It was January 11th, 2013, precisely twenty days after the supposed end of the world. I was wrestling with a throbbing headache, medicated, and aimlessly navigating the digital currents when an author—let’s call him 'Someone'—sought me out with the question:

“Aunty, have you seen the results of the Third Qidian Golden Keyboard Awards yet?”

I replied, “No, I haven’t.”

He immediately admonished me, “Aunty really ought to take a look; striving hard in life is what matters, the process counts more than the outcome.”

I was startled by his insinuation, yet couldn't decipher its precise meaning. I had only been ill for a single day, and before that, I was firmly in sixth place.

And then… and then, after the double-click of the mouse, I was utterly speechless. I could only reflect that my timing for falling ill was perfect. The gap between fifth and eleventh place was barely a thousand votes, yet I landed squarely in eleventh.

Eleventh, after sprinting desperately only to fail at the finish line.

Eleventh, knocked back stumbling by the relentless assault of sickness.

Just like the bewilderment of scoring fifty-nine on that first major exam, Just like the cruel irony of missing the university cutoff by a single point, Just like the Utah Jazz, in the United States, being definitively beaten by a last-second dagger from Jordan in the Finals of 1998, after dangling Russell, Just like the United Kingdom being slain by Maradona in 1986, Just like the tragic figure of Ding Hai, who sold off all his stock an hour before the bull market finally broke loose...

The profound vexation of being a supporting character enveloped me, making it difficult to breathe or even see or hear clearly; how could there be any room for superfluous words? A long, lamenting song must wait until the pain has been fully absorbed. Thus, even though I furiously typed ten thousand characters today, the gloom persists.

The truly brave soul dares to look directly into the bleakness of life, dares to confront the streaming, gushing blood. Therefore, the only solace I could find was to open the Monthly Ticket Rankings and the Recommendation Charts. It was just enough to offer a faint warmth to my spirit, like the glow of a tiny candle wick.

Those merely surviving might dimly perceive a glimmer of hope amidst the pale, crimson wash of blood; but the truly brave will press forward with renewed vigor.

Alas, words fail me entirely. I can only resort to a slightly crass title paired with a narrative that is anything but, in the desperate hope of securing support from everyone.

I pray that when I open the Monthly Ticket Rankings and the Recommendation Charts tomorrow, I might once again feel that slight warmth.

Written by a certain Juan, runny-nosed, sneezing uncontrollably, face flushed red, coughing up phlegm while pressing on his temples, at 2:27 AM. RT