Don't Imagine a Pink Elephant

Chapter 95 Don't Imagine a Pink Elephant

"Chen Qingluo, is everything you wrote in your essay true?"

"……real."

"So, you really have a migrant worker uncle who got his foot run over by a bicycle while drunk, resulting in a festering wound that led to amputation, but then studied hard and got into Nanjing University?"

"...Wang Zixu, classmate."

Chen Qingluo turned around—even now, he still remembers her sparkling eyes, as black as the night sky and as bright as the stars.

"What's wrong?"

"You're an idiot."

The story always begins with two idle young people, preferably on a sunny day with a gentle breeze, and everything looks so vibrant.

Deep within Prince Xu's mysterious palace of memories, there was a particularly vibrant spot—he and Chen Qingluo walked one after the other on the playground's synthetic track, which was entirely crimson against a clear blue sky.

Chen Qingluo wore a sports short-sleeved shirt, her arms, exposed outside the shirt, were as smooth as mutton fat. She wore blue school uniform trousers, her ankles slender and cute. Her high ponytail swayed in the air, making her appear somewhat naive and innocent. Therefore, when she called him an idiot, he didn't feel angry.

"I've already told you that writing essays is micro-fiction, writing novels is large-scale fiction, and classic works are super fiction. I've already said all that, and you still ask me if I have such a second uncle? You idiot, do you really think Maupassant had an uncle named Jules?"

"What? Jules is fake?!"

"...You win."

After walking for a while, getting a bit further away from the other students, Wang Zixu asked again, "But what you wrote feels so real, almost like it actually happened. It's impossible for something made up to be so real..."

"Why is it impossible?"

"what?"

"I asked you why it's impossible?"

Chen Qingluo turned to look at Wang Zixu. Perhaps seeing his blank expression, she frowned, reached out, and gently patted his forehead.

Before her fingertips touched his forehead, she had already released her pressure, so to Prince Xu, it felt like she was just patting his head. Although the pat was very quick.

Chen Qingluo said, "I ask you, do pink elephants exist in this world?"

Wang Zixu said, "I think maybe, probably, there isn't any. Even if there is, it certainly isn't pure pink."

"Can you imagine a pure pink elephant?"

"……able."

Have you ever dreamed of flying in the sky?

"I've done it."

"How did you fly in your dream?"

The prince spread his arms out like a swallow: "With a wave of my hands, I can glide through the air."

"Could you even fly if you did that in real life?"

"cannot."

Chen Qingluo tucked a strand of hair behind her ear: "Let me tell you, you big idiot, human imagination is very powerful, powerful enough to create something out of nothing."

"I don't have a second uncle. If I did, he'd probably work in an auto parts factory, have thinning hair, suffer from frozen shoulder, have calluses on his hands with black grime between his fingers, and always smell of engine oil. He'd like to eat meat, watch sports, and love rainy days..."

"You see, as long as you keep fleshing out the details, he will eventually become a living, breathing person, as if he were living among us. That's the power of imagination. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Wang Zixu said. "But if he has frozen shoulder, he can't possibly like rainy days, because his shoulder will hurt when it rains."

Chen Qingluo said, "I deliberately left a loophole to test you. Hmm, you passed."

Wang Zixu said, "Really? But I feel like you just didn't write it well."

"How could I not have woven it well? Even if I hadn't, you wouldn't have noticed. You idiot, you can't even see that. You're usually so smart, but sometimes why are you so stupid..."

The blush on Chen Qingluo's face was very light, so light that it was almost invisible in the sunlight; it was a lovely pink.

Here, a branch of memory emerges: one version says that Wang Zixu was stunned until Chen Qingluo rolled her eyes at him, bringing him back to his senses; another version says that Wang Zixu was not stunned at all, appearing quite calm, but even while doing his test during evening self-study, he was still wondering whether she had blushed.

But in either case, Chen Qingluo didn't actually blush. He could imagine a pink elephant, but he couldn't imagine a blushing Chen Qingluo.

……

Wang Zixu opened his eyes and first glanced at his phone. It was 6:50 a.m., a little later than yesterday.

He got up decisively, quickly dressed, and knocked on the scriptwriters' doors one by one.

"Get up and exercise now, time waits for no one."

Every time they knocked on a door, a painful groan came from inside. It's quite amusing. It seems they haven't adapted to this high-intensity lifestyle and need more exercise.

When he arrived at Ye Lan's door, he didn't knock and went straight downstairs to do warm-up exercises.

It took half an hour for everyone to finish washing up. They arrived in a scattered manner, looking completely exhausted and shapeless. Under Prince Xu's devilish urging, they listlessly ran off into the distance.

At nine o'clock, Ye Lan also woke up. She hurriedly dressed in her room, put on stockings, applied foundation, patted her face, drew her eyebrows, and permed her hair. When she came out, Wang Zixu was still writing his essay.

While baking bread for herself, Ye Lan took out her phone to read the news, while Wang Zixu's hands were typing away on the keyboard.

She brought out a bag of freshly baked bread, sat down opposite Wang Zixu, and said while eating, "Wow, the highway has collapsed again. I'm afraid to drive on the highway now."

Wang Zixu didn't answer, and she didn't mind. She cleared her throat and continued broadcasting: "Local news from Xihe: Chen Qingluo and Ning Chunyan will both be participating in this Xihe Literary Gathering as judges."

Prince Xu's hand, which was typing, froze, hanging in mid-air.

Ye Lan looked at him with a mischievous smile: "What's wrong, are you tempted? I heard these two are top beauties in the literary world. If you write a good essay, you might even have a chance to meet them."

"Oh." Prince Xu lowered his head and continued typing.

Ye Lan asked, "You know them?"

"I don't know him."

"Then you should work hard on your essays. If you write well, they will personally present you with the award, and the entire Xihe literary world will envy you."

"Don't talk to me, I'm busy right now."

Ye Lan wrinkled her nose.

She stuffed the last piece of bread into her mouth, clapped her hands, walked to Prince Xu's side, and pointed her finger like a knife, stabbing Prince Xu's ribs.

"I thought you were going to sleep all day. You only slept for a few hours? How come you still have so much energy?"

"I slept for four and a half hours. That's enough."

Ye Lan then poked him, "Did you carry me upstairs yesterday?"

Wang Zixu said, "No. It was the poet who lifted you up."

Ye Lan said, "The poet said it was you."

Sartre appeared out of nowhere, laughing gleefully, "Haha, I knew she'd pick a fight with you!"

Wang Zixu ignored him and said to Ye Lan, "The poet is lying."

"Nonsense, women don't lie to other women."

Sartre sat down beside him and told him, "She just wants a chance to talk to you. Women's emotional needs are so strange."

"I know."

Ye Lan asked, "What do you know?"

Wang Zixu said, "I know you weren't actually drunk yesterday. Who gets drunk after half a case of beer? Beer only fills your stomach, it won't make you drunk."

Ye Lan blushed instantly, slapped him on the back, and whispered:

"But I blew it all in one go. And I don't actually have a high alcohol tolerance. By the way, don't change the subject, you carried me upstairs yesterday, didn't you?"

Wang Zixu lowered his head and typed, using the remaining capacity of his brain to answer her: "A poet is a novelist."

"Yes, so what?"

"Don't believe what a novelist says. They can spout any lie they want."

"Aren't you a novelist too?"

Sartre cautioned, "You performed too well yesterday and scored very high on her. This kind of perfunctory response won't get rid of her. You have to respond directly, or she'll keep bothering you all day."

Old Sartre's words were true. Wang Zixu finally gave up struggling and looked up at Ye Lan: "Then let me tell you the truth. Yesterday, I helped you upstairs with the poet."

"You should have just said so earlier, instead of stammering."

"Mainly because you are heavy."

"Pah! You're the heavy one, you weigh as much as a pig!" Ye Lan said, her face turning red with anger.

After a moment of anger, she suddenly calmed down and said, "I'm not here to cause you any trouble, so what are you afraid of? Actually, I want to thank you."

She paused, then said, "I bought a new Tesla. My old Audi is a bit gas-guzzling, so I'm not driving it anymore. You don't have a car, right? Once the new car arrives, you can borrow the old one. Do you have a driver's license?"

"Yes. But I haven't used it much because I don't have a car," Wang Zixu said. "Thank you."

Ye Lan patted her chest and said, "No need to thank me, what can I do? We're partners now."

"Oh. Okay." Prince Xu showed no passion whatsoever, which greatly disappointed Ye Lan.

Ye Lan stood with her hands behind her back, looked down at him for a long time, and asked:

"You've only slept four hours, are you really okay? There are still more than ten days to go, can you handle it?"

Wang Zixu stared at the screen, his hands still working: "I don't know either. My heart is a little sore right now, and I have tinnitus. But I can't afford to slack off. My original plan didn't include writing this essay, so I have to squeeze out some time to write it."

"You want to do both things well, right? But you should still take care of your health. I'm really afraid you'll suddenly die here."

Wang Zixu was typing on the keyboard when he suddenly stopped, frowned, and seemed to be puzzled by something.

After a while, he turned to look at Ye Lan: "Extend your hand."

"What?" Ye Lan was startled by the sudden commanding tone and took a step back.

"Stretch out."

Ye Lan extended her hand, and Wang Zixu placed his hand flat on hers: "My hand isn't shaking?"

Ye Lan shook her head: "No."

"Extend your other hand."

Ye Lan obeyed blankly. She herself didn't know why she was being so obedient. Anyway, as soon as Wang Zixu's eyes were fixed on her, she had no thought of resisting.

Prince Xu extended his other hand and placed it on hers: "What about this one? Is it shaking?"

"without."

Wang Zixu's hands were warm and broad, while Ye Lan's hands were icy cold. Their hands met in mid-air for a moment. Wang Zixu then withdrew his hand.

"If your hands aren't shaking, it means you're okay. You won't die anytime soon. It won't affect your writing."

"Where did you get this barefoot doctor's diagnostic method from?" Ye Lan rolled her eyes at him, her heart pounding wildly.

"Aren't you going to the company yet? You're already late."

"It's nothing, I just told you something came up and you were delayed."

"I will tell Zuo Ziliang that nothing is wrong here."

"You bastard!"

Wang Zixu was practically kicking her out. Ye Lan was both ashamed and angry. After cursing, she fled in panic, hiding in her Audi 4WD and sitting in the driver's seat, panting heavily.

"Ye Lan is doomed, doomed... He must have figured it out, and he's gloating right now."

She looked at herself in the rearview mirror and found her face was completely red. Then, pointing at the mirror with a reproachful expression, she said:

"Why did you provoke him? He's the Little Prince, have you forgotten?"

She calmed herself down. Because the contrast between Wang Zixu's real self and his image was so great, she often forgot that he was actually quite capable. He had the potential to be a scumbag.

She felt a lingering fear, but also a sense of relief: thank goodness he got married. Marriage was like sealing this guy away.

Regardless of what his wife is like, we should thank her for her contributions to the world.

She started the car, which wobbled and twisted like a snake until it got onto the main road and started moving in a straight line.

As the scriptwriters passed by on their run, Sakura and the others waved to the car.

Ye Lan rolled down the car window, and people greeted her with smiles, saying, "President Ye, you're leaving?"

"Oh, right," Ye Lan said, "I have to go back to work."

"Are you coming again tonight? The barbecue at that place last night was pretty good."

Ye Lan waved her hand: "No, no, I'm still feeling hungover. Playing like this every day is taking a toll on my body."

"Oh……"

People drew out their words, clearly disappointed.

Ye Lan thought for a moment and then said, "I'll come over to sleep again tonight. If your turnover breaks the record again today, I'll treat you to a late-night snack."

"Yay!" people cheered.

Ye Lan rolled up the car window, and people behind him shouted, "Mr. Ye, your seatbelt isn't on!"

……

In the apartment, Wang Zixu typed on the keyboard: "...Her hair was slightly disheveled, and there was a glimmer in her eyes..."

Sartre slumped over the table and said, "You've gone a bit too far."

"What's wrong?"

"You can't write a satisfactory description, so you just start experimenting on the people around you, huh?" Sartre said. "What if you run into problems?"

Sartre may be a scoundrel, but he always hit the nail on the head.

Wang Zixu had just reached a crucial point in his writing but couldn't find the right ideas, so he subtly intervened with Ye Lan. The reaction was quite satisfactory. However, this also indicated that his symptoms were about to spread into reality. That's why Sartre was worried about him.

"I'm not trying to defend myself... the main problem is that I'm really lacking in describing women's expressions. Chen Qingluo is wrong; imagination has its limits. I can imagine a very realistic man, but I can't imagine a woman that realistic."

"Shen Qingfeng does this very well; he can truly capture the feeling of being moved when he writes about women, but I can't. I have too little interaction with young women. I've been numb for too long, and I really don't know what it feels like to be moved anymore."

Sartre's expression was serious: "Even if you're numb, you can't try to get a feeling by messing with real people, can you? Be careful you don't turn into a scumbag."

"Even if I'm a jerk, it's none of your business to say that, is it?"

Sartre said, "Besides, can't you just go to a bar and flirt with a complete stranger? Don't you understand the saying 'a rabbit doesn't eat the grass near its burrow'?"

"So you know the saying 'a rabbit doesn't eat the grass near its burrow' again. Have you forgotten what you said yesterday?" Wang Zixu said. "Sigh, don't bother me, I really don't have time right now."

Sartre said, "I'm just giving you a friendly reminder: writing novels is important, but don't let it affect your own life."

Wang Zixu said, "I don't think there's anything more important in this world than writing novels. Including my own life. Sartre, you've become worldly."

"Awesome," Sartre exclaimed sincerely. "You are truly a literary martyr. I hope your fate will match the extent of your passion."

Wang Zixu remained silent. He never considered himself to be insane. He was simply forced into it by life's circumstances.

Sartre fell silent. The world had barely quieted down when Prince Xu's phone vibrated again.

He glanced at the screen and saw that it was Hu Xiaoping from his workplace calling.

(End of this chapter)