In the blink of an eye, Zhang Heng had been staying at the manor for three years. His writing skills had already reached Level 2 a year ago, just like the best-selling female fantasy writers.

  It had to be said that the environment of the manor was perfect for practicing writing. After all, there was only one chance to live with the world’s most outstanding authors.

  Even though these writers had some minor flaws, such as Hemingway’s addiction to alcohol, Mark Twain’s venomous tongue, and the fact that they were the best writers in the world……, fitzgerald felt dizzy whenever he saw a woman…… but their talents could not be denied, and most importantly, there was nothing else to do in the manor, they were also willing to answer Zhang Heng’s various questions and help him read his newly created article.

  That afternoon, Hemingway was reading a novella that Zhang Heng had just written. After reading it, he put down the manuscript in his hand and frowned.

  “How is it?”Zhang Heng asked.

  “The technique is impeccable. I have nothing more to teach you, but I feel like something is missing from this article.”


  “Emotion.”Fitzgerald hit the nail on the head.