Xu Zhizhi rarely left home, avoiding crowded places like shopping malls altogether. She seldom browsed news on her phone and had little knowledge of new technologies, so she truly wasn’t well-informed.
She had heard Zhou Che mention modern technology before, talking about tech companies researching robots, but she hadn’t paid close attention.
“Do you work at a tech company?” Xu Zhizhi asked, thinking he must be in a leadership position.
His attire, demeanor, and way of speaking gave her a different impression.
Unlike the teachers and leaders she had interacted with before—who were serious and elder-like—Fu Chengyan was a friend. He was gentle and patient.
His concern felt warm, while Lin Xitang and Zhou Che’s care was more forceful and assertive.
Fu Chengyan… he seemed gentle, yet there was a subtle hint of dominance in his gentleness, though it wasn’t obvious.
Xu Zhizhi felt comfortable around him; he was a person who knew his boundaries. Although her first impression of him wasn’t great, it might have been due to the lighting at the time. He definitely wasn’t that kind of person.
“You could say so,” Fu Chengyan replied.
He could be considered a tech tycoon.
His family’s business spanned many industries. In recent years, they had ventured into technology, real estate, catering, fashion, and tourism. However, the company now focused primarily on technology, with the other sectors being relatively minor.
“You’re really impressive.”
“You’re impressive too, little writer.”
Xu Zhizhi smiled shyly. “I’m not that good.”
Still, she was grateful for this profession, which allowed someone like her, who feared going outside, to earn a living.
“Having millions of followers is truly remarkable.”
Xu Zhizhi thought for a moment and said, “Maybe it’s because I write a lot.”
She updated daily, starting a new book as soon as one was finished, and spent no less than eight hours a day writing.
“It’s not about writing a lot; it’s about writing well,” Fu Chengyan didn’t hesitate to praise her. “It’s because of your excellent writing, strong logical thinking, and innovative stories that people enjoy reading your work.”
It’s just that characters kept dying unexpectedly, leaving the comment section filled with a mix of love and hate, with plenty of complaints.
Fu Chengyan had no doubt that if people knew Xiao Zhitu was Xu Zhizhi, some might even send her threatening letters.
He had scrolled through the comment section several times and noticed many irrational readers.
It was wise of Xu Zhizhi not to read comments or check private messages.
He’d have to encrypt her IP address later. If some reader managed to track it down, Xu Zhizhi would definitely be in danger.
“Maybe it’s because I used to daydream a lot after finishing my homework at the library. I always had a lot of ideas in my head,” she said, unsure why she was always lost in thought.
She could turn all sorts of bizarre and unusual ideas into new stories.
“That’s creative thinking, something others wish they had,” Fu Chengyan said. “Besides, you’re knowledgeable in astronomy and geography, and you’ve done a lot of research in these areas. Combined with your natural talent for writing, it’s no wonder everyone loves your novels.”
Xu Zhizhi shyly murmured in agreement. She also thought she wrote well.
Many people had called or messaged her before, asking if she was willing to sell the rights to her works or adapt them into TV series, but she had refused every time.
She didn’t want the hassle, didn’t want to meet strangers, and, more importantly, didn’t want her hard work to be criticized and arbitrarily altered by outsiders.
“What do you think of apocalyptic fiction?”
Fu Chengyan wasn’t familiar with the genre. “If you write it, it’ll definitely be good.”
Xu Zhizhi blinked. “I haven’t written it yet.”
“I know you wouldn’t write blindly—you must have your own ideas and have already done some research, or you’ve read novels in this genre,” Fu Chengyan affirmed. “Since you already have ideas, try writing them out and be more innovative.”
Besides, it’s normal for characters to die frequently in apocalyptic stories, so the comment section probably won’t be as harsh anymore.
“Have you read the novels I wrote?” Xu Zhizhi asked curiously.
“Do you want me to read them?”
“You can read them and give me suggestions. I don’t know if others think my writing is good or not.”
Fu Chengyan paused before speaking. “Have you read the comments?”
Xu Zhizhi shook her head. “I don’t dare.”
“Why?”
“I’m afraid some people might criticize me,” she said. “But my friend told me that every novel gets criticized, since you can’t ensure everyone will like what you write.”
That’s true, Fu Chengyan thought.
It’s just that you get criticized more than most.
“Sometimes I wonder what others think of the novels I write.”
Fu Chengyan immediately replied, “Don’t worry about others’ opinions. I’ll read them and give you feedback on every single one.”
“Oh,” Xu Zhizhi said. “But do you have time? I’ve written quite a lot.”
“I’m not busy at all,” he lied without batting an eye. “I have plenty of time, and I really enjoy reading novels.”
Especially yours.
Xu Zhizhi happily shared her account with him, including all the books she had written.
This was the first time Fu Chengyan had seen the girl’s computer interface, which was filled with several folders.
“This is just a small part. I have more on my phone and tablet,” the girl said, her eyes sparkling as if sharing her treasures with a close friend.
Fu Chengyan smiled softly, his eyes gentle. “Alright, I’ll read them when I get back.”
“Do you have an account?”
“Yes,” he replied. He had specifically created an account just to follow the girl’s new works.
Xu Zhizhi said excitedly, “Then let me follow you!”
Lin Xitang didn’t like reading novels—she said the dense text made her sleepy.
Zhou Che didn’t have the time. He would read for a while, then get busy, and by the time he returned, he’d have forgotten what he’d read before.
Since he couldn’t connect the plot, he simply gave up.
Fu Chengyan, being tall, picked up his phone, opened the app, pretended to type, and then showed the people he followed to the girl.
“Oh, what’s your username? I’ll follow you.”
“FCY. It’s just the initials of my name.”
Xu Zhizhi nodded and asked curiously, “Why do you like using letters as your username?”
“It’s more convenient,” he said. He couldn’t be bothered to think of a username, and using only symbols had earned him repeated complaints from He Qinrui, who said he looked like a fake account.
He Qinrui never added notes to anyone’s name, so every time he tried to find Fu Chengyan’s WeChat, he had to scroll through his entire contact list.
The problem was, he had thousands of contacts.
Fu Chengyan couldn’t be bothered to argue, but he quietly changed it anyway.
“My username was given to me by my friend. She said it sounded nice.”
Fu Chengyan’s mind stirred slightly, and he casually asked, “Is it the girl you video-called with?”
“Yes.”
Fu Chengyan breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully, it wasn’t that guy.
“It’s almost ten o’clock. I should go,” he said, glancing at the understated black watch on his wrist. “Lock the doors and windows, and get to bed early.”
Xu Zhizhi, as usual, walked him to the elevator, passing by the cleaning robot that had “shown off its skills” earlier. She thought to herself, she should give Fu Chengyan a gift too.
A very special gift—one he could actually use.
“Stop daydreaming, hurry back.” The man locked eyes with her until the elevator doors slowly closed. Only then did Xu Zhizhi turn to leave, thinking to herself that she needed to decide on a gift to buy.