Chapter 153 The Spectacle of Book Release (Part 1)
At the beginning of the next month, the weather in the imperial capital, Adolf, was no longer freezing to the bone.
Owen Green locked himself in his room, and after violently reading a bunch of nearly worn-out literary classics, he gradually freed himself from the cultural dregs of tea and toxins from Earth.
One night, after not dreaming about the nightmare of rushing the manuscript for “Jojo’s Adventure in Another World,” he believed he had successfully stepped out of its shadow and restored his mental health.
He decided to go out early in the morning for a stroll, to relax and enjoy the holiday.
After washing up in his room, he couldn’t help but think of Miss Ji.
He remembered her black hair, the almost imperceptible smile at the corner of her mouth, her captivating face, her delicate white wrist, and her slim waist. And also that blood-stained axe gun she wielded.
She was not a fragile flower but a Valkyrie, his savior Valkyrie.
Owen Green couldn’t help but press his tongue against the roof of his mouth, then flick it against his front teeth, rolling it up gently to produce three syllables:
“Miss Ji.”
The sound was soft, with no echo, disappearing without a trace.
He suddenly realized that he didn’t even know Miss Ji’s real name.
“Miss Ji probably doesn’t even regard me as noteworthy; after all, I’m just an obscure, struggling writer nearing thirty.” Owen felt his strength drain away, his head hung low, “Yes, she could buy a publishing house for her friend.”
“She hasn’t even sent me a letter after all this time. To her, I’m just an employee who writes for her.”
“She’s a kind woman, so good to everyone, so loyal.”
Owen Green wiped away the tears at the corners of his eyes and touched the money pouch on him, feeling a bit better; at least under Miss Ji’s grace, he had a bright future.
He pushed open the door, grabbed his bag, and stepped outside.
“Owen, Mr. Owen, Owen…” called the maid he employed, “Oh, by the way, there’s a letter for you here; the doorman forgot to give it to you while you were locked inside.”
Owen Green didn’t even glance at it, heading straight out, saying, “It’s been so long, just throw it in the trash.”
“It’s from Miss Ji.”
Owen Green immediately halted, saying, “Give it to me.”
As he spoke, he walked up, took the letter, and glanced at the surface. The envelope bore the familiar wax seal, and the sender was indeed “Miss Ji.”
The maid muttered, “So rude.”
Owen Green didn’t hear her. He suddenly felt a surge of strength, turned around, and rushed upstairs, almost bursting through the door back into his room.
He rummaged through his belongings, even knocking down a roll of literary classics, and finally found the letter opener.
Owen Green tore open the envelope, pulled out the pristine letter, leaned forward to sniff it, and thought he caught a whiff of Ji Ma’s fragrance, a blend of blood, steel, and a woman’s subtle perfume.
Unfolding the letter, he saw neat, beautiful handwriting.
“Mr. Owen Green.”
“I appreciate your hard work during this time. Please enjoy your vacation; I won’t disturb you. Additionally, I will send you a copy of the new book when it’s released.”
“Miss Ji.”
Like a firework bursting in Owen Green’s chest, his lips trembled, and he stammered:
“Ji… she still remembers me; I’m not a man she could easily forget; she just didn’t want to disturb me.”
Instantly, hope filled Owen Green’s heart.
He stared at the short, neat three lines of text, as if envisioning a captivating scene:
Miss Ji had just finished bathing, wearing a loose bathrobe, her black hair falling casually over the silk robe. Two fair arms rested on the table, holding a pen, with neat handwriting flowing from the pen tip.
Beside her, a shelf filled with books concealed the wall.
Compared to her friend’s chaotic and eye-watering handwriting, Ji’s writing exuded a beauty of order.
Owen Green carefully folded the letter and placed it in a beautifully crafted small box with a lock, inside which lay another letter, also a “handwritten letter” from Miss Ji.
Let’s turn back time to a few days ago.
After a routine session between the couple.
Ji Ma was satisfied after her bath, wrapping her arms around George’s neck from behind, saying, “Help me write a letter…”
“Who are you trying to fool this time?”
“Nothing, it’s just that my handwriting is terrible; you wouldn’t want me to embarrass myself, right?”
“Who are you writing to this time?”
“That Owen something.”
“Owen Green,” George replied. “You can’t even remember other people’s names.”
“I have limited brain capacity; I only save names of closely related people, okay?” Ji Ma said, “I hate those four-character names; they take up too much brain space.”
“Alright, what do you want to write?”
“Dear Mr. Owen Green… Oh, you didn’t write ‘dear’; are you jealous? Don’t answer that—if you’re jealous, just kiss my lips.”
George responded, pulling Ji Ma into an embrace and kissing her.
Alright then.
Let’s switch back to the present.
Owen Green was in high spirits, walking with a bounce. As he stepped out the door, he was pondering how to make the most of his holiday.
The maid’s voice rang out again: “Mr. Owen Green? Mr. Owen Green, and your things.”
Upon hearing the peasant-like voice, Owen Green found it coarse. He frowned slightly and turned to ask, “What is it?”
“You have a book as well,” she said, “also sent by Miss Ji.”
“Oh? Why didn’t you give it to me together?”
The maid lied, “It just arrived not long ago.”
Saying this, she handed him the book, which was tied with a string, its cover visible.
On the cover were a man and three women—the man stood in the middle, shouldering a large sword, holding a sweet potato in one hand. To his left stood a beautiful elf wearing a crown, while to his right was a red-haired female warrior in bikini armor, with another woman behind them.
Surrounded by women, the man smiled proudly, his mouth crooked, and above it was the book title “Jojo’s Adventure in Another World.”
Owen Green took just a glance, recalling the grueling manuscript work, and felt his stomach churn, a wave of acid rising uncontrollably, quickly turning his head away.
“Mr. Owen, Mr. Owen.” The young maid called out, holding the book in front of him, “This is your book.”
Owen Green slapped his hand down forcefully, shouting, “Take it away!”
“What’s wrong, Mr. Owen?” The maid looked a bit flustered, shaking the book in hand.
“I said, put it away! You country bumpkin.” Owen Green covered his eyes, yelled, “Throw it in the trash, or keep it to yourself; don’t bring it before me again.”
With that, he stormed out, grumbling, “Just when I finally had a good mood, she ruined it all.”
A rural-sounding female voice came from behind him: “Mr. Owen Green.”
Owen Green kept walking, not looking back, leaping over the threshold and out the front door.
The maid, clutching the book, hurriedly followed, calling from the door, “Mr. Owen, that, that…”
Owen Green shouted back without looking: “Shut up!”
The maid pouted in grievance, whispering, “Outside, it’s all ‘Jojo’s Wonderful Adventure.'”
Owen Green naturally didn’t hear her.
As soon as he stepped outside, he was drowned in the cacophony of voices, plunging into a sea of people, feeling lost.
There were just too many people.
In fact, the entrance of the publishing house, Xue Le, was utterly congested.
Owen Green barely steadied himself in the crowd when he looked up and saw countless hands waving a copy of “Jojo’s Adventure in Another World” in the air.
Despite it being a bright sunny day, Owen Green shook with chills, quickly looking up at the sky.
He saw a banner hanging at Xue Le Publishing, announcing the release of “Jojo’s Wonderful Adventure” today.
“Uh… uh…”
Owen Green clamped his mouth shut and quickly bent over.
He hadn’t expected that such a principled publisher as Xue Le would lower its standards to promote a vulgar, degrading book, truly a case of seeing money and losing dignity.
He had indeed been blind to submit to such a publisher in his earlier days.
He tightened the money pouch at his waist, bent over, and tried to push through the crowd.
“Where’s the ruby?”
“Where’s the book? You publishers are so irresponsible! You didn’t print enough copies.”
“Where can I buy sweet potatoes?”
Owen Green had to cover his ears again. After finally squeezing out of the crowd, he gasped for breath and suddenly thought of something, swiftly patting his waist where the bulging wallet lay.
Thankfully, his hard-earned money from abandoning his dignity and literary integrity remained intact, not stolen by pickpockets.
He glanced back at the Xue Le Publishing building; the three-story structure not only had a banner but also a drooping flag depicting the character Jojo, whose crooked smile looked especially exaggerated in the wind.
The bottom was crowded with people, waving wallets, scrambling to pay for the book, like desperate people in a desert trying to buy water.
With grievances and dissatisfaction boiling inside, Owen Green turned around and mumbled to himself:
“The book I poured my heart into writing goes unnoticed. A poorly written, vulgar book is so popular. Readers’ tastes are really awful; bad money drives out good, and soon there will be no good books left on the market.”
At this moment, he forgot that he was only a ghostwriter.
In his mind, Owen Green envisioned a future where no good books were available, with readers pleading for him to write a good book from the heart, and the imbalance in his heart eased somewhat.
He walked for seven or eight minutes, distancing himself from the noise of the book dispute, his mood gradually calming down.
It was just a group of tasteless readers who liked it; in a few years, who would still remember it? After walking a few streets, he could barely even catch a glimpse of that book.
As Owen Green thought, he turned a corner and saw a promotional poster on the wall depicting Jojo, who stood half a person high, still with that familiar crooked smile.
“Ugh…”
Owen Green leaned against the wall, nearly retching from the acid.
He looked around, noticing no one was paying attention here, and hurriedly stepped forward, tearing down the poster with force, crumpling it into a ball, and throwing it at his feet.
A male voice came from behind: “Hey, what are you doing?”
Owen Green was startled and quickly took off running. After running several blocks, he finally stopped.
“Huff, huff, there shouldn’t be Jojo around here.”
He straightened up just as a carriage passed in front of him, its side painted with Jojo’s crooked smile.
Owen Green could no longer hold back, clutching his stomach, bending over to expel a wave of acid.
