Free Web NovelChapter 581: Chapter 581: The Core of Tragedy_1
Fantasy Moon Jewelers had a sign hanging at the entrance that read, "Store Reorganizing, Temporarily Closed."
But the owner, Melissa, was sitting behind the counter, entertaining a guest at this moment.
"Your novel was put on hold this issue, what happened? That’s not very professional," Melissa waved a magazine called "The Adventurer" in her hand, "Writing should be the only thing you third-rate authors are passionate about, right?"
"Constipated stage, it’s always the most painful when lacking inspiration, only able to squeeze out a bit of dull residue."
Across the counter, the author of "The Hound Knight," a fantasist who last visited Melissa, was puffing on a pipe.
"You’ve made so many trips to the Northern Continent, is it interesting to gather material from the frontier?" Melissa asked.
"So-so, it’s not too different from this continent a hundred years ago, the local customs are somewhat unique, but much has already been ruined by the colonizers," the fantasist replied indifferently, "Disappearing is only a matter of time, I guess."
"Isn’t the struggle between colonization and anti-colonization also quite a spectacle? Isn’t your ’main character’ currently immersed in it?" Melissa said.
"Haven’t we seen enough wars in the past hundred years? There’s nothing left to squeeze out," the fantasist said placidly, "The frontier’s law and order is terrible; it’s a city of sin. Last time I was there, I saw a group of thugs tying up a girl in an alley, about to have their way. I followed them..."
"You planned to administer some justice?" Melissa raised an eyebrow.
"No, I was just thinking that opportunities to witness a crime firsthand aren’t common, so I went over to gather some material," said the fantasist, with no emotion on his face, just puffing smoke, "Those thugs noticed me right away, and I told them, ’You can continue with her, don’t mind me.’
"Scum," Melissa suddenly interjected with a laugh, "I remember when you were a mortal, you were quite a decent guy."
"Do you have the right to talk? After holding power for so many years, how much humanity do you have left?" the fantasist shot back.
"What a fine excuse. And then what did they do?"
"Turns out the thugs wanted to off me, the eyewitness..." the fantasist took a puff of his pipe, exhaling, "I had no choice but to kill them all."
"The expected outcome," Melissa nodded, having already guessed the answer, "But for someone with no moral compass like you, this unexpected hero-saves-the-damsel scenario isn’t bad, right? Don’t plan to learn from your chess pieces, to be a hero, the main character?"
"I’ve been there; that kind of story has been written to death," replied the fantasist, a bit disheartened, "And I realized then that no matter what those thugs did, it wouldn’t stir anything inside me. I’ve seen more abject, more bizarre, more inhumane acts of evil, this level of material, like the most common stones on the beach, isn’t worth picking up. This world is like a book I’ve thumbed through too many times, it’s about to bore me soon."
"Then why did you suddenly start a new ’creative work’?" Melissa asked.
"That’s thanks to the ’toy’ you brought me," said the fantasist with a smile appearing at the corners of his mouth, "The story of another world made me taste the long-missed freshness, you truly are the closest to the old Throne of Spirit."
"Flattery is pointless; didn’t I still fail just before I could achieve it?" Melissa said lightly.
"I want to ask a question, but I don’t know if I should..." the fantasist paused.
"You clearly know I can read minds; by saying that, you essentially asked," Melissa laughed, shaking her head, "If you’re asking what it feels like to have failed, honestly, I don’t feel particularly disappointed. Pursuing the Throne of Spirit nowadays is more about curiosity, about what it feels like to sit in that position. With two regalia, there’s little left in this world that can threaten me. It’s quite boring, so that unexpected ’betrayal’ actually gave me a bit of freshness."
"I see," the fantasist mused, puffing on his pipe, "Doing something completely detrimental to oneself, crazily probing the edge of danger as a thrill?"
"So, what kind of tragedy are you planning to write this time?" Melissa asked, reading the other’s mind again, "Like ’Daughter of the Sea’? What do you mean? Are you planning to plagiarize?"
"How could I? I’m just planning to take the core of the story. The heroine who sacrifices herself for love, the heart-wrenching part of her tragedy is that she chose it herself," said the fantasist.
"Does it need to be that complex?" Melissa said.
"It does, tragedy shouldn’t come just from the author punishing the character, subjecting them to misfortune, hardship, suffering. That only earns the reader’s sympathy, not their affection," the fantasist began to speak earnestly, "A proper tragedy should shred the most beautiful story materials. The innocent little mermaid princess is beautiful; love is also a fine material, but when a beautiful person pursues beautiful things, she forges her own wretched end."
"Are you planning to let your characters choose such an end?" Melissa asked, reading the affirmative answer, then asked again, "Didn’t you say giving characters freedom to act gives them a soul?"
"An ancient novelist once said, characters with souls won’t be entirely controlled by the author, and I agree," the fantasist shrugged.
"In that case, you, as a third-rate author, might indeed be more extraordinary than any first-rate author," Melissa said meaningfully with a smile, "But in that case, will your characters still choose the path you hope for them?"
She had stopped reading his mind by then, because if she continued, the content of the story would be completely revealed, thereby losing much of its fun.
"I don’t hope for her to choose any particular path. Whatever choice my little mermaid makes will be a surprise to me, for whichever choice is a tragedy for her," the fantasist smiled, "Everything was already destined from the moment the character was born."
"I see," Melissa said thoughtfully, nodding before giving her evaluation, "You really are a third-rate author." freёweɓnovel.com
"You think my story idea isn’t good?" The fantasist raised an eyebrow.
"Whether the story is good or not, you should ask the real readers," Melissa picked up a cup of hot tea that had been sitting on the counter, "After everything ends, tell the truth to our most cherished chess piece, and see how he judges your story then."
