Author, Fugue Soul, Plum Blossom Sticky Cake.

On the first day after the mission, Chi Xiaochi finished gnawing on an apple and volunteered that he would like to go to a certain world line.

When he made the request, Lou Ying was in the kitchen, scaling yellow croaker and preparing yellow croaker dumplings.

A small plate of emerald cabbage dumplings has been molded, the home's thermostat system is running endlessly, emitting a whistling sound of the wind, and the little bamboo mice kept outside are gnawing on the bamboo with a click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click of the apple.

He thought everything was fine, and was even a little reluctant to let him go.

Lou Ying raised her voice and said, "Wait for the afternoon, I'll make the dumplings and go with you."

Chi Xiaochi said, "No, I'll be back in an hour, tops."

Lou Ying wipes her hands on her apron and walks out of the kitchen.

He wanted to use his original face, but he was afraid that the Lord God would do something about it, so he weighed his options and used Wen Yujing's face.

A head of long hair trimmed into a refreshing short hair, randomly tied a few buttons loose white shirt and black pants, Wen Yujing originally out of the air temperament was immediately pulled back to the mortal world between the fireworks, but there is not much out of harmony.

Lou Ying took a few coats out of the closet, "It's winter outside, pick something you like. Buy something you want to eat, I'll wait for you at home."

All of the coats were quite warm, just uniformly on the large side, with slightly longer sleeves that slightly covered the hands.

Lou Ying helped him roll the cuffs of the camel-colored coat he'd chosen a few times to reveal the dark gray sweater at the wrist.

When she reached the right-hand side, Lou Ying's movements paused.

...... The ring he gave to Chi Xiaochi, which he originally wore on his tail finger, somehow found its way onto his index finger.

A ring that goes from the ring finger to the tail finger to the index finger can have a mixed fate.

But Lou Ying is confident about where the ring will end up.

Lou Ying smiled silently at the thought and proceeded to smooth out his cuffs and fetch him a black cashmere scarf to put around him.

Chi Xiaochi raised her hand somewhat unnaturally and pushed back, "I'll do it myself."

Lou Ying was worried that he was still uncomfortable with the contact, so he let go of his hand of his own accord.

Chi Xiaochi looked in the mirror, pulled a flowery knot out of her scarf, and sprayed some eau de toilette on her body.

Lou Ying watched from afar as his Xiaochi skillfully transformed himself into a mature and handsome young man, his heart warmed with affection, but also with a vague sense of unease.

He was fond of Chi Xiaochi, no doubt.

He had lost all his previous memories, so his liking was pure, not about the past, not about the future, just the present Chi Xiaochi.

For him, Lou Ying, he gets the full Chi Xiaochi.

But for Chi Xiaochi, he was retrieving an AI with only a few years of memory.

So Lou Ying wanted to know more.

He wanted to know what had happened in those years.

Lou Ying wants to help Chi Xiaochi get Lou Ying back.

So, after Chi Xiaochi chose a world line to leave, he also made a trip back to the main god space and knocked on 089's door.

It's winter outside and it does get cold.

Good thing I have Lou Ying's coat and scarf to keep me warm.

Chi Xiaochi connected to the network of this world, turned on the navigation, stopped another cab and gave an address.

Yesterday, when he and Lou Ying were back in their space, Chi Xiaochi had nothing better to do than to retrieve the book Shark Immortal Monarch.

Consistent with the data provided by the system, "Sailor Immortal Monarch" broke off at Chapter 87 and hasn't been updated since.

The author is called "Green Mountain Red Dust", this pen name does not follow the output of new works, looks like completely stopped writing.

Chi Xiaochi went through the comments section and found something new.

In this abandoned for a long time under the article still some people are urging more, the number is quite a lot, most of the top of the "smoke big sightseeing group" ID, crying and shouting that please light smoke greatly more articles, want to see sharks and snake gentleman's follow-up story.

...... Oh exclusion.

Chi Xiaochi followed the line and soon found the source.

"Green Mountain Red Dust" changed his vest, called "a light smoke", went to another website, wrote a CP-free cultivation article, luck is not bad, was a film and television company, bought the copyright, without backlog will be shot out, the ratings are good, a hit.

"A Light Smoke" has been keeping a diary since she was a child.

After the convenience of the internet, he took to blogging about his moods.

During the serialization period of Shark Immortal Monarch, he kept quite a few things in his journal off and on, some of them his own brainstorming, some of them his troubles while serializing.

When the readers sprayed the hardest, the author of "Green Mountain Red Dust", who was still a shrimp at that time, was torn for several days and went to knock on his own editor to consult what he should do.

His editor's avatar looks very straight, a big rugged guy with a cigarette.

The editor, who was busy making a list, gave the conventional answer, "Watch more of what readers like."

The young writer said, "They're a little hard to do with ...... what they're asking for."

The editor bluntly said, "There's no meat on the bone if you don't listen to your readers."

The young author, still quite poor, took the words at face value and went hard to observe the reader's message.

He wrote earnestly in his diary that there was meat in listening to his editor.

Then he wrote it as a four-parter and got sprayed even harder.

The young author was a bit frustrated and posted a picture of a late-night snack he had made in his space at around 3:00 a.m., with the text saying, "There's no meat to eat, so I'll cook myself a spinach noodle.

After a while, he realized that someone had liked it and it was his editor.

He wondered if the editor was up this late.

Soon there was an editorial response below, "That looks delicious."

The young author said with no small amount of pride, "I did it."

Edited to say, "It would be even better with an egg."

The little author think also a little greedy, fried a one-sided poached egg, and cut from it, the egg is clear and transparent, the edges of the rolled and slightly burnt, looking at it is calling for people to eat.

He took another picture.

This time the editor did not reply.

The young author didn't think much of it and sat down at the table to feast for a while, casually opening the article page to see if he could find a constructive reply or two in the pile of spam comments.

He refreshed this and found two more comments.

It's from chapters one and two.

One is "good, the beginning of the text is more concise, no redundancy, writing skills are not bad", the other is "the story into the main line slightly dragged, the protagonist character is not distinctive".

The young author sucked in her noodles, rewound to look at her update, and thought what a great review.

Instead of just saying "cool" or "not cool" as an abstract concept, he actually pointed out what was wrong with his writing.

He wrote a very sincere three line reply thanking him for his guidance.

The reader who gave the comment over there seemed to be online as well and replied, "Go to bed. I'll read some more."

The young author then went to bed with a sense of gratitude.

As a result, I woke up and the comments section was ripped to shreds.

There are a few idle boredom of the fixed spray, may be to see the small author character good to pinpoint, always warm and gentle not angry, with the book of the soft dough protagonist like, always love to cloak the vest over to stab him a couple of sentences.

When one of them got up from a nap today and came to the comment section to complete a routine task, he saw an ID that was seriously reading the text and had given quite a few favorable comments, and immediately surrounded it, "Yo, this is a group of friends and family, or a bought review."

The reader replied back, "Couldn't sleep, came to read the text."

Jet said, "Dude, nothing to see here, break it up. You're blathering on and on, and this author won't change it. It's just a blind barren change."

The reader says, "I like the story, he writes well."

Jet was sour, "Hey yo, sure is a family and friends group."

Readers say, "Objectively, the writing is better than you."

Spray hit a jolt and exploded in anger: "What are you talking about with your eyes open? Which eye did you see me writing?!"

The reader was quite articulate, "You've only pitched Ray to one article with this trumpet. Your trumpet and that article have the same IP address. That article is contemporaneous with this one. I urge you to take your writing seriously or you won't make the list."

Jet was full of it, "You fucking think you're an editor, opening your mouth. I'd say you're an author trumpet."

There will be no reply at the bottom.

The young author looked a little angry and was just about to go up and say something on behalf of the eager reader when the avatar of the rugged, cigarette-chomping hunk of an editor flashed up in his friends bar.

The editor said, "Don't listen to them."

The editor added, "It's my fault for giving you the earlier advice. Follow your idea of a different site with a better atmosphere and make improvements in the details, and your results will be even better."

The young writer froze in front of the computer.

Then, after much deliberation, he abandoned the text, which had gone badly off the rails, and moved on to another site.

When he came up with a pen name, he thought of the cigarette in the mouth of the rugged man, so he casually knocked a "a light cigarette" up.

Then later, he sealed the deal with one book, and his next two books did quite well.

With money in hand, he went ahead and knocked out the editor.

Since the two people were empty mouth identified as friends and family, they often chat together, learned a lot of things about each other, but really mixed into half friends and family.

Let's say two people are in the same town, both love late night snacks, both are night owls.

He always answers the little author's messages in seconds: "What?"

The young writer said, "Come out sometime, I'll buy you some meat."

Regarding the meeting, the young author recorded it in detail in his diary.

The man is not rough at all, only a few months older than the young author, born very handsome and gentlemanly, wearing a pair of black-rimmed glasses, often writing some prose in magazines, his family has money, so he can do what he wants to do to his heart's content.

A year before I met the young author, he was selling insurance.

Now he has just obtained his kindergarten teacher's license and is preparing to quit his job as an editor to work as a kindergarten teacher in a kindergarten.

The young writer envied him and said, "That's nice.

He is polio and has been in a wheelchair since shortly after birth, and the only things he has been able to travel to independently over the years are his own kitchen, computer and bedroom.

He longed for the expanse that the editor could see.

The editor surveyed his wheelchair and said, "You live alone now?"

Young author, "Uh-huh."

His father died early and his mother remarried and went abroad.

The editor said, "It's a coincidence. My neighborhood has newly installed handicapped access, and every building has it."

The young author's eyes lit up, "Well, that's nice."

The editor looked into his eyes, "Move in here."

Minor author, "...... Hmmm?"

Edit: "There's a great little store near my house that sells plum cake."

The young author looked at him in confusion, his heart racing while not quite able to understand the meaning of his words.

The editor said, "You moved here so I could buy you food every day."

In the young author's diary, there is a food diary dedicated to the plum cake, watching Chi Xiaochi's big night appetite.

So he came to buy it the next day.

He arrived at the store that the little writer's food diary had referred to.

The owner skillfully pours the blended glutinous rice flour liquid into a special vessel, and fills it with long-simmered, semi-fluid hot bean paste, hot sesame seeds and hot purple potatoes.

Chi Xiaochi, with his hands clasped, waited in the cold wind.

After a while, a young man with black-rimmed glasses stopped his car in front of this small store, "Boss lady, two, old style."

This was obviously a familiar customer. The boss's wife answered twice, nimbly took the two bean paste ones out of the oven, put them in a paper bag and handed them to him.

The young man darted back into the car, which had another man on the passenger side, peeking over and picking up the paper bag.

Chi Xiaochi heard the young man say, "The filling is hot, so warm up your hands first and come home just in time to eat."

Chi Xiaochi turned back, looked at the limousine riding away, and thought, What a coincidence, could it be them.

Maybe, maybe not.

He remembered that he'd watched the audio of the young author's web interview online yesterday, and that a reader had also asked about The Shark Immortal Monarch during the free interview session.

Readers ask: "Light Smoke Dada, are you really not going to write that Immortal Monarch?"

The young author's voice was gentle, "Well, don't write it for anyone else. I'll leave it on my hard drive and rewrite it. ...... write it for him."

The reader is a bit sorry: "So will Sailor and Snake King have a happy ending."

"They will." The young author said, "They are independent souls. Even without me, they will have a good ending."

Chi Xiaochi was just thinking about it when, suddenly, there was a subtle vibrating sound coming from his coat pocket.

Chi Xiaochi picked up her cell phone, looked at the number on it for a moment, and brought it to her ear.

Lou Ying's voice: "Hello?"

Chi Xiaochi is happy.

He remembered that he had told himself when he was still 061 that in a non-mission environment, he would be shielded from all functions when he arrived at a certain world, retaining only the most basic sensory abilities, and could not even speak.

So Lou Ying, who was left at home, had to call if she wanted to find him.

Lou Ying asked him, "Is it cold?"

Lou Ying is not in sight, Chi Xiaochi on the contrary, not so tightly: "You are not here, my sweet little fall pants are gone."

Lou Ying laughs.

He asked, "When will you be back? I'll check the time, the dumplings are almost ready to be cooked."

Chi Xiaochi covered the microphone and asked the boss, "How much longer?"

The boss laughed, "Almost there, almost there, just six or seven minutes. The purple potato stuffed ones cook a little slower."

Chi Xiaochi said to the other end of the line, "Go ahead, go ahead. I'm hanging up now. I didn't look before I came out and my cell phone is about to run out of gas."

Lou Ying couldn't help herself, "Well, good."

Chi Xiaochi bought a stove and a half, intending to go back and ask Lou Ying to distribute it to the systems.

He picked out a purple potato filled plum cake from it and gently took a bite out of it.

The outer layer of the egg roll is baked to a crispy golden brown, just like Chi Xiaochi's favorite, and when the soft, plum-shaped mochi is bitten into, the juicy, runny purple yam spills out, which is so hot that it pushes Chi Xiaochi's face with its hot, white breath.

He took two hot bites and was suddenly eager to go home.

So in my mind I called Lou Ying's name: "Lou, Lou."

When the boss of the plum blossom cake maker was puffing his breath and preparing for the next batch of plum blossom cake, he inadvertently raised his eyes and realized that the customer who had just carried away one and a half batch of plum blossom cake had disappeared in a short span of half a minute.

And after hanging up the phone with Chi Xiaochi, Lou Ying said to 089 & 023, "I'll go back first and give Xiaochi dumplings."

He had wanted to talk to 089, but unfortunately 023 was also there, and some things were not very convenient to say.

089 vocalized, "Go on, good boy. Your happiness is your parents' greatest hope."

023 rolled his eyes grimly.

089 Innocent, "I meant it."

Lou Ying stroked the peace knot still in his jacket pocket, "Well, I know."

089 Seeing his movement, his demeanor remained unchanged, and his eyes curved slightly in a smile.

Well, knowing what the peace knot is for, 80% of them have used it.

Since he had to move it, he must have encountered some danger.

By the looks of him now, I'm sure he made a safe transition and probably met something good.

Just that he was happy like this, the one in a flash, may not be happy.

A few fleeting moments, 089 will have some conjecture, the words turn, true feelings of tears, said: "61 ah, you can protect our daughter-in-law, you are our family nine generations of a single, our old 0 the continuation of the family's flame, can all rely on him."

023: "......" What is the old 0 family?

Lou Ying's mind moved slightly, knowing he was reminding him of something, "Well, I remember, Father."

023: "......"

He felt out of place with them from time to time because he wasn't theatrical enough.