On March 29, 2005, in Wuhan, the dawn broke...
Reclining on the sumptuous bed, Zhang Jie lingered in his serene dream...
"Ding! Ding! Ding!" The bedside puppy alarm clock rudely shattered this tranquility!
Shifting downward by mere inches, Zhang Jie fluidly retreated under the covers, extending an arm to quell the offender, desperate to reclaim his repose. Abruptly, the anticipated spot was vacant. A sense of unease crept in as the covers parted; the alarm clock was hurled within. Its proximate clamor finally vanquished the remnants of his slumber.
"Alright! Alright! I'm rising..." Zhang Jie reluctantly surfaced from the duvet.
"You ought to have arisen earlier! You deliberately adjusted the alarm back by half an hour yesterday..." Sunlight infiltrated through the window, bathing the modest room, as a girl lamented. Though the brilliance obscured her visage, Zhang Jie knew her intimately...
"Perhaps the clock is defective? Let's procure a new one..." Zhang Jie dissembled.
"Tsk... As if I'd credence that! We've replaced over a dozen, and this one functions optimally. No replacements!" The girl asserted firmly.
Towards her, Zhang Jie wielded only the authority of obedience...
"I desire breakfast..." The girl ventured into the kitchen, fetching two lunch boxes.
"Oh, then fetch some for me as well; I'm famished. Most crucially, soybean milk with walnut kernels..." Zhang Jie appeared still ensconced in dreams.
Returning, the girl bounded onto the bed, each arm cradling a lunch box, enveloping Zhang Jie's neck, her exquisite eyes fluttering with an innocent grin, akin to a child unacquainted with the world. Yet Zhang Jie discerned all too well...
Another resigned sigh ensued...
"Very well, I'll attend to it. Wait here, my dear..." As afore mentioned, towards her, Zhang Jie held only subservience.
He hastily donned attire, performed his ablutions, and descended with the lunch boxes in tow...
Thus commenced 13's illusionary realm...
Herein, he was a network novelist, scarcely past twenty, hailing from a single-parent household. His father had relocated for employment, leaving him alone. Loneliness evaded him, for his beloved arrived daily to rouse him, more punctual than any chronometer. Who could fault her, residing adjacent? The angel, his contemporary, had been his playmate since primary school. Back then, Zhang Jie was frailer than most girls, oft bullied, with the angel perpetually enacting rescues of the damsel in distress.
"You are so inept; henceforth, I'll be your guardian..." She proclaimed in sixth grade, her face bespotted with freckles, unappealing at the time.
Fearing her wrath, Zhang Jie offered no protest. By junior high, he perceived divine benevolence; the freckled angel metamorphosed overnight, as if refashioned, her beauty evoking envy and desire. As her paramour, Zhang Jie's vanity and contentment were peerless. This endured until junior high's conclusion.
Due to academics, the angel secured a spot in an elite high school, whilst Zhang Jie barely qualified for a comprehensive one—essentially a lower-tier institution...
"Premature romance impedes studies..." Zhang Jie attributed his shortcomings to the teacher's adage. Yet one enigma persisted: why did it afflict only him?
Following three years of high school, as anticipated, the angel gained entry to W University, leaving him without prospects. Confronting the world, the bewildered Zhang Jie contemplated his future. After all, he was merely mundane; the angel embodied pulchritude and intellect. He couldn't subsist on her indefinitely. Though this prospect enticed, she dismissed it outright.
"My spouse need not adorn golden armor, but must don premier designer apparel. He need not arrive upon seven-hued clouds, but at least a convoy of BMWs," the angel fantasized, leaving Zhang Jie cursing the ostentatious Sun Wukong.
In his bewilderment, Zhang Jie secured his inaugural employment as a receptionist at a nightclub. The remuneration was modest, but for a fledgling, it accelerated maturation...
The matured Zhang Jie unearthed success's elixir: diligence!
His endeavors, candidly, were for the angel; he merely wished to spare her tribulation...
After a year, defying counsel, he relinquished his stable post, immersing in online novel composition. His choice mystified all, inciting disputes with his father. Inevitably, the generational chasm; observing his son inert before the apparatus, typing maniacally like a lunatic, who wouldn't reprimand?
Until Zhang Jie garnered his initial royalties—scarcely 1,200 yuan—his father desisted. This constituted a seminal "conflict" in Zhang Jie's saga, culminating in his victory...
Thenceforth, Zhang Jie became a professional online scribe. Harnessing his boundless imagination and refined prose cultivated in high school (Note: Utterly veracious account! His regimen: incessant inscription, ceaselessly, day and night, for the author detested reading, transmogrifying all scholastic hours into writing sessions. In contemporaries' eyes, the author was an aberration. Each composition spanned from Monday's inception to Saturday's finale, veritable volumes submitted, evoking admiration for the author's audacity in penning serialized romantic tales! Fortuitously, the linguistics instructor was benevolent and erudite, proffering extensive critiques that illuminated the author's deficiencies and enhancement avenues. She was the primordial reader to author book reviews...), his narratives amassed commendable acclaim.
Such was his existence—mundane yet tranquil...
13 craved precisely this unremarkable life...
In the dominion Serpent forged, all coveted passion, glory, vanity, avarice...
None aspired to the ordinary...
"Our illustrious scribe has graced us?" The breakfast hawker auntie invariably hailed Zhang Jie thus.
"Indeed, I'll have hot dry noodles and soybean milk," Zhang Jie was acclimated to this routine.
"By the by, what's the title of your opus?" The auntie queried with a smile.
"Oh, it's dubbed 'Sniper King'..." Zhang Jie responded nonchalantly, yet 13 petrified, a profound chord reverberating—this was the tether Serpent alluded to...
"What's amiss? Here, your breakfast..." The auntie extended the hot dry noodles, disrupting his contemplation.
"Ah? Oh, payment forthcoming." Zhang Jie accepted the meal and departed home...
"Truly befitting the Sniper King..." Serpent observed from the ethereal expanse. "Even a nomenclature can agitate the soul. Yet in this 'realm', all will impede your designs. Abandon 'Sniper King', and reality you forsake; thence, system shutdown ensues..." Serpent's dicta eluded Zhang Jie's ears.
At that juncture, he sensed a crucial omission...
"Wife..." Zhang Jie returned, depositing the breakfast. "I appear to have forgotten something pivotal; do you recall?"
"Of course..." The angel replied tartly.
"What is it?" Zhang Jie was eager.
"What day is it?" The angel accessed Zhang Jie's wardrobe.
"Tuesday, why?" Zhang Jie answered unthinkingly.
"I have no lectures today..." The angel selected a delicate sweater. "You promised to escort me shopping today! Don't profess forgetfulness..."
"..." Zhang Jie was mute.
With a profound sigh, the angel demurred anger, beaming at 13. "Well, who compelled me to adore you?"
That expression, that mien, those words—Zhang Jie's heart writhed like a captive beast.
"So intense a resonance!" Serpent marveled; such was unprecedented...
The realm's self-preservation mechanism activated.
The scenery shifted abruptly. When Zhang Jie regained awareness, he was attired in the sweater, ambling with the angel along the pedestrian thoroughfare.
"What transpired just now?" Zhang Jie queried the elated angel.
"You forget? You just consented to allocate next month's royalties for my ring! I cherish you immensely, hubby..."
Zhang Jie's lips twitched. "Did I?"
"Assuredly!" The angel affirmed.
"I must still be in slumber," Zhang Jie gently massaged his forehead. "It feels ethereal, like a phantasm. Regarding the ring, perhaps postpone; we'll deliberate once I'm lucid..."
"Tsk... Excuses as ever..." The angel's demeanor wasn't irate, and as Zhang Jie averted, she flashed a triumphant grin.
Upon returning home, evening had fallen at 8 PM.
Zhang Jie habitually powered the computer, the system initializing as he pondered today's narrative. 13 had infiltrated the institute with Jung-hyun and encountered Serpent, but the sequel eluded him. Oddly, his mind was a void, as if eternally barred from inscribing the continuation...
"Jie..." The angel's dulcet call accelerated Zhang Jie's pulse.
"What's the matter, wife?" Zhang Jie was accustomed to the appellation.
"No one occupies my home today..." The angel enveloped him from behind, whispering, "So I needn't return..."
"What do you intend?" Zhang Jie was perplexed.
"I intend..." The angel's smile turned impish, "To indulge in mischief!"
Thus, she bestowed a profound kiss upon Zhang Jie's lips.
"Evidently, today is forfeit..." Zhang Jie mused blissfully. "Apologies to the avid readers... Inspiration wanes; tomorrow persists!"
He extinguished the lights, surrendering to the intimate night...
The subsequent morning, Zhang Jie arose early, diverging from his norm. Beholding the slumbering angel beside him, he felt profoundly fortunate.
He activated the computer and navigated to the Qidian site. Logging in, he promptly searched "Sniper King" and pressed enter.
The audacious title "Sniper King" materialized. He clicked through, casting votes and transmuting affection points into pet magic values. Perusing reader feedback, as anticipated, a day's absence incited censure, nearly unrecognizable. He contemplated pinning an explanation, but they might crave nocturnal exploits... (Hehe...)
Accessing the author portal, the hiatus's toll was substantial, yet readers demanded appeasement. He unlocked a chapter per routine.
Tasks concluded, he commenced scripting...
Confronting the pristine canvas, the pulsating cursor felt alien. His fingers upon the keyboard seemed impeded, incapable of birthing a syllable. He sensed an utter incapacity to articulate the sequel...
In desperation, he resolved to revisit his "dream" from inception, seeking muse...
Abruptly, an internal whisper queried, What constitutes a dream? And what, reality?