A Word on Release

I never imagined I would one day be writing a note to mark my book’s release, yet here I am, overwhelmed with emotion, my thoughts surging in waves, as though I had a thousand words to say and no idea where to begin. So I shall summarize it in a simple thirty-two words:

Three years of writing, ten books that flopped;
At thirty, I have settled into manhood, yet accomplished nothing;
Looking back, the past is too painful to behold;
Looking ahead, where does the road lie?

So for this pen name, I chose a small goal: finish the book first, and speak of everything else later.

When I think of a release note, one vivid memory comes to mind, stirring my heart and leaving me unable to calm myself for a long while.

I remember reading one failed writer’s note, and in order to coax a few more subscriptions, he actually called his readers “dads.”

When I saw that note, it struck my heart like a hammer. My ears rang, my blood pressure surged, and my spirit trembled.

How humble must a person be, how little must he value dignity, to call others father?

Are those two words something one may use so carelessly?

As Mencius said: neither wealth nor rank can corrupt him, neither poverty nor lowliness can change him, neither power nor force can bend him. That is what it means to be a true man.

Yet a full-grown man of stature calling someone else father—was this the decay of human nature, or the collapse of morality?

At that thought, I could not help but think of the father who raised me. Though he did not bring me boundless wealth, he at least cared for me, loved me, and used his sweat-earned money to feed me and send me to school. That is a true father.

I was reminded too of the countless martyrs of the revolution, who shed their blood and gave their lives to build our great nation, all so that every person might live with dignity and stand upright as a human being.

To straighten our spines, to cease being bullied by foreign powers, to proclaim to the world in a ringing voice:

We are the descendants of Hua Xia!
We are the heirs of the dragon!

And yet now, some people, for the sake of money, for so-called subscriptions, trample their dignity into the mud and grind it there, kneeling in the dirt, bowing and weeping, wagging their tails in supplication...

How pitiful!
How tragic!
How lamentable!

A writer, though he writes online fiction, is still meant to convey a certain spirit and promote a culture of positivity and aspiration.

If even the writer himself is so shameless, so devoid of dignity, what value can anything he writes possibly have?

Alas, what else can I do but sigh?

I can only sigh, and I can only borrow the words of Mr. Lu Xun to sigh:

To grieve for their misfortune!
To rage at their failure to strive!

They have already lost the soul of the nation!

At this point, tears streamed down my face. I lifted my head to the sky and let out a long cry:

Fathers, the book is now on sale. Please subscribe!