Story about an joung adult who by coincidence becomes the 2 year long lone Alpha tester of the world's first VRMMO.

(Sorry I hit a writers Block. I will continue this story when I have an Idea where to take it.)

At 12 o'clock sharp.

The auditorium was directly broadcasted live.

The stage was decorated nicely and there were flowers and carpets. A handsome man and a beautiful man presided over the event as hosts. Well, unfortunately, only the staff and family members present at the radio station could witness this. The listeners in front of the radio could not appreciate this, as they could only hear their voices.

"Our listening friends, how are you?"

"I am your host, Zhang Huo. This is my partner, Sun Mengjie."

"People have reunions during the festive season of Mid-Autumn. Welcome to our listeners for today's News, Literature and Music Channels’ live broadcast of the Mid-Autumn Festival Poetry Meet!"

The two hosts were the star hosts of the News Channel, and they were recognized as some of the best in the station. They were steady with their words and rarely made mistakes. Letting them be in charge of this huge event was because they were highly appreciated by the station. After saying a few words of introduction, the two hosts began to introduce today's guests.

"Let us welcome Beijing's Education Ministry's Deputy Director, Chen Kun!"

"Also Beijing Writers’ Association's Vice-President, Teacher Meng Dongguo!"

“Famous poet, Big Thunder!"

"Famous children's fairy tale author, Little Red Mushroom..."

Every introduction was met with applause.

After the introduction, the host, Zhang Huo, said beamingly, "Before the poetry meet begins, let's invite a few Teachers from the Writers' Association to come onstage to recite a poem as an opening. We also wish that the listeners in front of the radio have a good and perfect family. May your dreams come true. And may you have the best of all reunions!"

The poem recitation for the opening was clearly prepared beforehand.

Meng Dongguo was first to go onstage, and then he lightly recited, "Many Mid-Autumns underwent, but together seldom spent. Compensating it today, mellow, as a momento.”

With this sequence recited, everyone present knew what poem they were about to recite to tune up the festive mood. Of course, Zhang Ye himself was probably the only one present who had not heard of this poem.

Big Thunder went onstage, "Through the mirror, possessing two moons."

Zheng Anbang went onstage, "Wrapping silence with a wooden branch."

An old man from the Writers' Association that Zhang Ye did not recognize was the third person to follow up, "Fragrance from one tree lulls."

The last sentence was followed up by Meng Dongguo, ending the poem, "Brimming full of Fall."

Everyone enthusiastically applauded. Zhang Ye also applauded after hearing it. This poem was not bad, it was really not bad. 

This poem was "Time for Well Wishes", written by this world's famous poet, Ma Ruihong. Because of some reason, this poem was made famous everywhere. It was always a highlight of the Mid-Autumn Festival. Only a person like Zhang Ye, who did not understand this world, did not know it. Not many others did not know of "Time for Well Wishes". Anyone of any age and gender, if pulled off the street, would be able to recite it. Yes, if an example was needed, it was the same feeling as "Hoeing millet in mid-day heat, sweat dripping to the earth beneath" in Zhang Ye's world.

Zhang Ye no longer had the intention to belittle all heroes of this world. This world was also filled with capable predecessors.

After the poem was done reciting, Beijing's Education Ministry's Deputy Director, Chen Kun, went to the podium to give his speech. Following that, Deputy Station Head Jia also went onstage to give his speech, wishing everyone a happy Mid-Autumn Festival on behalf of everyone working at the Beijing Radio Station.

After a while, the main highlight came.

The female host, Sun Mengjie, said with a brilliant smile, "Thank you for the speech of the Leader. Next will be the poetry contest segment. Let me introduce the rules. Regardless of whether it is for the poems by the Teachers from the Writers' Association present, or for the poems posted by listeners on our official website, anyone who likes poems can vote three times for the works you like. Today, we have invited a notary from the Chengdong district. We will find out who is voted into the top three. So please, cherish your every vote."

Zhang Huo smiled. "Then, who will be the first Teacher?"

There were more than a dozen people from the Writers' Association. After looking at each other, Meng Dongguo walked forward, "Hurhur. Since no one came forward, then let me be the first. I have a poem." Clenching the microphone, Meng Dongguo stabilized his mind and began speaking gently, "The poem's name: ‘Thoughts of a Rainy Mid-Autumn Night’."

"Abundance of flower blossoms fall, the full moon laments the waning moon."

"Day by day the Spring resides, farewell the twilight bids."

"Thickness begets flourishing, sparseness begets Autumn farewell bidding."

"The supporting pillow hears the thunder, as the stormy rain recalls the night."

Big Thunder was the first to applaud, "Good poem!"

Another youth from the Writers' Association said, "President Meng is getting more superb!"

Zheng Anbang also nodded, "It is well-written. There are too many reunion Mid-Autumn Festival poems these days. This poem reverses the trend, writing about separation, defects and weeping. It may not give people the scene of a family reunion, so it is not suitable for the occasion, but this makes people reflect and treasure the beauty of their reunion even more. This is writing about the Mid-Autumn Festival from another angle. This part of "recalls the night" was so well-written. Hai, I don't even feel confident with my poem."

Little Red Mushroom gave a wide smile, "Old Zheng, don't compete with them. We are novel writers, so wouldn't we die of anger competing with them over poems?"

Zheng Anbang laughed, "Indeed."

The two hosts also flattered onstage. They also introduced them to the listeners since they could not see anything. "This is the Beijing Writers’ Association's Vice President Teacher Meng Dongguo's new work. Wow, just hearing this makes me intoxicated."

Meng Dongguo laughed, "Not really. Hurhur. If the listeners find it good, remember to vote for me. I came here with some stress. If my voting numbers are too low, I won't have any face to go home, so I need to try to garner some votes."

Zhang Huo said, "President Meng is too modest."

"That's right." Sun Mengjie said, "I think this poem has the looks of a champion."

"This is just the first poem, isn’t it?" Zhang Huo pretended to ask.

"Hurhur. Zhang Huo, why don't we make a bet? I'm guessing that this poem will be first." Firstly, Sun Mengjie was giving face to Meng Dongguo. Secondly, she also felt that this poem was very good.

Zhang Huo said, "Alright, so what if we bet? Then I.. will also bet that this poem will be first!"

Seeing the both of them joking around, the audience laughed. Actually, many people agreed. Meng Dongguo was a professional at this, so how can his poems be bad? With his skills placed there, and with Meng Dongguo's status placed there, he was the Writers' Association's Leader and was quite famous in Beijing. He was a veteran. Even if this poem was not flattered by them to the heavens, it was still of very high quality. It was pretty difficult for it not to get first.

Meng Dongguo went down.

The second person was Zheng Anbang. The moment he went onstage, he added onto Meng Dongguo's words, "President Meng said that he was stressed. Actually, my stress is greater. Just being after President Meng, isn't he trying to make a fool out of me? Forget it. I need to say it regardless. I'm not good at ancient poems, so let me help cheer the mood with a modern poem.”

A minute later, he finished.

Everyone was stunned as they all gave a round of applause.

Meng Dongguo praised, "This Little Shen. He kept being modest, but he actually had such a good piece of work."

The other people from the Writers' Association did not expect that a romance novel author could compose such a good modern poem. It might not be better than Meng Dongguo's, but it definitely had what it took to compete for second or third place.

The third to go onstage was a young author. However, he did not recite a poem, but said a phrase, song lyrics. Although there was no companion music, the song lyrics were still vivid and refined. It was very creative.

The fourth person was Little Red Mushroom. The moment she went up, she first said, "Let me say something first. I don't have talent writing poems. I write fairy tales. Today I will tell a fable." She began narrating. The story was about personification, making the moon into a person. It was quite beautiful.

One worked followed another.

One person followed another.

Everyone that entered the Writers' Association was not simple. They all showed their abilities.

The last person to appear was Big Thunder. His poems were always known for their magnificence. It was similar to his character. Hence, the theme of the Mid-Autumn Festival had hindered his abilities slightly. He narrated a melody poem, but the effect was not as satisfactory as he had wished. It did not garner a lot of applause. However, as it had quite a lot of literary value, the melody poem managed to make people reflect a lot. Meng Dongguo and the other Teachers from the Writers' Association also gave him high praises after he came down.

"Big Thunder, it was a nice melody poem."

"Do not care about the applause. It's very good."

"Their applause is lacking because they can't understand it. They have not researched it deeply. If they listen to it several times, after some rumination, they will really find it memorable."

Big Thunder said indifferently, "I also think it's fine."

About an hour after the poetry meet started, it was almost 1 P.M.

The host, Zhang Huo, took over the microphone, "Thank you for the interesting works from the Teachers of the Writers' Association. It was indeed an eye-opener today. Every work really made me wish to not miss a single word. I'm guessing that the listeners in front of the radio must have enjoyed the feast for the ears. What are you hesitating for? Quickly vote for your favorite work. The voting deadline is at 2 P.M. sharp. Just now, the notary has told us that it takes five minutes to verify the votes. Hence, our poetry meet still has one hour and five minutes left. What will we do for the rest of the time? Let us announce the rankings from the voting website. Everyone can have a listen to the submissions by the netizens at the same time, too."

Female host, Sun Mengjie, held a tablet. There was no cellphone reception here, so most of the broadcast equipment was equipped with their own wireless signal. Hence, they could still use them. "Ah, let's see. Ranked first is Teacher Meng Dongguo's work. Let me announce the top ten."

1st place: Meng Dongguo, 23,019 votes.

2nd place: Zheng Anbang, 12,553 votes.

3rd place: Dong Fei, 9,813 votes.

4th place: Little Red Mushroom, 9,681 votes.

And so on and so forth. The top ten were all people from the Writers' Association. Meng Dongguo was leading far ahead. Dong Fei was also a very famous modern poet in the Writers' Association. They all swept up the top spots. Even though Big Thunder's poem was not well-received amongst the station's staff, it had also obtained 10th place. Only at 11th place was there a netizen's work.

The host read it out.

This piece of work called "Wind Breaking Through the Clouds" was not bad. But it was just not bad. There was always a difference between a professional and an amateur. One could tell just from the votes.


Zhang Ye was originally a mundane college graduate with aspiring dreams to become a star, but unfortunately has below average looks and height. However one day, he woke up and suddenly found himself in a parallel world! 
It’s like the same world, but wait a minute…many brands, celebrities and even famous works from his world changed and are gone in this new world! Armed with the profound literary knowledge of his previous world and a heaven-defying Game Ring that gives him magical items, stats and skills, Zhang Ye embarks on a journey to pursue his life-long dream of becoming famous!
Follow Zhang Ye as he takes the new world by storm, one plagiarized piece at a time, to hilarious reactions!

After sending Teacher Qiao off, Pei Qian returned to Shenhua View. First, he went to Zhongdian Chinese Network—a level above Tengda—to walk around. 
At the moment, Zhongdian Chinese Network was quite stable. Most people were just spending time entertaining themselves. 
Traffic on the website was slowly increasing, but on the whole, the website was still doing miserably. What's more, it showed no signs of improvement in the short-term. 
Zhongdian Chinese Network still had a bad reputation on many online literature forums. Most authors saw the website as a scam and strongly dissuaded new writers from working full-time for it. 
Only authors with zero ambition would make Zhongdian Chinese Network their first choice and consider working full-time there for the sake of that bit of remuneration.
Thus, the editors normally only had two things to do. 
Either vet manuscripts or entertain themselves by writing books or playing games. 
Of course, some people—including Zhu Xingan—saw writing the official plot for Repent and be Saved as a form of entertainment. 
However, Repent and be Saved's official novel was placed on the homepage of the website. This caused readers to curse it non-stop. If Zhu Xingan did not have such high tolerance for pressure and a strong mindset, he might have been critically hurt a long time ago. 
The readers were cursing the novel for simple reasons: its plot was complicated and messy, and nothing was satisfying about the story. Everyone felt lost after reading the uploaded chapters.
This thing was probably better off being referred to as a game plot design series as opposed to a novel. It didn't meet the expectations of most readers on the internet. 
Everyone had gotten used to this. Most of them had a 'curse it if you want' approach to the matter. In any case, the plot was meant to serve the game. 
Apart from managing Zhongdian Chinese Network's matters, Ma Yiqun was also managing TPDb's website. At the moment, he was beginning to see results. 
When he saw Boss Pei, Ma Yiqun quickly got someone to serve drinks before personally reporting his recent progress to the former. 
Five minutes later…
Although Ma Yiqun was trying his best to beautify his achievements with respect to Zhongdian Chinese Network, Pei Qian could accurately tell that the website was still a failure. 
"Excellent. Zhongdian Chinese Network is showing signs of improvement, and you're doing a good job with TPDb's website, too. 
"Don't be too preoccupied with results. Just maintain the status quo." 
Pei Qian was very satisfied with Ma Yiqun as an employee. 
Although Ma Yiqun had a very strong work ethic, Pei Qian was ensuring that he could not reach his maximum potential by allocating him to the right places. Pei Qian had to give himself credit where it was due—Ma Yiqun was one of his greatest successes. 
Ever since he took over Zhongdian Chinese Network, the website had been consistently incurring losses. There were few readers and even fewer reliable authors. All of these showed Ma Yiqun's outstanding capabilities. 
Pei Qian felt moved. Ma Yiqun was one of the rare talents whom he really did not need to worry about! 
Noticing that Boss Pei was in quite a good mood, Ma Yiqun hesitated. He wondered if he should talk about what had been on his mind for a long time. 
After some consideration, he decided to speak up. 
"Boss Pei, I have a thought—or rather, suggestion—for Zhongdian Chinese Network." 
"Oh? Let me hear it." Pei Qian was slightly surprised, but he did not overreact. 
Ma Yiqun gravely misunderstood online novels, but he was quite an intelligent man. He had been the CEO of Zhongdian Chinese Network for a long time. Pei Qian expected him to develop his own ideas for the future of the website. 
Ma Yiqun said, "Boss Pei, I've given it some thought. At the moment, Zhongdian Chinese Network's biggest problem is that we can't increase our mid-tier writers' income. 
"Low-tier writers have a sense of security thanks to the basic remuneration.
"However, it's almost impossible for these low-tier writers to try to move upwards to the middle tier and hope to support their families or earn their living solely from subscriptions.
"Our website has too few readers. We can't generate enough subscriptions. Even if an author manages to produce a good book, he will be limited by the website's number of visitors. There's a low chance that his book would become popular."
Pei Qian nodded. 
That's right. I thought about this problem earlier. I just had to act like I didn't know about it so that the website would continue incurring losses…
Yet, now that Ma Yiqun had mentioned it, Pei Qian could no longer act unaware. He could only nod along and express his agreement.
After all, it would seem too fake if the intelligent Boss Pei did not understand this problem.
Ma Yiqun continued, "So I thought of a way to resolve this. 
"We should artificially give mid-tier writers a boost until they reach the possible income that top-tier writers could earn. If there aren't enough subscriptions, we will fork out the rest of the money to supplement their income. 
"Imagine if a good book appears on our website. If its quality is as good as the elite books on Infinite Chinese Network, we can fork out money to supplement the author's subscription earnings.
"This way, low-tier writers do not have to worry about being buried in our website.
Pei Qian fell silent for a moment. "That sounds reasonable, but how do we judge whether a book has achieved top-tier standard?" 
Ma Yiqun replied, "On one hand, we can depend on figures on the website, such as the ratio of the number of subscriptions to the total number of paying readers, votes, clicks, and the like. On the other hand, we can also judge the quality ourselves.
"Only I will be able to make the call on this." 
Ma Yiqun had not only discovered the problem today. However, he had to develop this solution and pluck up the courage to bring it up. It was not easy. 
Until now, Ma Yiqun had been apprehensive and afraid that Boss Pei would be angry. 
This was because he knew the suggestion was extremely bold to make. He was essentially asking for a lot of discretionary power. 
If an elite writer was to earn ten thousand yuan in terms of royalties, but Zhongdian Chinese Network only paid hundreds of yuan as basic pay, it meant that the website would have to fork out the rest of the sum. 
If there were ten or twenty authors who could achieve top-tier writing, the website would have to fork out at least a hundred or two hundred thousand yuan each month. 
What's more, Ma Yiqun would be able to decide who should get all the money. He still had to refer to the figures on the website, but the website only had that many readers to begin with. How difficult could it be for Ma Yiqun to play around with the numbers? 
Thus, Ma Yiqun would still get to decide who the money would go to at the end of the day. 
If he was a bad person, he could arrange for his own family and friends to create alternate accounts and make minor edits to unpopular books. Then, he could resort to underhanded tricks to ensure the money went into his own pockets. 
Thus, while Ma Yiqun was raising an objective problem, his suggestion might not seem that appropriate. 
It was an idealistic plan. As long as he harbored a single bit of self-centeredness, the entire plan could go awry and backfire. If a corruption scandal blew up and the authors heard about it, the website's reputation would go down the drain, beyond repair. It was a huge risk to take. 
However, Ma Yiqun could not think of a better solution. 
There were very few readers; no matter how well low-tier writers wrote, they would not be able to earn royalties. This was seriously hindering their motivation. Ma Yiqun had to think of something fast. 
Thus, he had to pluck up the courage to bring it up, whether Boss Pei would ultimately agree to it or not. 
Pei Qian did not reply immediately. He considered the solution in silence. Allow Ma Yiqun to take charge of this sum of money? He could think about that. 
Pei Qian trusted Ma Yiqun and his eye for online literature. 
Every novel that Ma Yiqun wrote failed. It revealed a huge problem with the way he vetted online literature. Since that was the case, Pei Qian believed that no book that Ma Yiqun thought was good would truly be so. 
In other words, even if he selected books to fill the recommendation spots and distributed royalties at the rate that elite writers were paid, Zhongdian Chinese Network's business would not pick up. 
At the same time, the website's expenses would continue to balloon! 
To Pei Qian who was eager to spend as much money as possible, this would be an extremely great help! 
After carefully considering the risks and benefits of the suggestion, Pei Qian nodded. "Alright, no problem. Apart from the basic pay meant for our contracted writers, I will transfer another two million yuan to you. You can spend that first." 
Ma Yiqun paused and quickly said, "Boss Pei, two million yuan is too much! There aren't many capable writers working for our website now. I think I only need about two hundred thousand yuan per month." 
Pei Qian waved his hand. "Don't worry!" 
"It wouldn't hurt to give the top-tier writers more money. Our website could afford to buy more talents over as well. It might not be a bad idea to give the writers more money. 
"Don't be too stingy as well. Since you've decided to distribute royalties to authors out of the company's pocket, just give them more money. Let them feel a greater sense of belonging to Zhongdian Chinese Network." 
Pei Qian was not too worried about this. 
After all, Ma Yiqun would probably select rubbish books. So what if they gave the authors more money? 
If the books were lousy, readers would not visit their website. They would be making ducks and drakes of this sum of money. Pei Qian could not be more satisfied with this plan. 
What's more, they were approaching settlement. Pei Qian had to spend his money as quickly as possible. 
Ma Yiqun might have thought that two million yuan was a bit too much, but Pei Qian wished he could hand more money to him. 
Ma Yiqun was especially touched. 
Indeed, Boss Pei lived up to his name. He was as generous as ever! He put it well when he said we could afford to buy more talent over! 
If they paid more royalties to the better writers, Zhongdian Chinese Network would have an edge over other small novel websites. As time went by, a virtuous cycle might be established! 
What moved Ma Yiqun even more was the amount of trust Boss Pei had for him! 
He essentially gave Ma Yiqun free rein over these two million yuan. 
How much did he trust him?! Would ordinary leaders have this amount of courage?! Would he still be human if he didn't do his best for Boss Pei? 
Ma Yiqun patted his own chest and announced, "Don't worry, Boss Pei! I will work hard to choose the most capable writers. I won't let your money go to waste!" 
Pei Qian smiled but sniggered inside. 
As long as you work hard, my money will be wasted. Why else would I regard you so highly as my employee?


I really just want to lose money! T_T
Best boss ever, prodigy of the business world, genius creator, visionary of the century.
These are the descriptions used for Pei Qian, President of Tengda Corporation.
Ever since his rebirth, Pei Qian finds himself in possession of a system that rewards him if he manages to lose money.
Instantly, a brilliant idea comes to mind — making crappy games!
"If the game flops, all my investment cost will be lost!"
"How difficult can it be to lose money?"
Indeed... how difficult can it be?
------------------------------------------------------------
This book is highly popular in China and has set off a new trend. Webnovel has very high expectations for this book and has gotten the author to refine the first chapter as an exclusive for global readers. We hope everyone will enjoy reading it.

The reason why I took a leap of faith and started to write is a mystery to me as well. Sometime I believe or imagine, like for example I got mad at the 16M, but now the anger has dissipated, replaced by pity and guilt.

      Pity, since when I peered in much closer to the reasons or cause/s of that phenomenon, I start to pity them for they had been so used to being used by unscrupulous people. I pity them for they cannot decipher sincerity, truth, and attain wider perspectives. They're like the seemingly malnutrition mongrels in Ermita, laboriously pulling a kart, a kalesa, adorned with trinkets that defines my race, a Filipino. Those poor mighty animals, of the horse mustang species, are the respected partners of Native Americans when they fought with their invaders as the warrior's extension, but in Manila they're sporting directional tapers adjacent to both eyes, so they could only see what its driver directs them to see. I pity the blind, ignorant and poor Filipinos.

     When you take a step back from that deplorable view of what our fellow Filipinos have become, you will suddenly be enveloped by a soul jolting guilt for not doing anything. You'd realize that they are your mothers and fathers, uncles, aunties, friends, peers, your little sisters and brothers, sons and daughters - your family, neighbors, and acquaintance. You are responsible for them as much as they are for you by sharing this society virtually of one race, with the brown man category. When you're very sure you can do something, yet you choose to procrastinate, to hesitate, to ignore - to abandon.

     You and we are surrounded by kins who can't even speak the English language, much more to comprehend it. We have been graded with youths having the lowest IQ in the world by academicians, where they found out that most high school students in Quezon City, just adjacent to the country's capital, can't even read. I couldn't piece together why the Filipino writers insists to break into the International Market or readers and ignore teaching, ignore helping his struggling society. We writers and progressives should stand up and bear that responsibility of being torch bearers and the light-bringers to our lost brethren.

     Dominantly a pro-Roman catholic race of benevolent people, however, these lovely creatures of mixed races includes the first inhabitants of the land, the Moros. They originated from the Malay race that expanded and migrated out in our distant past. They settled in the southern part of the group of islands. They, of the Islam faith started and invigorated trade from land and mostly from the sea, they traded with Japan, India, China, and Singapore. They fought against invaders brought by the sea, and defeated Ferdinand Magellan, in turn preserving their culture, traditions and religion. The Northerners however was influenced with Catholicism, progressive ideas, luxury and cultures from invaders coming from the Western Hemisphere, like Spain, England and the United States.

     The poor just keeps multiplying in this society of hypocrisy, twisted morality and of ignorance. The main reasons for mass migrations are poverty, opportunities and security. Displacements can occur daily to and from the cluster of islands. For example, neighboring occupants of neighboring countries migrated into Philippines, Minor races decided to clump up together and form their own diaspora. Such races were the Chinese and Islamic moros, where social racism were simply explained in a hierarchy of economic measurements, or a form of oligarchy. Those of Chinese or Sino descent became the heads of businesses mostly in the North, where the uneducated and under privileged ended up as employees of the latter. The Moros, more often than not, are compared to the Jewish Gypsies of early Europe, like the Sinos of the North they integrated all throughout the archipelago from the utmost Southern island and formed their own ethnic diaspora all over the archipelago including the nation's capital. This are the people we shall follow.

     In Plato's Republic, Socrates ventured into the downfall of societies where Timocracy and Oligarchy is followed by Democracy where people are almost always doomed with dominantly ignorant masses. This has been the inherent and attached characteristics of societies. In my opinion, a great deal of time and therefore wisdom had been accumulated by mankind since the Athenian philosophers, surely by now and with that supposed wisdom from the expanse of time, we can formulate solutions and find ways to change the inevitable and avoid that usual predicament with the advent of technology and communication through internet, then how come people cannot realize that it is easier to educate and elucidate the dominantly ignorant masses? In this time and age, I believe that the dilemmas of ideology and education can now be resolved.

     At one time, I imagined launching the novel as a collaborative product by other writers for an "infinity novel about Pinoys", dreamed and day-dreamed it would go on forever, like a poem that never runs out of rhyme, like the stories from Philippine legends and lore passed on from generation to generation, like those cultures that inspires all young Filipinos to become dreamers. I realized that it was an impossible enterprise, so I continued chapter two. I was so pleased after I finished the second installment that I reverted back to being a stereotype of authoring it completely, for such a story shouldn't wait for the writers to come.

     I was able to conceive of another opportunity to collaborate with other gifted Pinoys – A mini-novel series for the "Ang Kabataan Ngayon" or "Kabataan", featuring the other mysterious and exciting adventures of Amihan and her group of youths, the protagonist heroine established from Chapter 2, along with other progressive youths who just graduated from the same Public High School, where all our societies' future are at stake at present. Mark the prodigy, the twins Clei and Cloe (the Enigma Decoders) and self-taught programmers, the athlete and martial arts expert Rex, and Rogelio, the protagonist's future love interest. It could be an opportunity for young writers to try out the genre, and most importantly teach and inspire other youths. These mini-novels shall be preferably and predominantly written in contemporary Tagalog or Taglish with the objective of attracting the youths in the marginalized sectors, those that need our attention and help, to start reading and start opening their minds. Perhaps we can save some lost youths in the marginalized sector by re-inspiring them. A succinct and less dramatized Kabataan adventure is featured in Chapter 10.

     This novel was initially written in Taglish, or a mixture of English words integrated into the literature, storytelling, conversations, metaphors and prose. Our young writers should start writing, they took out the Pilipino Subject in all schools several months back, and they are now teaching Chinese to our school teachers, the Pinoy's native vernacular, being murdered farther from a catatonic state to being killed, EJKed like most Pinoys in the margins of poverty during the War on Drugs of the current government's Administration.

     Where there's music, there should always be love nearby. Era music is featured sporadically in the narrative as a signal that the reader is taken to a certain time in local history. I would make it a point to insert the love and romance elements right after those time markers. Book One would be a casual presentation of events and scenes describing and defining the various characters, where the reader can get acquainted with the characters vis-a-vis the blossoming of the plot and sub-plots. Book Two would have a more linear timeline. The first chapter of this novel was published first in the Facebook group page Sining para sa mga Sumasala (SPASMS) on March of 2017. SPASMS is earmarked as a magazine, to be specific, a table top magazine which would be given free to the families in the marginalized sector.

     Follow the origin stories of the arch enemies Red and Sugo ni Kamatayan. Salivate on the utility gizmos and tools of "Kabataan" and the military grade gadgets of Overwatch. I was asked by my publisher to either write something in English or translate this book, the reason why we both ended-up here.

     Now that I got you hooked reading this far. It's time for me to confess my sins. This volume is not an exact translation from the First version of "Ang Nobela ng mga Bukas". For adding to the original, please forgive me.

Buhawi N.M.A.

She came into existence in no more than a blink of an eye, dressed in shades of translucent blue, and glided down to earth upon thermals, as writers' imaginations welcomed her below.
Her only questions were her name and purpose.
She remembers to be human.
To have worked hard climbing a tower to help someone or simply herself. Then rain made her fall through ink clouds staining her. Making her someone different from who she was.
She felt it. Her destiny was not hers anymore but she still liked it and in her deep memories a spark came to be. She was Evangelina.
Her name recovered, the blank space around her started to take form.
The writers welcomed her, for she fueled their imaginations. They wrote of magical birds, they wrote of fairies, they wrote of love.
They wrote of everything.
Evangelina enjoyed having a purpose.
Evangelina enjoyed living.
They called her the Muse, because that was what she was to them. They found inspiration in her beautifully voiced words, in her deep blue ocean-like eyes, and simply the way she walked. She was an inspiration in every possible way. The Muse had no flaws.
Then came a time of trouble. She began to have one flaw. She had come to this world as a small girl and now she was an adult.
She was aging.
Evangelina didn't want to age. She wanted to stay young forever. She had to try something.
The writers tried their best to help her. She told them that she didn't need any help. After some time, they agreed.
She continued to tell them that she was working hard to stop the aging. That she really didn't want to age.
There was something that the writers didn't know. Well, two things. First of all, she was lying to them. Second, she had fallen in love.

She came into existence in no more than a blink of an eye, dressed in shades of translucent blue, and glided down to earth upon thermals, as writers imaginations welcomed her below.

(Day 1: Session 1)
Me: My first question is that what makes you want to write? Is it because it is a necessity, is it because of the money, is it because you're passionate about writing, or is it something entirely different? 
Him: Hmm…well, would you like the long answer or the short answer? 
Me: Whichever one you're comfortable with. 
Him: I'll give you the long one; so that, you know…you don't think that I'm lying. 
Me: Why would I think that you're lying? 
Him: Because that is what people usually tend to conclude, don't they? 
Me: How so? 
Him: Well, if you may, it's a stereotypical perspective etched within society. You look at a bunch of writers who have a few bestsellers up their sleeves and are leading a pretty successful and wealthy life, and you ask them if it's all for the money or because they actually like doing it. Now, whatever they may say or comment, the only thing that'll be fluttering in front of your eyes is their wealth and success; indefinitely blinding you to the truth underlying within the person's answer. Therefore, even if the person says that it's because they actually like doing it, that it's because they like writing, your brain – which is only focused on their success and wealth – tells you that they're probably lying and are trying to appear modest and professional in front of the world. Your brain tells you that 'of course it's for the money and the wealth. What else could it be for?' 
It's also because – I think – that society has developed a predisposition regarding successful and wealthy people, so that they tend to generalize or associate anyone with the same caliber into that similar category. 
Me: And you're saying that you surpass them all? That you don't belong to this stereotypical and generic category created by society? 
Him: 'Surpass', no. I'm not saying that I'm better than everyone else. But yes, I am saying that I do not belong to that category, regardless of whether society tends to put me there or not.
Me: That brings me back to my initial question: why do you write?
He took a long pause, looking around at his lavish library for a few seconds. His face gave nothing away but I was convinced that he already had the answer to my question – he was only trying to figure out whether I was worth being answered in the right way or not. 
Then, once I spotted a sense of sudden resolution take over his face, he adjusted himself on the chair so that he was more comfortable – resting his left leg on his right leg and taking a few quick sips of his coffee – and then spoke: 
Him: I remember the first book I ever read called Jeremy Thatcher, Dragon Hatcher by Bruce Coville. It was the first time I was ever introduced to the 'power of words'. That was the first instance wherein I observed and realized the seductive, magnetic pull words could conjure on me. It was intoxicating. 
By the end of the first book I ever read in my life…I was already an addict. 
You see, the concept of addiction has always been very pure and realistic. It was only disregarded and approached negatively by people when it began to be associated with drugs and substance abuse. In my perspective, every artist is an addict. Not because they're a bunch of druggies who try to grab at inspiration which they presume they'll find entangled within white powder or lying at the end of a bottle. No. They're addicts because they're severely addicted to their art and creative process. They're ferociously attached to it and nothing can separate them from it.  
When I was ten years old I felt that addiction of words induced within me. I could feel it take over my mind and soul as quick as current flowing through your body. Soon enough, I knew that I wanted to feel like that all the time. So I read whatever I could get my hands on. Fiction, non-fiction, mystery, crime, whatever it was I just completely devoured it. 
And then one day I heard voices inside my head. 
Now this may seem very difficult to understand, but it is how it truly is – at least for me. There are these constant voices blabbering inside a writer's head and the only way to get rid of them is to transfer them onto a piece of paper. 
So that's what I did. 
And the voices inside my head kept on increasing and I kept on writing. And by the end of that day, I was addicted to writing. I didn't care if people read it or not, I didn't care if people liked it or not, to be honest I didn't care about anything. I was only aiming to satisfy this burning sensation ignited in me that kept on pushing me to write.   
That's how it started, I guess that's how it still is, and perhaps that's how it'll always be. My entire life has been driven by words and guided by these voices inside my head. When you think of it, it sounds like a sad and lonely life, but it really isn't. 
In some ways I count myself very lucky because at an early age I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to emulate what other writers did. You know, Hemingway, Eliot, Dickens, etc., all of these people were regarded as the 'fathers of writing' – people who paved the way for future writing and writers, who guided writers into becoming as good as them and who explained that writing was much more than just sitting on a chair and producing words on a piece of paper. It has meaning and depth.  
Ever since I was a child I knew, I knew that I wanted to create what they created. I wanted to articulate words in ways that would stun people and lead them from their tiresome and heavily routinized life into an exciting new experience. I wanted my words to melt and mix with reality in a way that no other writer had ever attempted to achieve. I wanted to be deemed as good as Eliot and Hemingway.  
Me: Do you think you've achieved that?
Him: No I haven't. I'm glad that I haven't, and soon enough I realized that I, infact, didn't even want to. 
You see, I realized around the age of sixteen that what made writing so fun and exciting was the sheer experience of sharing your thoughts – your most intimate and philosophical thoughts – with a piece of paper that you know wouldn't lash out at you or curse you or mock you or judge you. And perhaps that's why writing has always been an intimate and a very personal experience for me.     
I write when I'm happy, I write when I'm sad, I write when I'm bored, I write when I'm excited, I write all the time! There hasn't been a single day since I first became a writing addict that I didn't practice this art. So, to answer your question, yes, I write because it's a necessity – because writing for me is now like breathing… I can't survive without it. 
Me: And if you feel so strongly about something then you're obviously just as passionate about it, right? 
Him: Yes, you could say that. 
By the appalled look on my face he obviously knew that I was impressed. I had never met a person who thought so deeply and intimately about writing the way he did.
Me: While we're on the subject, tell me, did your parents approve of you pursuing this field of profession? 
I noticed a sense of uneasiness flash in his eyes and quickly take form through the facial expression overlapping his face. But he recovered from the shock fairly quickly. 
He wasn't comfortable showing his emotions in front of people. He tried regressing them for some reason. Perhaps he was more comfortable writing about them rather than discussing them with another human being. I made a mental note of this – it was something I would have to incorporate within my questions and try to unravel as we spoke.
Him: No, they did not. 
Me: Why not?
He portrayed no sort of reluctance now.
Him: My father was a businessman, my uncle was a businessman, and all of my brothers are businessmen. My family's foundation was based on business. That's all they knew, that's all they ever did, and that was all they ever wanted to do. They were all entrepreneurs. In their eyes, I was the ugly duckling of the family. 
Notice how every parent wants their child to grow up to be a doctor, or an engineer, or a business tycoon, but no parent desires for their children to grow up to become a person who isolates themselves from the rest of the world for years in order to produce a stack of papers which people may or may not read. 
No parent pushes their child to become an artist, or a writer, or a musician when they grow up because these professions aren't deemed as being as lucrative as the rest. According to the rest of the world, these jobs largely depend on luck rather than a person's capability and skills. 
Me: And what do you think? 
Him: I think that they're just like any other job. In any other job you need a little bit of luck, likewise, you need a little bit of luck here as well but it doesn't all revolve around that. Writing, painting, composing, all these are skills and crafts. You need to develop them in order to be the best. And that takes a lot of work. Infact, I would say that jobs which require a particular talent or set of skills are much harder than other uniformed jobs such as being a businessman or a doctor. Yes, it takes a lot of hard work to succeed in that field as well, but not as much as you would need to work in order to become a good writer or a musician.
Me: Why would you say that?
Him: Because writing isn't as easy and simple as subtraction and division. It doesn't have a particular formula which can be used to extrapolate results. It doesn't have a specific process whereby one can succeed if they adhere to that process. Writing is solely based on intuition, passion, an observant mind, the drive to make a difference, and to have enough courage to portray yourself in front of the entire world to be critiqued and judged. That is why some people give up on writing very early on in their life, seeing as it is not something they are brave enough to do, and others just simply never try it because they don't want to expose themselves or be judged and critiqued by others.  
Me: So you're trying to convey this idea that writing takes a lot of courage and persistence, and that not everyone can do it?
Him: Yes, that is exactly what I'm saying. 
Me: And your parents didn't see eye to eye with you on that? 
Him: No they did not. Like I said, they were all businessmen and expected me to join the same line of work. However, I just simply couldn't because I didn't have the mind for it and I knew that from a very young age. I wasn't cut out for business, it didn't excite me, it didn't fascinate me, and to be honest it rather bored me. But my parents weren't convinced. They couldn't fathom how I could possibly make a living through writing books and essays which may or may not be published. Even if they did get published they may or may not sell well. So you see, their problem wasn't with writing, it was with the dilemma that I wasn't opting for a more stable kind of lifestyle. And I guess that's the underscoring issue here. 
Although, I guess another reason could be that they just didn't understand me. 
Me: Didn't understand you? How so?
Him: Well, tell me, do your parents understand you? 
Me: With all due respect, we're not here to talk about me we're here to talk about you. 
Him: And with all due respect, but you just answered my question. So they don't understand you. And I don't blame you for that. I don't blame them either. You're a writer. Writers are never understood by their parents or the rest of the world. It's a simple fact of life.
Me: What are your reasons for thinking so?
He smiled that same playful smile where his eyes bulged out and his lips broadened to an extent that his cheeks curled up into wrinkles. Regardless of how it may sound, the smile was charming and intellectual; as if echoing with the statement: "I know you better than yourself".
Him: How do I put this subtly? Umm…well…writers are weird. They don't think like rational human beings. That's because they aren't really wired as normal and rationally thinking human beings. And it's funny, I figured this out at the age of twenty three through a series of conversations with a group of physicists and mathematicians; all of whom were people of great intellect and vast knowledge. This was when I was researching my third book, by the way. 
Me: You mean 'The Boy Who Talked Too Much'? 
Him: Yes, exactly.
So, back to what I was saying. Writers are weird, right? I would disagree with anyone and everyone who argued differently. This is because, like I mentioned, writers don't process stuff like normal people do, and I realized this through my conversations with people of different professions. In my opinion, normal people look at the world with their eyes closed. 
Now a little disclaimer, I don't want to come out strong here or in any way insinuate anything robust. I'm not looking to offend anyone, I'm merely speaking my mind and what I think is true. Is that ok? 
I nodded.
Him: Alright. Ok, so, normal people look at the world with their eyes closed. This is because they tend to disregard most of what they see. They look at the politics of the world and the unfairness implemented by the politicians, but instead of doing something about it they close their eyes, bow down their heads, and say to themselves: 'Why should I put my life and my job in jeopardy for people who I don't even know?'
Me: And writers don't do that? 
Him: No, they don't. Allow me to give you a few examples. Almost every activist, freedom fighter, or any person with the guts to stand up to society and its principles – whether male or female – was and is a writer. 
Exhibit 'A': Nelson Mandela. He fought against racial discrimination all his life. But he was first and foremost a writer. 
Exhibit 'B': George Orwell. He discussed highly political issues in almost all of his novels, one very prominent example being 'Animal Farm' and his most famous book '1984'. He was one of the most courageous writers I have ever had the pleasure to read who refused to part with his unfinished book while lying on his death bed.  
Exhibit 'C': Charles Dickens. He was and is one of the most influential Victorian writers in the world who discussed important themes such as education, human rights, child labor, politics, and so on in almost all of his books. His only aim in doing so was to make people realize the extent of their actions, its effect on society, and how what they were doing was wrong. Infact, that's what all these other writers were trying to do as well.   
The funny thing is that do you know why people still read Dickens and Orwell? Why they're regarded with such high prestige and stature? Because people know that they were right. They know that what they discussed and influenced through their work resonates throughout the ages – past, present, and future. 
The only reason that writers are associated with this stereotypical view of awkward human beings walking through life with craziness clinged into their heads is because writers have the courage to talk about things that no one else will; and for that they are termed crazy, idiotic, having the tendencies to over-react, and so on and so forth. 
Writers aren't cursed with having a curtain drawn between them and the truth. They see the world for what it truly is and then they try writing about it in their prose in a manner which wouldn't offend anyone's feelings, but at the same time convey their message – or else in the past writers would have similarly been hanged and burned like witches.   
He chuckled at that.
Me: That is a pretty strong view about society and how they treat writers. 
Him: You could say that. I guess in a manner it is strong. Some may even say that it's biased towards writers and then they would probably conclude that it is because I myself am a writer. But in reality that's not what it really is. In reality, it is simply the truth, whether they want to believe it or not.                   
Me: I would like to revert back to what you said about parents dissuading their children from pursuing creative jobs like writing because they aren't very lucrative jobs. Well, don't you think that it's true? Being a writer does mean not having a stable job. You don't get a fixed salary and it purely depends on the audience and what they want to read.  
Him: I would disagree with that. 
Me: And what's your justification? 
Him: Simple. If you're an engineer, or a doctor, or in the field of any other occupation all you're doing is promoting yourself and your skill. A doctor, if unskilled and not proficient enough in his/her skill, could be banned from practicing for life. Similarly a lawyer, if an incompetent one, could be disbarred and refrained from ever practicing law again. 
So tell me, is there a huge difference between all these other jobs and writing? In writing you're also promoting yourself and your skill. Hence, writing is just as much a stable job as every other job. All that depends is how far the person wants to take his skill and craft and whether he/she is willing to stand up. 
Me: Alright, so let me put this into context. You're saying that writing does not have a specific procedure, as in you can't teach someone how to write, I mean in theory you can, but then it depends on the person and how much he/she practices to better themselves. And in that way writing is different from the rest of the jobs in the world. But where it is similar is that in every other job you're promoting your skill and talent, so likewise in writing you're doing the same. Correct? 
Him: Precisely.  
(End of Session1)

Meet Thomas Alexander Linsky, one of the greatest and most influential writers of our time. Mr. Linsky has been on every reader's radar ever since his first book 'Redemption' was published when he was only ninteen years old. Besides the fact that Mr. Linsky is spectacular at what he does, no one knows much about his personal life. 

Until now. 

In my five day interview with Mr. Linsky I attempt to understand the working mechanism of this amazing artist, seeing him for who he truly is and appreciating him more for being such a pleasant human being. In this book I attempt to enumerate the concepts and ideas that were imparted to me by him. These ideas will not only make a profound impact on all writers but on every human being who aspires to be something more.

#Internet Headline: Wei Lan Changes Industry Whenever She Likes#
The fake female protagonist in this world was called Lin Yuxin. She transmigrated. 
Lin Yuxin was an author. When she transmigrated, she decided to continue being an author.
The variety of novels in this world was limited. They were not as interesting as the novels in Lin Yuxin's world.
Lin Yuxin felt that she would become famous.
However, even though her novels had a unique theme, they didn't get popular.
The other people that used her themes to write their own stories, on the other hand, became famous. 
Lin Yuxin was not convinced. Why were other people gaining popularity because of something she came up with?
Lin Yuxin had a sudden thought. Since this world lacked so many different themes of novels, it meant that the novels that were highly popular in her world were not available here too.
With this thought in mind, Lin Yuxin started copying novels from her world.
Because of this, Lin Yuxin got famous quickly. She was a fast worker and had many novels under her belt within a short period of time. Every one of them was unique and interesting. She became the icon of the novel world.
After Lin Yuxin became famous, she started egging on her readers to mock the other writers for plagiarizing her novels.
Using the same theme was different from plagiarizing.
However, the readers didn't know the difference. After some brainwashing from Lin Yuxin, they immediately felt that other writers plagiarized their idol.
Many authors got implicated.
Wei Lan was one of them.
The minute she started posting her new novel online, Lin Yuxin's fans noticed her. The novel that Lin Yuxin was currently writing had a similar theme to Wei Lan's novel.
Also, Lin Yuxin started her novel first.
Hence, people commented that she was plagiarizing the guru's novel.
But, in actual fact, besides the theme, the style of writing and the storyline were entirely different.
Wei Lan was too lazy to attend to these anti-fans.
However, Lin Yuxin continued to hint to other writers that Wei Lan plagiarized her idea.
The writers' circle was not big. Rumors spread easily.
Wei Lan ignored it when she heard about it the first time. The second time she heard it, she was a little angry. By the time she heard the rumor for the third time, she was furious. She uploaded the discussion that she had with her editor on her microblog.
The pictures of the discussion proved that she wrote the basic skeleton of the novel long before Lin Yuxin wrote her book.
After Wei Lan uploaded these photos, Lin Yuxin came out and apologized for her fans. Her attitude was sincere and she seemed to be unsure of the actions from her fans.
Wei Lan saw how polite and sincere Lin Yuxin was so she let this matter go. She didn't want to create a huge scene, either.
Yet, Lin Yuxin didn't want to let her go. She hated Wei Lan and started throwing mud at her.
At a writers' gathering, Lin Yuxin framed Wei Lan again.
Wei Lan was at the scene too so she caught Lin Yuxin red-handed. Lin Yuxin denied that she was framing her and pretended to be innocent.
Everyone thought that Wei Lan was being petty. They felt that she was targeting Lin Yuxin because of what happened before.
Lin Yuxin was good at winning people's hearts.
Wei Lan didn't know what to say.
Hence, Wei Lan and Lin Yuxin became enemies.
After that, every time there was an event, Wei Lan would be targeted mercilessly by Lin Yuxin. Her hatred for Lin Yuxin got stronger and she started to turn evil.
But, no matter what she did, Wei Lan was not Lin Yuxin's match.
In the end, she was ruined. Her reputation dropped drastically and Wei Lan stopped writing.
Lin Yuxin became extremely famous. 
[The Host wishes for Lin Yuxin to lose her reputation and be ruined.]
Ming Shu woke up after she downloaded the storyline. She was lying on a bed in a hotel. The lighting of the room was dimmed so she didn't know what time it was.
Ming Shu reached out and touched her forehead. It was a little warm. Was the Host sick?
The timeline now should be when the writers had a gathering and the Host met Lin Yuxin for the first time.
The Host caught Lin Yuxin talking badly about her to another author. Although she said it obscurely, the meaning behind her words was obvious.
The Host asked Lin Yuxin why she talked badly about her.
Lin Yuxin gave an innocent face and told her that she just heard it from other people.
Lin Yuxin didn't mention the name of the person so it sounded as though she was speaking the truth.
No matter how someone looked at it, the Host was the one being unreasonable.
They were standing beside the swimming pool while they were conversing. Lin Yuxin pretended to explain herself but she secretly used some force and pushed the Host into the swimming pool.
The Host didn't know how to swim. When she was rescued, she became like this.
Ming Shu called the reception and asked them to send her some food and medicine.
This gathering was organized by one of the authors in their circle. Many people came.
Lin Yuxin managed to get many people's contacts within a short while after she came.
Ming Shu finished her food and took the medicine. She felt uncomfortable so she went back to sleep.
The room was a two-person room. By the time Ming Shu's roommate came back, she had woken up.
Her roommate glanced at her and then lowered her voice. "Yes, I am staying with Wei Ran."
She must be making a call. 
Wei Ran was Wei Lan's pseudonym.
"Signature? Do you like her? I heard that her personality is bad… I will talk to you on WeChat later. I am in the room. Wei Ran is asleep."
The roommate hung up after saying a few more words. When she turned back, she suddenly realized that Wei Lan had sat up on her bed.
The girl had a smile on her pale face. She was staring at her.
The roommate froze.
When did she sit up? Why didn't she make any noise? Did she hear what she said just now?
"Wei Ran… are you feeling better?" The roommate tried to calm down.
"Very good."
Ming Shu didn't mention what happened. The roommate quickly changed the topic. "There will be a cocktail party later. Are you going?"
Cocktail party = food?
Ming Shu said slowly, "I'll go."
Her roommate replied, "You can change clothes, then. It's starting soon."
After that, the roommate went to the bathroom to change clothes.
When she came out, she bumped right into Ming Shu's pale face. She took a step back. "You… need to use the washroom? I'm done…"
Ming Shu reached out and stopped her. She asked in a gentle voice, "You said that my personality is not good. Who told you that?"
"I… I didn't say…"
"I heard everything."
The roommate regretted talking about it in the room.
She did lower her voice…
"I heard it from other people… I don't know."
Ming Shu tilted her head. She smiled gently. "I want to know who is trying to frame me. Can you tell me?"
"I…" 
The girl opposite her didn't look angry but the roommate felt frightened.
She gritted her teeth and said, "It was Meteor Rain."
It was a pseudonym.
Ming Shu smiled as she reminded her roommate, "When you are talking about someone in the future, it is better to find a place where no one around. It will be troublesome if someone hears you."
Her roommate: "…"
She was wrong. It was her fault!


Imagine having the opportunity to be able to enter different worlds created by numerous novels and stories. Which kind of role would you like to play? 

Do you want to be the illustrious protagonist, either good or evil; or just be a supporting role standing behind the protagonists? 

Our villain boss Ming Shu would, however, choose none of the above. Claiming missions from the Harmony System, and driven by her endless passion for snacks, the world traveler, Ming Shu, embarks on the path to make the mission target hate her as much as possible by gaining Hatred Points. But it turns out she is not alone on her journey… 
 


****request to the readers****
Since, there are some new writers writing on webnovel for the first time ....please guys show some support to new authors  like us....our aim is to provide with better plot twists , vocabulary,etc. 

Show some support and encourage the writers who wants you to be away from your daily worries ,be inspired, relaxed, refreshed and entertained.

Give a chance to the new writers on this platform and I'm sure they will soon shine like diamond!!!!
We all are trying our best to make our readers satisfied with our writings. 


A humble request,
Katnasis everdeen

"THE THING WHICH YOU ASSUME TO BE REAL IS NOT ALWAYS REAL".

"THE ASSERTIONS YOU BELIEVE TO BE TRUE  DOES NOT REPRESENT THE ACTUAL TRUTH".

"THE MOST TRUSTED ONES CAN BE ONE OF THE MOST FAKE PERSONALITIES".

"THE ONE WHO DESERVES YOUR SACRIFICES IS THE ONE WHO SACRIFICES ITSELF FOR YOUR SAFETY."

"ONE NEEDS TO STEP ON THE MOST SAFEST PATH  FILLED WITH A BLEND OF CLUES OF EMOTIONS TO KNOW THE CERTITUDE".

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