I asked you to write a light novel, but you wrote about living?

In fact, with the technology of this era, there is absolutely no need for a few people to make this special trip.

You can start a holographic meeting at any time, and even if you are in two different regions, you can communicate as if you were face to face.

Manuscripts can be sent directly and read and analyzed in just a few seconds.

But Yu Wen's works are ultimately different from the AI-generated texts on the platform.

The novel "To Live" has proven that some things cannot be judged solely by the emotional curves provided by the backend, nor can they be left to algorithms to make pre-judgments.

Moreover, this time it involves simultaneous release in both the eastern and western regions.

Chang Liren brought the two regional directors along, both to discuss the matter in person and as a sign of the utmost respect that Weiguang could show Yu Wen.

Yu Wen didn't say anything more, turned his wheelchair back to the study, and quickly retrieved the two versions of the manuscript.

"The Old Man and the Sea".

The Old Man and the Sea.

The two manuscripts were sent to the three individuals respectively via the terminal.

The English version was sent to Carter.

The Chinese version was sent to both Chang Liren and Zhou Chenglin.

The terminal vibrated slightly.

Carter looked down and, upon seeing the English title, his expression unconsciously became more serious.

On Chang Liren and Zhou Chenglin's screens, those simple four words also appeared at the same time.

The synopsis of the work is just as simple as that of "To Live," consisting of only one sentence:

A person can be destroyed but not defeated.

The three people paused simultaneously as they flipped through the pages.

Carter stared at the line of English text, his brow furrowing slightly.

Destruction, and failure.

These two words are rarely separated in everyday life.

But when placed here, it's as if a clear boundary has suddenly appeared.

Chang Liren read the sentence aloud in a low voice.

Zhou Chenglin didn't reply, but just looked at the introduction again.

He kept thinking about it the whole way: how could such a short book make readers in two different regions stop reading?

He had already paused on that sentence for several seconds before the main text even opened.

At least this one sentence carries weight.

Carter looked up.

"Is this a direct quote from the book?"

"Um."

Yu Wen nodded.

Carter didn't ask any more questions and lowered his head to open the main text.

Chang Liren and Zhou Chenglin also fell down.

The three people who were just chatting suddenly found seats and sat down.

No one spoke anymore.

They originally only planned to do a quick scan first.

After all, the book is only about 50,000 words long, and the actual distribution plan will be discussed after we finish reading it. There is no need to read it in too much detail from the beginning.

However, once the text was opened, all three of them slowed down their reading speed.

The story begins surprisingly simply.

An old man.

A small boat.

No fish were caught for eighty-four consecutive days.

The old man was just too old, thin and haggard, with many marks left on his body from the sun and sea breeze.

His sails were patched up, making it look like a flag that had been perpetually defeated.

But those eyes alone haven't aged.

【Everything about him was old except his eyes and they were the same color as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated.】

(Everything about him seemed ancient, except for his eyes, which were as blue as the sea, cheerful and unyielding.)

Chang Liren paused his finger on the screen for a moment when he saw this.

He suddenly understood why the introduction included that sentence.

The old man had been losing money for eighty-four days.

But reading this far doesn't make you feel like he really lost.

Zhou Chenglin was still subconsciously observing the rhythm of the opening.

Whether the first paragraph can hold the reader's attention, how long the characters appear, and whether the conflict is clear enough—these have become his professional habits over the years.

However, as I looked around, those habitual judgments gradually faded away.

The old man did not suffer exaggerated humiliation, nor did he swear to the sea to prove himself.

He simply packed his fishing gear calmly, preparing to go out to sea again on the eighty-fifth day.

But the calmer it is, the more you can't help but keep watching.

Because he didn't seem to have any intention of giving up.

Carter was slower than the other two.

He was reading the original English manuscript.

What he noticed first was not the old man's failure to catch fish for eighty-four consecutive days, nor the tattered sail that resembled a "flag of perpetual defeat."

Rather, it's the details scattered throughout the text:

Fishermen, bays, sardines, and shark processing plants.

When the east wind blows, a stench wafts from the shark processing plant across the bay.

Carter paused slightly as he turned the page upon seeing this sentence.

He was all too familiar with that smell.

Similar processing plants still exist near some old ports on the west coast.

When the wind is not blowing in the right direction, the fishy smell can travel far along the sea, and even the windows of shops on the street have to be closed in advance.

The information can, of course, also find the processing plant.

But few people would have imagined that the smell would drift on the wind from the other side of the bay to the fishermen.

Carter continued reading.

When the old man's name was mentioned for the first time, his eyebrows twitched slightly.

【"Santiago," the boy said.】

(“Santiago,” the child said.)

This is indeed a name that fits the West Coast background very well.

However, that's all.

Since the decision was made to write a story about the West Coast, giving the characters a common local name was the simplest and most convenient shortcut.

Just like those exotic novels mass-produced in the Eastern region, as long as you stuff in a few tongue-twisting names, add a church and a cup of coffee, you dare to claim that you have the authentic West Coast style.

Having the right name doesn't mean your life will be right.

But then, a conversation between the old man and the child made Carter's gaze stop.

【「Can I go out to get sardines for you for tomorrow?」】

("Should I get you some sardines for tomorrow?")

【「No.Go and play baseball.I can still row and Rogelio will throw the net.」】

("No. Let's go play baseball. I'm good at rowing; Rocherio will cast the net for me.")

baseball.

Carter stared at the word, his heart suddenly skipping a beat.

This isn't a decoration that was awkwardly inserted just to prove the story takes place on the West Coast.

The old man spoke very naturally.

In his life, children playing baseball was as commonplace as fishermen going out to sea or grocery stores buying on credit; it required no explanation.

Carter suddenly remembered his childhood.

Back then, my dad would always turn on his terminal in the evening to watch the day's baseball league games.

There used to be team posters on the walls of my house, and there's an old glove with peeling skin in the cabinet.

Although baseball is now more popular than football and basketball, it was a sport that swept the West Coast and dominated for nearly a century when their parents were young.

At that time, everyone assumed that baseball was the number one sport on the West Coast, and that football and basketball were no match for it.

Almost every kid in the neighborhood can rattle off the names of several teams.

Carter unconsciously leaned forward a little.

Then, more familiar things began to appear.

The elderly and children talked about the baseball league, about the teams and stars who had long been integrated into local life;

As they passed the grocery store, they talked about the food, lottery tickets, and beer they had bought on credit, just like any ordinary person who lives a frugal life but still occasionally hopes for a stroke of good luck.

Next came that not-so-sumptuous dinner.

["Black beans and rice, fried bananas, and some stew."]

(Black bean rice, fried bananas, and some vegetables.)

By this point, Carter had completely forgotten that he had originally come with the intention of reviewing the manuscript.

These things are too small.

Even the smallest of these points, taken individually, are hardly remarkable in terms of historical research.

But when they are put together, they form a life that cannot be faked.

Just as to describe someone doing something superfluous, people from the East might say "taking off your pants to fart," while people from the West Coast would say "spreading butter on bacon."

You can look up the meaning of this sentence and also translate it accurately.

But only those who truly live on that land know when it should be spoken and in what tone.

The novel before us is just like that.

Yu Wen did not deliberately emphasize that this was the West Coast.

There are no lengthy descriptions of local culture, nor is there a tendency to throw in a foreign term every few lines.

But the sea breeze, food, baseball, grocery stores, and the way fishermen speak all grow naturally into the story.

It's as if the person who wrote these words truly sat by the harbor, watching the fishing boats sail out before dawn.

He even personally touched those ropes that had hardened from salt and the sun.

Carter watched more and more slowly, and his understanding deepened with each passing moment.

He would occasionally stop, not because he had discovered any error, but because a detail that was all too familiar suddenly triggered his memory.

By the time he came to his senses, he had already read several thousand words.

He had completely forgotten about the sounds in the living room, the tea on the table, and even Chang Liren and Zhou Chenglin sitting not far away.

All he could see was the sea and the little boy.

And that old man named Santiago.