"What do you want, burritos?" El looked at two black dudes who seemed zoned out because they were so high, not quite understanding what they meant.
Wang Jian got it a bit though.
He saw through it.
It's about escapism in fun reads, all about the immersion.
He calmed down, figuring, this indicates you don't need to go with something like Dragons of Autumn Twilight, describing from an overarching perspective, but rather focusing on a protagonist's point of view, a personal narrative might also have a market.
At that moment, the two black guys didn't even glance at El, walking straight towards Wang Jian.
They kept muttering, "What about the rest? Is there more?"
"Uh, I haven't finished writing it." Wang Jian looked at them and asked, "How is it?"
"This mother-fucker, it looks amazing... never seen anything like it," one of them shouted, "feels like grabbing a Chicago typewriter and rat-tatting at the Limp Gang."
"Mother-fucker, it's awesome," the other added loudly.
"Um, if, I mean if, if you guys were to buy this, would you like to?" Wang Jian asked a bit nervously.
This was the most important part.
He wanted to write to make money, not out of a labor of love.
"We would," they both answered together.
Then, after giving each other an embarrassed look, they added, "But we don't have any money..."
"…" Wang Jian was a bit speechless for a moment.
Just then, El came over to them, picked up a cigarette that had fallen to the ground, took a couple of drags, and asked, "What are you guys watching?"
"He wrote a story, mother-fucker, it's really good," the black guy replied.
"You, writing stories?" El was surprised, "Aren't you a thief?"
You're the thief, your whole family are thieves!
Uh, it seemed like El's parents and sister were indeed thieves, and the only brother who didn't end up in prison for stealing was in for murder.
"I just have a story in my mind, so I jot it down," Wang Jian replied.
"I get it, I get it…" El responded, "Like the boss I follow, thinking up lyrics while drinking at the bar."
He snatched the manuscript from their hands and handed it back to Wang Jian, saying, "But folks like us, no one reads books, you still have to let those white folks look at it, then you'll know if it can be published."
With that, he kicked each of the two black guys in the butt.
"Stop yapping, we should head to the club. It's the boss's singles pre-release tonight, hurry up!"
Then, waving his hand, he led the two out of the apartment.
Wang Jian, holding the manuscript, pondered El's recent words.
Yeah, the main buyers of books were never the lower-class black people, but the middle-class white people.
Bestsellers were mostly bought by them.
He still needed to find similar people for a test read.
Just then, Old Man John came to Wang Jian's mind.
He would push hard tonight and tomorrow morning to finish the draft, then take it to the old man tomorrow.
He thought this as he opened the window to air out the stale tobacco smell.
Then he went back to his bedroom to continue writing.
Was it because I'm a Great Mage was indeed too simplistic, or was it a talent he brought along from his time travel?
In the following translation, Wang Jian became more and more fluent, his speed of writing words in English even surpassing that of Chinese.
Maybe because English was easier to write in cursive?
So, accompanied by intermittent gunshots outside the window, he translated throughout the night.
When the cold morning wind woke Wang Jian, it was already past ten.
He stood up, rubbed his numb arm from sleeping on it, and looked at the thick stack of manuscript.
Finally, it was done!
Wang Jian tidied up his desk, arranged the manuscript in order, and read through it once more.
Satisfied, he nodded, grabbed a quick bite, and washed up.
After changing his clothes and watching TV for a while, it was already one o'clock in the afternoon.
After feeling restless for a quarter of an hour, Wang Jian decided to head early to the community service check-in point.
As he anxiously waited with his manuscript for half an hour, he saw a General Motors sedan slowly approaching.
Old Man John parked the car and then walked slowly, hunched over.
Wang Jian quickly approached him, holding the manuscript with an expectant look on his face, and said to the old man, "You promised yesterday to take a look at it, so here it is."
After speaking, he handed the manuscript over.
Old Man John looked at Wang Jian with a surprised expression and took the manuscript, "You actually wrote one? What genre?"
What genre?
Light and refreshing, the kind that's mindlessly thrilling.
Wang Jian thought to himself, but he said aloud, "Similar to 'The Lord of the Rings,' a fantasy novel."
"It's just making things up, isn't it?" the old man replied. "Young man, you should learn more from Hemingway and Mitchell, write something with depth."
"Also, you should ideally not give your manuscript to others. It's better to type it out when showing it to people."
"Okay, got it." Wang Jian was initially stunned, then he quickly understood and responded eagerly.
Yes, if he gave his manuscript to someone else, what if it got plagiarized?
Although he wasn't in a position to talk about plagiarism, it was still better to be cautious in the future.
As for the typewriter,
How much does it cost?
While Wang Jian was lost in his thoughts, Old Man John had already sat down on the bench at the check-in point with the manuscript and started reading.
Wang Jian squatted beside him, watching eagerly.
It was unclear whether it was because the novel really wasn't to his taste or Wang Jian's handwriting was terribly sloppy,
but Old Man John kept frowning, although he read quite attentively.
Thus, time silently and slowly passed by.
People who came for community service had already started arriving at the check-in point.
Even the community worker named Lily, who was in charge of overseeing the check-in, had arrived.
People began to line up and sign in one by one.
Only Old Man John was still reading, while Wang Jian watched him.
When almost everyone had finished signing in, Old Man John still hadn't moved.
Having no choice, Wang Jian gently tapped him and pointed at Lily, signaling that it was time to sign in.
Old Man John looked up and glanced over there, then his face suddenly showed a pained expression.
This really startled Wang Jian.
Is he overreacting? I didn't hit hard, did I?
At this moment, Blonde beauty Lily also noticed what was happening here.
She quickly walked over, her face full of concern, and asked Old Man John, "What's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"
Old Man John shakily pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.
Wang Jian looked closely and saw that it seemed to be a prescription note from a doctor, with the illness stated as: Stage II Cancer.
He looked at Old Man John in shock, having always thought that the old man was in the early stages of cancer.
Stage II Cancer, didn't that mean Old Man John's chances of survival were very slim?
Then he heard Old Man John say painfully, "I need to go home, to rest."
Lily quickly supported Old Man John, saying, "The judge has already briefed me on your condition, you can rest whenever you need."
Then she turned back to Wang Jian, "You take him home, that counts as your community service for today."
"Thank you," the old man weakly said.
Wang Jian also hurriedly supported Old Man John, feeling a bit heartbroken.
Could it be that letting the old man read his novel, which was too much of an energy drain, made him feel so bad?