Dow and Carbon-Based Monkey Breeding Guidelines

Chapter 825

Before Malcolm participated in the Spanish ancient mural restoration project that took more than three years, he would often take Jania to his studio on the edge of the town to play.The simple shed made of wooden frames and small red bricks is a treasure for Jania.It was so close to the woods, and it had almost everything in it, all the stuff Malcolm used for his work.She has found turquoise and dog's tooth, and she has found flails and scroll saws.Yu Qingshu never liked her going there unless Malcolm promised that he would keep an eye on his daughter at all times.

She could only enter the studio with Malcolm at her side.Sometimes Malcolm would bring her a handful of colorful raspberries from the woods.They ate and talked while working.Malcolm told her what project he was working on.At that time, his eyes showed concentration and eagerness, and at the same time, he was a little absent-minded.He was talking to his daughter, but at the same time he was making up his own mind.It's very different from Yu Qingshu's working state. Yu Qingshu's eyes when examining the work materials are like looking at a big puddle of shit lying on his dining table.She rarely talks to her daughter about her work, because all kinds of pressure make her angry.

Sitting in the rainy night, Chirabin said that he was a playwright. Jania believed this sentence more, because Chirabin's eyes sometimes looked like Malcolm when talking.His demeanor is so undisciplined that he doesn't seem like someone who is in a regular, high-stress job all year round.But he was not short of money, because the hotel was not cheap, and the cigars he smoked were not cheap either.Malcolm had a tight life when he was single, and he ate only by the good list.

Chilabin also went to the hotel to get himself a bottle of soda.He also picked up the sun umbrella lying in the corner by the way, and blocked it on the side outside the eaves.That way they won't get any rain.Then he sat down again, banging happily on the table and humming.Jania only heard the lyrics of the first few lines he hummed, such as "The name of the warrior is Zou Gong", "Swear to be immortal", and so on.She didn't know if she heard it right, because she had learned a good deal of her English from Malcolm, whose parents were Scots.

"What are you writing now?" she asked Chirabin. "The new one?"

"To be honest, I haven't thought it through yet." Chilabin replied, "My sponsor gave me a general direction-she stipulated what kind of plots must be included, but she doesn't care about other things. I I haven't figured out what the tone of the story is going to be."

"You always have a main thread?"

"The main line...it's hard to say, hard to say. Sometimes I want to write it as a ghost story, sometimes it's a love story, or a detective story. You always want to write something when you get a pen. It's like that. Yes. However, I think I'm dealing with a particularly difficult virtual audience."

"what?"

"A virtual audience, girl."

"I don't know."

Chirabin touched the bruises on his face with his stubby, red-brick-hewn fingers.Jania noticed that the bruises were dark brown and smooth, and the distribution was almost even and symmetrical, like the markings that some animals are born with, not caused by impact and damage.She wanted to ask Chilabin if she had some kind of skin disease, but that would be a bit private.

"Let's put it this way, little girl." Chirabin put down his finger, "When you create, you intend to show what you have produced. Maybe you don't end up with it, maybe you write it halfway through. Burn it. It doesn't matter, but, when you write, you assume you're addressing another individual. Your expression is all about making it understand you. And this person, this person you made up People who watch your work anytime, anywhere, it is your first viewer, first reader, first commentator.”

"But that's you," Jania said. "It's your imagination."

"Exactly! But that's the beauty. That is, when you're writing something, you imagine what kind of person you're sitting across from. That has nothing to do with reality, because you can't It controls what kind of audience you have. But when you make up an audience, it’s really about how you see other works. Your number one audience is your own taste, and how you feel about your Guessing and positioning of the work. Do you watch plays? Or read books? Do you like to be picky when you read, girl? Or do you guess what kind of person the author is?"

"I'm occasionally critical, only on books that make me uncomfortable, but I don't care about the author."

"Then you are generally a cooperative reader—I use two dimensions to classify myself, little girl. Among those audiences who are willing to watch your performance, some audiences tend to cooperate. Very friendly. They don't take you seriously, they don't argue with you about value or context, they just come to have fun. Some viewers, they are the opposite, always taking every bite with the intention of challenging. They're detailed—I don't say whether the details are smart or stupid, or like you—but they won't let your story pass easily. And if, you yourself are usually the audience like this, you imagined That's probably the case with the number one audience."

"Are you like this?"

"It's not bad at all, that's what I am." Chirabin said with a smile, "I'm the kind of audience who is not very popular. I don't mean that I have malicious intentions, or that I don't appreciate the efforts, but the rules of the game are like this : I will strictly check whether there is any mystery hidden in each part. I want to find the secrets hidden under the surface. But if there is really nothing to dig, I will be very disappointed. You see, this is a little habit of mine. So when I write, I imagine my number one audience is such a difficult person. I can't be compared to this dude, so I must have something he's interested in, but also something he can't guess thing."

"Are you telling a story?"

"Within the story, yes. Outside of the story, maybe a little bit."

"What does it mean?"

"Like I asked earlier. When you read an unfamiliar book, do you guess who the author is? You say you're not interested. Yes, you're a gamer. When the author and you When you sit face to face at a table, your eyes are only on the table and the cards it shows you. You listen carefully to every piece of information the dealer gives you, calculating the probability and value of each card—but You never play tricks off the board. I mean you don't look up to see what the dealer is like, even if you know his thoughts affect the whole game. It's obvious, girl. If you know it's love A writer who writes tragedies, and you'd be wary of him giving you a bit of a punch at the end. And if you knew the writer had a bitter first love... well, you'd always sense something in the story, or you'd know the dealer from the story What happened, sort of. Off-the-ball moves are always fun."

Chirabin happily drank his soda.He drank it almost in one gulp, with a look of excitement on his face.Jania turned her head and stared at him inexplicably.

"Why do you do that?" she asked. "It's just writing a story, isn't it? It's not a gambling game."

"You're a decent man, little girl."

"I don't like it when you say that."

"I don't mean any harm," Chilabin explained. "Playing tricks outside the box is a bad habit... not very polite, is it? Others put on funny tricks for you, but you want to treat this person from the beginning to the end Do your research. If you let the other person know, it's an act of aggression...but let's be honest, there's no stopping this game because aggression is what the game is about. And most people play it well Not so much, I mean, for an experienced dealer, he's also a veteran of the outside game himself, and knows how to cover up and hide himself, it's not that easy for you to pick it out of the cards. "

"Are you?"

"I'm a veteran." Chilabin blinked and said, "I'm a novice in creation, but I'm not unfamiliar with off-the-box tricks at all. The knowledge I learned in the city is about this. That's not the case. Come on, it's all boring stuff. The point of this is not here, the point is that there is such a kind of player, it is not for the game, no, it almost never looks at the content on the table. Its eyes were on the dealer the whole time. And this, girl, is very, very, very dangerous."

Jania put down her soda bottle.She stared at Chi Labin and asked, "Someone is investigating? Because of the script you wrote?"

"You're a smart girl, Jennifer. Smart and alert. But that's not the case. That's putting too much weight on my script. The truth is that there are players whose fun is never Not on the board. They're trying to destroy the dealer, and that has nothing to do with the board itself. No, no, if they're willing to take a second look at the game on the table, it's just to get the dealer out of the way, and then they To enjoy this advantage until the banker is destroyed. I say destroying is not a joke, because you don't have many opportunities to manipulate a person's heart, but there are too many personal factors involved in the creation of this matter. It can be reversed Came here to take advantage of—but that's a bit off topic from our original topic. We have to get back to my dilemma, my number one virtual audience."

Chirabin nodded gravely at her, as if it was a matter of life and death.But his eyes are still full of humor, which is hard to be taken seriously.

"I have a very dangerous virtual audience," he said slowly. "He's the worst, most dangerous type of audience we've ever talked about. Trickster. You might as well imagine him as a monster with one hundred eyes, half of his eyes are always on the table, and the other half is always on me. He wants to see me through the cards, and just think of it, little girl , I have to admit that I feel very restless. Every line of my pen is shaken with restlessness. This is a major problem that interferes with my concentration on writing."

He sighed long, and turned his gaze to the dark and hazy sea behind the rain.Jania tilted her head back slightly, as if looking at the ugly playwright from a distance.She thought to herself that this person might have some mental problems, and might be playing tricks on her.But she didn't just walk away.This wet and cold rainy night stuck her footsteps towards the warm bed.

"I want to ask a few questions," she said.

"I'm always happy to have people ask me questions."

"Your 'Dangerous Audience Number One' is just a figment of your imagination, right? He's not a real person."

Chilabin nodded seriously, put his hands on his chest, and replied as if swearing: "He is not a real living person."

"Then... he can't really threaten you. You just imagine that he is picky and can hurt you, but in fact he can't do it because he doesn't exist at all. He can't be seen or touched. "

"You're right, girl. But aren't we always afraid of things we can't see or touch? Haven't you been tortured by something conceptual? For example, the pressure of competition? Fear of death? The unknown and the void This is what happened. Although my audience is not a living person of flesh and blood, the danger he brings to me is real. This does not make me not afraid of him because he cannot be seen or touched. "

"You mean a kind of mental pressure caused by imagination?"

"you can say it this way."

"Is that serious?"

"Oh, it's very serious. I'm afraid that my script will make a mistake, and I won't be able to sleep well."

"How about trying to find a doctor?" Jania suggested. "Maybe you should pause your work and get your mind back."

"That's not going to work, girl. My sponsors are not very accommodating. And I am very enthusiastic about my new script myself. I am so fascinated by the prototype of one of the characters, so to speak, I almost become him." fans."

"Are you his fan?"

"Yeah, of course your generation says that. But I guess it's a little bit different here, and I appreciate that character as a paradigm. You see, girl, I've always been very fond of rainy days. Not only because it is full of stories, but also because of its religious temperament. Water is an ancient symbol, representing the power of fertility and yin, which is why in the oldest stories, goddesses are in charge of important water sources. These The Goddesses of rivers, lakes and seas are the incarnations of water, they are beautiful and changeable. And the clouds - the water that floats in the sky - and the rain - the water that falls from the sky and returns to the earth - are their countless incarnations In their most beautiful days, they are goddesses of rain and fertility, but in times of bad luck, they are cast down from their thrones as gods of water. Legends describe them as mournful The ghosts, female monsters or witches, which are related to your time. But there is one characteristic that cannot be separated from them-the power of conception never leaves them, that is to say, they are born Messenger. And by choosing life, they also control death at the same time. These two powers should be one. But if you separate these two powers and entrust the order of death to those who don’t know what life is stuff, and you're going to make a big mess."

"Is this your script setting?"

"Oh, no, not really. I think it's just a little bit of background information. It doesn't really matter to our story, except for that last line. Jennifer, have you thought about killing anyone?"

Hearing this sentence, even Jania couldn't help being surprised.She didn't show anything on her face, but asked in a disapproving tone: "Why should I think so?"

"What if you can kill people without any responsibility?" Chirabin asked with interest, "You can't create anything useful, all your constructive skills are in a mess. But you are only good at one thing, then It is to destroy any life. Any life, no matter it is evil or pure, small or great. How are you going to use your specialty?"

Jania's fingers touched the stick in her pocket.She met Chirabin's eyes for a while, and then she said calmly, "I don't know how to use it."

"Out of morality?"

"And brains—nukes are most useful until they're fired."

"You're a little strategist," Chirabin said, "but, Jennifer, the characters in my story are not as intelligent as you. When a person's mind is completely dominated by death, one of the mistakes he can make More than you can imagine... Oh, of all the stories about heroes, there are two most classic and attractive: one is the pure and fearless warrior, who sacrifices his life to fight against violence, and his soul is immortal , which is like the rushing torrent of the earth steaming under the scorching sun, becoming a free spirit on the cloud. And the other--the other is a story about a tragic fall, when the brave man, played by fate, has to commit Fatal mistake, that is also like turning clouds into rain on a cold day, falling into the world of filth and depression. Now we are back to the metaphor of clouds and rain, pure heroes and anti-heroes, this is the most cliché But Jennifer, on this character I’m obsessed with, the clouds and the rain are water incarnate.”

"Then what exactly is the water you're talking about..."

Jania stopped.She discovered the movement on the other side of the sea following Chirabin's reaction.Amidst the crackling rain and the roaring waves, they saw the silhouette of a person slowly emerge from the darkness.This man came from the sea, and was soaked through, but his expression was very calm.When he came under the eaves, Jania recognized the young man she had met during the day.

"Ah, I guess you just went to the sea." Chilabin said, leaning on the chair, "I was thinking about whether I should go to you. But the rain was too heavy, so I came back from the beach. Zhou, you know This little friend, her name is Jennifer. Jennifer, this is Zhou—as you suggested, he is my therapist."

(End of this chapter)