Chapter 899: 698 chapters, this is a joke

698 chapters, this is a joke.

698 chapters, this is a joke.

In the previous chapter, it said that the piece of Heaven-mending Stone abandoned by Nüwa on Great Wilderness Mountain, one day, out of boredom, wandered to the bank of the Spirit River, and saw among the chaotic rocks by the riverbank a beautiful little grass, which was very lonely. The Heaven-mending Stone felt great sympathy and pity for that lonely, beautiful little grass, and also felt deep affection for it. It felt as if they had met too late.

Then the Heaven-mending Stone said to that beautiful and lonely little grass: "Lovely little grass sister, from now on you need not be afraid, for with me you will never suffer hunger or thirst in this life. I will do my utmost to let you have clothes and food, dew and sunshine, free from the suffering of wind and frost."

Upon hearing these sincere words from the Heaven-mending Stone on Great Wilderness Mountain, the lonely and beautiful little grass by the Spirit River felt extremely moved and also extremely happy. Because this lonely and beautiful little grass growing in the cracks of rocks had never before heard anyone confide these sincere words to it, when

No one knows how many centuries, how much time passed. As the years lengthened, the beautiful and lonely little grass beneath Great Wilderness Mountain, due to the careful care of that Heaven-mending Stone, was irrigated day and night with the water from the center of the Spirit River that dispels sorrow, also receiving the essence of heaven and earth, and again receiving the sweet dew of the nine heavens, thus shedding its plant form and taking on a human shape, becoming a girl of utmost intelligence under heaven and earth.

This little grass by the No Opportunity Cliff of Great Wilderness Mountain beside the Spirit River, after becoming a beautiful and intelligent girl, in her solitude often sought sorrow and hatred. Knowing that her previous affinity was unrequited, the unseen matters seemed to be present yet absent in her heart. She constantly thought of that person in the unseen realm, her heart entangled and knotted, seeking emotional fruit in hunger, drinking longing water in thirst. Thinking of that person in the unseen realm, she intended to repay the emotion of the unseen. Thus she attracted many romantic entanglements, grudges and affections, and mutual clinging.

This is a mystery, this is what comes later. Here I still have leisure to unravel these mysteries, idle talk without bounds. Otherwise my miscellaneous writings will stray off topic, lose the thread and go off track. I will anger the readers, they will laugh at my confused thinking, and I will babble on about everything. My speech lacks coherence, has no measure.

But upon further reflection, my way of writing—hammering here, striking there—is truly rare throughout history and across the world. I fear the readers have never seen a novel like this from me.

Yes, I will write what others have not written. Whether it is a thing or not, what kind of thing it is. Or if you think it is not a thing at all.

In short, what I write is this thing.

I have long said this is the 'hot pot' style—a grand medley, all kinds of things, everything possible, nothing lacking, nothing lacking, nothing lacking——

Tall mountains, lush forests, clear winds, bright moon, birds singing amidst fragrant flowers, springs rinsing stones, sea waves lashing the shore in joyous song, the universe and all within it, boundless outer space, joyful rivers and lakes, brilliant stars, grasses, trees, flowers, water springs, vast heavens, oceans, mountains, forests, beasts, birds, insects, aquatic livestock, poultry……

In short, whether you have thought of it or not, whether you have seen it or not, I will let you feast your eyes and enjoy it to the fullest.

My miscellaneous writings, I intend to write ten million characters; for this purpose I have prepared an outline of five hundred thousand characters.

So, readers, do not rush; when you have free time, come sit often, relax and chat a few sentences. But no matter what I say, whether you have heard it or not, and regardless of whether my fabricated story is good or not, you must absolutely keep a good mood.

I often think this way: who now gives literature its definition? Whose definition is the only one? Taking novels as an example, the ancients' novels were nothing more than 'fine grains as millet, street talk, their trivial words......'

Since it is street talk, trivial words, why should we take it seriously? Originally people were in good spirits, but after reading your randomly fabricated novel, being affected by your randomly fabricated story, they become dazed and confused in their hearts.

Is this reasonable? Is this not a trap for people?

I see that writers of novels ancient and modern, both at home and abroad, all harbor ill intentions; they want to lure others into reading what they have written, embellish trivial talk, and use it to gain high fame and reputation.

I also do not seek fame, let alone reputation; I only want to, in my loneliness, talk with friends about my innermost feelings. Just as Jia Baoyu in Dream of the Red Chamber fabricated the tale of the Rat Spirit to relieve Lin sister's boredom, I too am fabricating stories to relieve your boredom.

This is a joke.

In the next chapter, the joke continues with the story of Sun Wukong on Huaguo Shan and the two demons from Pingdingshan's Lianhuadong, cutting on; welcome those interested to come sit, but we do not welcome your suggestions....