To my monster

　　My first commission was during high school when I joined a literary club. An editor from another school tagged me to write an article, which I then submitted. I was very careful with my writing, anxiously awaiting comments, revising, proofreading for typos, and pondering how to improve.

　　 After signing a contract, it became editors chasing after my work, and hearing readers urging me to update felt sweet. Having gotten used to practicing my writing on various platforms, I developed a habit of writing 3,000-word novels at a time. The few requests for updates were actually a blessing. Moving between different protagonists, the stories, like life, didn't have dramatic ups and downs. Like the readers, I also wanted to see the ending. Online writing platforms were the first ones I encountered: JianShu, Tangyuan, Jinjiang, Qidian, Qiangwei, Xiaoxiang, Reading.com, Panda, Writers' Circle, Chinese.net, Wuxia Novels, and a purely English website. I like to explore, including the internet.

　　In *Letters to Young Novelists*, it says, "Writing is serving the devil within; you must find your inner devil and use all your talent to please him." Yes, commissioned writing is like that. In all the difficult and challenging times, writing has given me the strength to move forward, allowing me to coexist peacefully with my devil.

　　 I may not write commissions from others, but I will definitely write commissions from Monster. I must use my pain as material to write. In reality, there are mountains and rivers separating me from others. I write not primarily for readers and editors, nor for fame and fortune—of course, partly for those on the other side—but mostly for my devil.

　　I have to commission myself. In my youth, due to family reasons and excessive loneliness, I was very depressed. I read every day to save myself, writing philosophical reflections, essays, poems, calligraphy, history, economics, philosophy, psychology—I read everything, just to avoid thinking about death and the long, dark nights. An unfillable black hole.

　　I know I'm truly bipolar. Sometimes it's hallucinations, sometimes inspiration, sometimes intense pain and self-loathing. The devil won't let you go; some things, once they happen, are just that—happy. I took many days off. When I couldn't take it anymore, I'd go home and read, think, and draw day and night, trying everything to calm the monster inside. I still rode my bike to school alone, backpack on my back, self-studying, falling behind in many courses, yet my grades remained good, and I still maintained a dashing demeanor. Only I knew I was about to break. My parents were always arguing; they couldn't care less about me.

　　Knowledge can't solve problems until you're willing to face them. Everyone has a monster inside them; when I faced it, it truly began to force me.

　　When I resolved to fight it, understood life, and revealed everything to the world in my madness, I discovered that the world reveres madmen, reveres the extraordinary. So, it's not strange to be willing to die for writing. It's not strange to submit to it, to cherish it.

　　Monster, you watch. I'll say: Don't insult me with money. Either have no money, or have money that will ensure my life's comfort. Give me freedom to see the world I want to see. It said okay.

　　The devil has many shadows; you won't know what it wants until you try. Monster said, admit your desires. I said okay.

　　Monster said, you asked me what thought is. This is it. I said okay.

　　Monster said, you never acknowledge my existence in front of others, how can you have memories? I said, so I admit it.

Monster said, loneliness will become beautiful someday. I said, I hope you can be human too.

　　Monster said, do you know that monster and master are the same word? I said, I know, so I came to ask you for guidance, monster.

　　Monster said, you have to communicate with me, not curse me. I said, actually I love you, but you don't conform to the norms of morality, logic, and ethics; you're hateful. Monster smiled, "You

　　're the one who's hateful. Tell me, what about yourself? Do you hate yourself?" I said, no, never. Monster said, you're just a little troublemaker, a troublemaker who constantly destroys things. Do you understand the meaning of literature? I said, yes, when I was writing the book, I was, the meaning of literature is you, monster, all my works can be said to be my wonderful journey with monster.