48 Hours a Day

In the blink of an eye, Zhang Heng had been staying at the manor for three years. His writing skills had already reached Level 2 a year ago, just like the best-selling female fantasy writers.

It had to be said that the environment of the manor was perfect for practicing writing. After all, there was only one chance to live with the world's most outstanding authors.

Even though these writers had some minor flaws, such as Hemingway's addiction to alcohol, Mark Twain's venomous tongue, and the fact that they were the best writers in the world.., fitzgerald felt dizzy whenever he saw a woman... but their talents could not be denied, and most importantly, there was nothing else to do in the manor, they were also willing to answer Zhang Heng's various questions and help him read his newly created article.

That afternoon, Hemingway was reading a novella that Zhang Heng had just written. After reading it, he put down the manuscript in his hand and frowned.

"How is it?"Zhang Heng asked.

"The technique is impeccable. I have nothing more to teach you, but I feel like something is missing from this article."

"Emotion."Fitzgerald hit the nail on the head.

"That's right."Hemingway lit a cigar, "Although there are some schools that emphasize that the narrator should maintain an objective perspective, this doesn't mean that there are no feelings in their article. They just place these feelings on the various characters in the book, and let them show the feelings of the author."

Hemingway paused at this point, "Speaking of which, I've always felt a little strange. When I first met you, I thought you were the type of person who didn't show emotions. However, after interacting with you for a long time, I realized that you've never been angry or especially happy. Have you always been like this? Your Spirit... rarely fluctuates?"

"Not always. I used to have normal feelings. Although they were slightly weaker than ordinary people, because of certain things, my feelings gradually disappeared and became what they are now,"Zhang Heng said.

"No offense, but if possible, I am willing to pay to let what happened to you happen to me,"Fitzgerald said gloomily.

Hemingway did not think much of it. "Without experiencing these fragile moments, it is impossible to write truly strong words."After saying that, he turned to look at Zhang Heng, "Your problem is troublesome. Although you only pursue rapid popularity, it is impossible for any kind of literary work to be devoid of feelings."

"It's not completely unsolvable,"Marquez interjected, "If it's just the level of popularity of a book, it's enough to fake some emotion into it. Even though this kid doesn't have any emotion, if he were to read more than a dozen novels that talk about emotion, he would still be able to imitate cats and Tigers."

"I'm sorry, I might not have made it clear before. My new book does pursue rapid popularity, but there's another important point. I want the readers to really believe the stories in the books,"Zhang Heng said.

"It's hard to believe a story without a strong emotional foundation,"Fitzgerald said, "After all, reading for pleasure is one thing, but truly touching the readers is another. You need to put your own emotions into it first, so that it can resonate with your readers."

His words also attracted the approval of several writers present.

However, Hemingway patted Zhang Heng on the shoulder. "You don't have to worry. After all, there are so many of us here. If we work together, we can help you come up with a solution."

..

After returning from Hemingway's author gathering, Zhang Heng did not return to his room directly.

Instead, he turned around and went to the kitchen. Ever since his writing skill had leveled up to level 2, Zhang Heng could clearly feel that it was becoming increasingly difficult to improve it further, otherwise, the best-selling female author of fantasy novels would not have been unable to reach level 3 even after so long.

This was no longer just a matter of skill. It involved a writer's understanding and refinement of his own life, as well as his view of the world around him. Zhang Heng was not lacking in experience, or to be more precise, there was no one in this manor who had a richer life experience than him. Even the legendary Hemingway might not be as exciting as a dungeon run by Zhang Heng.

However, refining and integrating these experiences into his own writing was not something that could be accomplished overnight. It still needed a process of accumulation.

Zhang Heng was not in a hurry. After all, including his extra 24 hours, he had only stayed in this dungeon for less than a third of the time. However, before his writing skills reached Level 2, he temporarily put aside some things, he could continue.

For example, the mysterious room 515.

It was said that the most mysterious author of the entire manor lived there. No one had ever seen him walk out of his room. Even the windows of the usual room were covered tightly by curtains.

For this reason, some people could not help but tease that there lived an old vampire who had lived for hundreds of years. The people of the inference society firmly believed that the owner of the manor lived in that room.

After living in the manor for two years, Zhang Heng was more and more inclined to agree with their point of view.

The reason was simple. Zhang Heng had already eliminated all the other suspects, whether they were the guests or the service staff.

It was as if you were doing a multiple choice question. After eliminating all the wrong choices, the remaining one, no matter how bizarre, should be the correct answer.

However, Zhang Heng had been rejected several times before. Strictly speaking, after he knocked on the door and announced his name, there was no reaction. It was as if no one lived there at all.

So this time, Zhang Heng decided to use another method. He walked into the kitchen and said to the head chef, "I'd like to order a dish."

"Of course, the manor will meet all the guests'requirements,"the head chef said respectfully.

"I want to eat dry-fried beef river, but the dry-fried beef river I want is more special. I remember that when I was traveling in Guangdong, I once ate a bowl of beef river at a food stall. It's the best beef river I've ever eaten. I want to eat a beef river that tastes the same as the one I had that day."

Facing this obviously difficult request, the head chef still appeared polite. "Okay, can you tell me the name of that food stall?"

"No, I've already forgotten."

Hearing this answer, the head chef's face finally revealed a troubled expression, but he was still very respectful, "Okay, we can try to make it, but I'm afraid we'll have to try it more often. Also, we need you to give us feedback in time."

"No problem,"Zhang Heng said.

Two hours later, the whole kitchen was drenched in sweat. They surrounded Zhang Heng and watched nervously as he tasted the unknown number of bowls of Milky Way.

Zhang Heng picked up a stick of milky way powder with his chopsticks and placed a piece of beef into his mouth. He closed his eyes and chewed slowly. After about ten seconds, Zhang Heng put down his chopsticks and nodded. "This is the taste."

Instantly, the entire kitchen erupted in cheers. It was as if the scientists in the research institute had just solved a world problem.