After returning to her room, the system interface flickered before Luo Xiaolu.

“Task completed. Evaluation: C.”

“Acquired 5 Literary Points.”

Only a C?

A hint of grievance tugged at Luo Xiaolu’s heart. With such meager ingredients, she’d truly done her best.

Poverty really was the original sin.

If she’d just pan-fried a sirloin steak, paired it with an ’82 Lafite, and spruced up the table—wouldn’t that have screamed *literary elegance*?

The shop menu appeared.

A tab on the main page read: “Newbie Recommended Items.”

“Vocal Skills Card (Beginner): 50 points.”

At this rate, she’d need ten more tasks to afford it.

Not that she needed it right now anyway.

In her inventory, her Writer Skills Card had updated:

“Writer Skills Card (Beginner): 325/10,000”

“Current Buffs: Writing Speed Lv.1, Memory Lv.1, Literary Style Lv.2”

So constant writing leveled the card and unlocked more buffs.

Motivation surged. Visions of a five-figure salary, marrying a radiant heiress, and scaling life’s peak flashed in her mind.

She powered up her laptop and popped open a can of cola.

Time to work!

Three days flew by.

Inside the light novel editorial department of Penguin Building—

“Green Leaf, what’ve you got there?” Editor Big Mountain Cat asked, coffee in hand. Passing her desk, he noticed Green Leaf—usually lightning-fast with manuscripts—completely absorbed in her screen.

“Shh!” Green Leaf waved hastily, nearly knocking over his cup.

“This novel’s… interesting,” she murmured.

“Oh?” Intrigued, Big Mountain Cat leaned in.

The title: *Your Lie in July*.

—A stranger’s umbrella dampened his uniform hem; mothball-scented wool brushed past; a stranger’s warmth pressed against his back; stale AC air washed over him. Gong Sheng ducked his head and hurried through the station…

“What *is* this?” Big Mountain Cat grimaced after three lines. “This counts as a novel?!”

“It’s brilliant!” Green Leaf’s eyes sparkled as she propped her chin in her hands. “I haven’t seen prose this exquisite in ages!”

“Since when did your taste vanish?” Big Mountain Cat scoffed. “Sentences jumping everywhere, random poetic lines—who writes like this now?”

“You wouldn’t get it!” Green Leaf shot him a disdainful look. “This is *literary*. Subtle. Refreshing!”

“What can a wet-behind-the-ears newbie possibly deliver?” Big Mountain Cat sneered.

As a veteran editor, his skepticism made sense. He’d seen flashy, hollow styles before—gimmicks that flopped hard post-publication.

“Only you girls fall for this. Drop it. Even signed, no one’ll read it.”

They agreed to escalate it to Chief Editor Cucumber—affectionately “Big Brother Huang”—mentor of countless stars, including the author behind the soon-to-be-animated hit *The Campus Beauty’s Personal Errand Boy*.

Cucumber finished reading. His brows furrowed.

“Well?!” Green Leaf pressed.

“Exceptional writing. Flawless prose,” he said.

“I *told* you!”

“No way,” Big Mountain Cat stammered.

“However…” Cucumber’s sharp gaze never left the manuscript. “This style is unprecedented. Market reaction? Unpredictable. If readers reject it… a flop wouldn’t surprise me.”

(Truth was, he rather liked *Your Lie in July*.)

“I want to try.” He sipped his coffee. “Break protocol. Feature it on the homepage. See if it surprises us.”

“Chief Editor—!”

“Once readers embrace this style,” Cucumber raised a finger, “it *will* succeed.”

Twenty years of editorial instinct spoke.

“Green Leaf—you handle this author.”

“Yes!” She beamed, eyes landing on the pen name:

—Zhou Shuren.

After eight hours of furious typing, Luo Xiaolu uploaded her chapter.

Out of deep admiration for the great Lu Xun—and after playfully “nailing shut Mr. Lu Xun’s coffin lid”—she’d chosen “Zhou Shuren.”

*This world has no Lu Xun… Then I shall become its Lu Xun.*

Opening the backend, she froze. Comments flooded in:

“Huh? What’s this? Author updates 20k daily?!”

“Whoa—writing machine detected!”

“Don’t hype. Probably pre-written.”

“*Your Lie in July*… Trying too hard?”

“Previous commenter: newbie author. Just some random contest tryhard.”

Curious readers clicked anyway.

The story opened with fifteen-year-old Gong Sheng spotting Lavender playing violin in the park after school. Captivated, he snapped a photo—only for her to turn, catch him, and scold him as a pervert. Yet her blunt reprimand clashed adorably with her earlier ethereal grace.

Something’s off!

This style’s dangerously addictive!!!

The comments erupted:

“Th-this… so pure… refreshing…”

“What *is* this writing?!”

“Style’s weird… but weirdly soothing!”

“RIGHT?! This feeling’s amazing!”

“Eeeek! My inner maiden’s squealing!”

“I need to meet this author—they’re *so* classy!!”