Chapter 5: You... You Want a Vasectomy?

You’re not a fish.

That was the author’s name—You’re Not a Fish!

The instant he saw this pen name, what came to mind was the saying: “You are not a fish; how can you know the joy of fish?” The name did, indeed, feel full of the author’s own thoughts and style.

What struck Yu Zhile as amusing, though, was that there was no encyclopedia entry for this title of his online, but there was one for the author’s name! And that entry was nothing short of extraordinary.

The Godfather of Pure Love.

A leading voice among the new generation of youth literature.

A master novelist who revived the print publishing industry.

The best-selling novelist of the 21st century, both at home and abroad.

For any writer, these were the highest honors, the kind of achievements one could boast about for a lifetime.

Yu Zhile could scarcely believe that, in this parallel world, he himself was a novelist.

And not just any novelist—a legendary one!

“Nana—nana—”

The little one nestled in his arms reached up again for Yu Zhile’s face, but this time her tiny hands fell just short. After waving them helplessly a few centimeters below his chin, she finally let them drop to his neck, pawing at his collar.

“Enough, now!”

Yu Zhile scolded the little girl in his arms, only to meet those wide, curious eyes fringed with long lashes, her soft pink cheeks puffing in and out as she sucked her pacifier—all of it irresistibly adorable.

“Be good, now, don’t make a fuss.”

His tone softened instantly, and he gently moved her little hand away from his collar, then turned back to the computer screen, a touch of wistfulness in his eyes.

Qin Haiyu, who had studied broadcasting, had become a singer. Yu Zhile, who’d majored in music, had become a novelist!

The irony was almost too much for him. Skimming through the encyclopedia entry on “You’re Not a Fish,” he was left even more dumbfounded.

It turned out that the reason he’d started down the path of writing novels was because he’d fallen for a girl in college. He wrote her poems and songs, and then, seized by a sudden wave of inspiration, decided to write a novel for her.

Drawing from real life, shaping the story from his own experiences, he penned his very first youth romance: “The Sea of Love.”

This short novel, only 340,000 words, started gaining traction online after just a few chapters.

Yu Zhile was stunned.

Before crossing into this world, he had indeed written poems and songs for Qin Haiyu, all to express his love for her, to win her heart.

Was this the creative groundwork for his career as a novelist?

Was his greatest talent not in music after all, but in storytelling?

He kept reading the entry’s account of the author’s journey.

“You’re Not a Fish” claimed that he had won over his college crush—the goddess of his heart—thanks to his first novel, “The Sea of Love,” and that he had kept writing ever since.

During university, he wrote three pure love novels, each one performing outstandingly both in online subscriptions and in print sales. With just these three books, he’d ascended to the ranks of literary giants. Then, after graduation, his fourth novel took the world by storm, smashing subscription records yet again.

And in this age of digital reading, the most astonishing feat was that his new novel sold over ten million copies in print within a single month.

With subsequent translations and editions, total sales at home and abroad surpassed one hundred million.

It was this nearly unbreakable record that earned him the titles “Godfather of Pure Love” and “the most mysterious master novelist.”

For five years, from his rise to fame to his place atop the writers’ rich list, he never once appeared at any industry or public event—almost as though he feared revealing himself for being too ugly, worried he might let down his readers.

Yu Zhile was speechless reading all this speculation online.

That wasn’t his style at all!

If it were really him, with such fame and popularity, he’d have shown his face long ago!

If the concern was that his looks might disappoint female fans, then staying anonymous would make sense.

But Yu Zhile was not unattractive. On the contrary, he was rather handsome—and he had a wife who looked like a fairy-tale star. Flaunting that identity would only boost his fame, spur even greater success for his books.

He just couldn’t figure out why this parallel self would choose to stay hidden.

Was it because, after Qin Haiyu became famous on a music talent show, he thought being a celebrity was too much trouble and decided to remain a mystery?

Come to think of it, that did sound like something he might do.

According to Qin Haiyu’s career, she won the “China’s Best Voice” talent show in her junior year.

By then, Yu Zhile had already won her heart, and his second novel was also a hit.

At that time, Qin Haiyu was the most popular figure on campus, but their classmates didn’t seem to know that Yu Zhile—already a highly popular and well-paid novelist—was “You’re Not a Fish.”

Otherwise, there would’ve been online exposes about the author’s identity, and everyone would have known that “You’re Not a Fish” was Yu Zhile, Qin Haiyu’s husband.

Reflecting on the feeling of being a mysterious big shot, Yu Zhile found it rather appealing.

Unfortunately, from now on, there could be no more keeping a low profile, because he was about to do something drastic.

He was going to abandon his work.

He would lay down his pen for good.

He would leave countless readers with an unfinished, open-ended serial—forever incomplete.

Because he honestly had no idea how to continue writing this novel in place of his parallel self.

Looking at the list of titles in the author’s dashboard, he had no clue what any of the stories were about. He didn’t even know the names of the protagonists. What else could he do but abandon the work?

To force out chapters just to keep going would only leave readers with a worse impression.

As Yu Zhile was settling on both his exit strategy and his new path, Qin Haiyu came upstairs, freshly showered.

She hadn’t washed her hair; her long locks were tied up in a bun, giving her a distinctly girlish look. Her face, bare of makeup after the bath, was radiant with youth.

Her skin was flawless, her features striking.

Compared to the Qin Haiyu he remembered from sophomore year, she looked almost unchanged.

As she entered, her gentle voice called out, “Honey, you took a break from updating yesterday. If you don’t post today, the readers will be sending you razor blades!”

She walked over in loose pajamas, leaning down to tease their baby girl in Yu Zhile’s arms.

Peeking through her collar, Yu Zhile couldn’t help but notice that this Qin Haiyu was quite different from the one he’d pined for in his memories.

Motherhood had wrought subtle changes in her; now, as a mother, she struck him as even more alluring, more tender and captivating.

Qin Haiyu took their daughter from his arms, but the little girl protested, bursting into tears.

“Naughty baby! Haven’t seen Mommy for just half a day and already you’re acting up?”

Her playful scolding was irresistibly soft and sweet.

Yu Zhile was a little dazed, and even more so when Qin Haiyu, without hesitation, pulled out the pacifier and, right in front of him, lifted her shirt to nurse their daughter.

Gulp—

Yu Zhile swallowed instinctively.

Qin Haiyu gently stroked their daughter’s little head, then looked curiously at her husband, who was sitting there in a daze. “Honey, is something wrong?”

“N-no, nothing,” Yu Zhile stammered, awkwardly averting his gaze. “W-wife, I… I need to tell you something.”

Qin Haiyu, puzzled, asked, “What is it?”

With a serious expression, Yu Zhile declared, “I’m going to end the series.”

Qin Haiyu stared at him, utterly dumbfounded.

“You… you mean you want a vasectomy?”