C1 Eroded and Dull Life

July 22, 2013.

In the hot summer, the temperature outside had reached 37 degrees Celsius. The noon sun was shining wantonly on this bustling and noisy city, and people lived in this concrete forest, sheltered by tall buildings, but not as fresh and pleasant as the real forest. It was like living in a cage, roasting and steaming, and people living here were more like ants in a hot pot.

This was the Flower Capital, a new and prosperous city. It was a city that had created success opportunities for countless young men and women. It was both the stage of their dreams and the cradle of their wealth.

On the southern outskirts of Flower Capital, there was a six story building that was close to the roadside.

The small building was not big, only two hundred square meters or so, but there were six stories in total. It was not considered small, and the building was not too old or shabby either.

This is a living area in Foshan Town, close to an electronics factory. The peace of mind feels the same no matter where you live, and the main character of this book also rents here.

6th floor, 602 room, two rooms, one hall, with a kitchen and a toilet, all equipped with electrical and electrical equipment, there was plenty of water and water, so it was fortunate to be able to temporarily find a place to stay, at least it was much better than being squeezed into a subway station, under the overpass, or the people on the street square. Furthermore, the price was reasonable and fair, and the landlord was not some scheming scumbag who was interested in profit. He was still within Fan Shuang's capabilities, so it was already a pleasure for him to stay here temporarily.

In the middle of the day, people were afraid of the hot weather. They were either busy in air-conditioned office buildings or leisurely at home enjoying the cool of the day. They didn't even see people walking on the streets outside.

On the sixth floor, facing the highway, the rumbling noise was like a surging wave, wave after wave, repeating endlessly.

He shut himself in a study that was not even twenty square meters. It was actually a bedroom, which was quite compact, with a bed that took up a third of the space, a computer table beside it, and only enough space to open and close the door. With his cleaning up, he temporarily turned himself into his own study.

There was a living room of about 35 square meters outside, and three similar rooms were on the same floor. Next to his study was another bedroom of about 20 square meters, which was almost exactly the same as his "study" setting. However, he didn't go there to sleep, instead, he slept soundly by himself on a computer table.

On the right side of the computer was the cup of instant noodles that he had eaten the night before. On the left was the set of keys, and the room was dimly lit, because it was close to the highway, and there was a serious pollution, and there was a direct sun, so Fan Shuang, in order to relieve the pressure on his body, pulled up the curtains and slept soundly. No matter what happened outside, it seemed like there was no one disturbing him, no burdens, no worries, and the temperature was the best solution for a small fan.

"I believe that my future is not a dream. I will live every minute seriously. My future is not a dream. My heart moves with hope …"

Zhang Yusheng's classic old song once inspired and influenced many young people who were working hard with their dreams. As expected of a masterpiece of inspiration, this song was also Fan Shuang's ringtone. Like many young people who were rushing around and putting in effort, Zhang Yusheng also used it as a way to whip himself and encourage himself.

As he was sleeping soundly, he was awakened by the ringing of his cell phone, and anyone who was feeling somewhat disgusted opened their drowsy eyes in a daze. Suddenly, he felt the discomfort of numbness in his four limbs, soreness in his back, and a splitting headache, an indescribable discomfort. In order to restore his physical functions, Fan Shuang leaned his heavy body back in the chair, stretched lazily, and accompanied by the crackling of his joints, he couldn't help but complain, "Who is it?" To disturb someone from his dreams is the most wicked. "

Fan Shuang's profession relied on writing to support his life, so perhaps it was more appropriate to call him a freelance writer.

Don't get me wrong, freelance writers aren't famous writers. They aren't even "great gods" who are popular online. For this, Fan Shuang himself felt troubled, depressed, and sometimes even angry. He worked day and night desperately trying to code his words, but he actually didn't even have his own house, not to mention generous preferential treatment and rewards. He was still moving about, moving about for a living, living, and surviving, but most of all, he was helpless.

As his favorite martial arts geek, Gulon, had said, it was not the grief of most people, but my own, that I had to pick up a pen and write to earn a living. Sometimes, he doubted himself and even though he had suffered setbacks and setbacks, thinking of giving up this difficult path, but Fan Shuang persisted. Even if the result was unimaginable, he was still willing to accept it.

Fortunately, he had not been buried by the harsh reality. He had worked as a small editor in a notorious publishing house, writing essays, poems, novels, editorial reviews, and so on. His income was not too bad.

In Fan Shuang's heart, "God" was a dream, and the ultimate goal that was even harder for a writer to achieve. In the eyes of others, it was "wishful thinking", "overestimating one's capabilities", and it was even laughable. He was an idiot who spent his days in fantasy, a fool, but he did not care.

Fan Shuang came out of the countryside and fought alone in this tense, bustling city. He was 28 years old this year, and was born as a tiger. He had never paid close attention to it, not because he was against it, not because he felt that it was a preference for following the flow, to follow the flow, to admire the foreign lands. He did not like many things, so much that even he did not know himself, but his hobby was very unusual, only he liked to indulge in ancient poems and songs, and he also imagined that he would be able to do his best to promote Chinese traditional culture, so he remembered his birthday very well.

On the third day of the third month, it was such a good day. Such a meaningful moment, everything returned to spring, and spring flowers bloomed. It was also rumored that the birthday of the Queen Mother of the West (Jade Emperor's mother) also coincided with this day.

As for the significance of his birthday to him, it was not so important that he sometimes forgot that in this bustling, noisy, competitive city he had no family, no friends, not even a distant relative, not to mention a friend who knew the opposite sex, never had anyone actually celebrated his birthday for him, nor had he celebrated his own life alone. Life is like a cup of bland boiled water.