Fantasy Writers 1860

"Hello, Ms. Dis... Ms. Liffie." Dorian found the name quite difficult to pronounce, and he had never heard anyone with that name before.

Disifee nodded slightly, a barely perceptible smile flashing in her deep, lake-like blue eyes: "No need to be so formal, Mr. Dorian." Her voice was clear and melodious, carrying a composure that did not match her appearance.

Although it's a bit impolite to say it like that, it does give off a deep and profound feeling.

"Come with me." Dislife said with a faint smile.

Dorian then left the large desk with the typewriter and followed Disliffe and Lily through several wooden doors with intricate carvings into a quieter room.

Dorian's first notice was that the bookshelves here were taller and denser than those outside, row after row, making it feel more like an archive than an office.

Dislife walked behind the large walnut desk and sat down, with only her head floating above the surface. She gestured for Dorian to sit in the armchair opposite her, while Lily stood to one side of the desk, still with that aloof expression.

Dislife's long, slender fingers tapped lightly on the table. Her gaze fell on Dorian, and she spoke slowly, "Lily is usually a quiet child; she probably hasn't introduced us to you yet, has she?"

"Our Cultural Policy Institute, officially known as the Royal Institute of Cultural Policy under the Imperial Department of Culture, Arts and Libraries, ostensibly manages books, formulates cultural policies, surveys public opinion, and funds cultural and artistic endeavors..."

She paused, her gaze shifting to the towering bookshelves. "But in reality, our true responsibility is to manage the Phantom Books and handle incidents involving them."

"So, what exactly is the Phantom Book?" Dorian asked.

Disliffe stood up, walked slowly to the nearest bookshelf, and took out an old, sturdy tome from it:

"The Phantom Book is a book that carries unique power. It is a book that records various 'powers' such as lightning strikes, methods of summoning monsters, and obtaining demonic power. It is a Phantom Book that should not exist in the world."

"They can be the notes of ancient magicians, the poetry collections of great poets, novels, plays, or even musical scores... Anything recognized by the world as an immortal masterpiece will become a phantom book."

"Each fantasy book contains a different kind of extraordinary power, ranging from small things like avoiding misfortune and manipulating people's hearts, to large things like creating barriers and destroying cities and countries."

Dorian was somewhat surprised: "A book... can have this kind of power?"

Disrife, clutching the thick book, turned to face Dorian. "If interpreted correctly, the Book of Illusions will bestow immeasurable blessings upon its owner; conversely, if it falls into the hands of an unworthy person, it will cross the boundaries of the world, disrupting the laws and causality of this realm..."

"...And the duty of our Academy of Literature is to find, collect, study, and seal these phantom books to ensure that they do not harm the world."

"I suppose fantasy books are created by writers, right? So what exactly is the standard? I just wrote some jokes, how did they become fantasy manuscripts that haven't even been published yet?"

This is the issue that Dorian cares about.

When he was creating "The Million Pound Note" a few days ago, why didn't he see the manuscript glow? Why didn't it turn into a phantom book? Does this mean "The Million Pound Note" is inferior to Soviet jokes? What kind of judging standard is this?

"A truly excellent writer is one who can express in words what everyone has in their heart but no one can put into words. And the great works created by excellent writers become mythical books."

"This standard, and the timing of becoming a phantom book, are judged by the natural laws at the bottom of the world." Dislife sat back in her high-backed chair and casually placed the book in her hand on the table.

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The fundamental laws of nature in the world?

Well, that's like saying nothing at all; it just means there's no definite answer.

"The creation of the Phantom Book is not without cost. After all, it is the third force that constitutes the world, transcending magic and divine arts. This also means that it is not something that can be easily obtained." Just as Dorian looked suspicious, Dislife suddenly brought up this topic in a calm manner.

Dorian was immediately jolted.

He only just thought of this problem.

It is said that every gift from fate comes with a price tag in secret, and the idea of ​​easily obtaining great power without paying anything probably only exists in scams.

"So, what's the price?" Dorian inexplicably gripped the armrest of the chair.

This time, Dislife didn't answer immediately. Instead, she lowered her head and gently stroked the cover of the book on the table, suddenly becoming playful: "This is internal information, something you can't know unless you become one of us."

Dorian: ...

Hard fishing, right?

Seeing Dorian speechless, looking both amused and exasperated, Lily, who had been standing beside him, said, "With each fantasy book written, the author loses a portion of their related experiences and memories. Until their soul is completely hollowed out, they become a mindless abomination born from the tide of nothingness."

"What exactly are the Tide of Nothingness and the Void Spawn?"

"This is even more insider information, and even within our Academy of Literature, it's not something just anyone can know." Disrife wasn't annoyed by Lily's loose tongue at all; instead, she looked at Dorian with a half-smile.

Dorian felt that Lily's seemingly well-intentioned revelation of "insider information" was actually a deliberate attempt to lure him in.

"Wait, does this mean that the nourishment for a fantasy book comes from the author's memories and experiences? If it's about things the author didn't experience, does that mean it can't become a fantasy book?"

"In fact, generally speaking, authors simply cannot write about things they haven't experienced," Disliffe replied.

"Of course, it's quite complex in detail; for example, experiences can be divided into direct experiences and indirect experiences..."

No wonder the world is so lacking in art and literature. If you can't write about something you haven't experienced, how can you unleash your imagination and create anything? How many things can a person experience in a lifetime?

At the same time, Dorian also had a bold idea:

According to this theory, one's own Soviet jokes and million-pound gold pound could be used to explain similar absurd situations or encounters with money-worshipping people...

So, can one create things that one has seen in a previous life but that do not yet exist in this world?

What will happen if I insist on writing it? Will I be unable to write it, or will I be punished by the laws of the world? Or will this rule become completely ineffective for me?

According to the principle that "you can't create without experiencing," if I can create a work that is impossible to be born in this era; a work that surpasses the limits of contemporary people's imagination; a work that only a time traveler from the future like me could write, wouldn't that prove that I am not bound by this principle?

Conversely, since "you can't create without experiencing" is considered a fundamental principle in this world, wouldn't one's groundbreaking works prove to others that one has indeed had the corresponding experiences?

If I were to write a novel called "The Three-Body Problem", would it make people truly believe that the Dark Forest Theory exists, that aliens are really coming to get us, and that I have actually experienced it?

What kind of person do I have to be?!