Brian Carter really couldn’t hold back and switched to an alt account to reply: “How is it fast? Even if this last bit doesn’t happen, the main character is just being set up, right? It’s not like they’re already in love—there’s not even a hint of it yet.”

“That’s true… but the author is known for writing harem stories, so when it’s written like this, it just feels like it’s about to happen. Anyway, it’s bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Yeah, it just feels too fast.”

Brian Carter was getting annoyed: “Assuming something that hasn’t even happened yet and then saying it’s too fast—seriously, you guys. What if it doesn’t happen?”

“No way, you haven’t read the author’s last book, have you… Want to bet on whether it’ll happen?”

Brian Carter: “……”

If it were before, Brian Carter wouldn’t have dared to take that bet.

Originally, of course it was going to happen…

But now…

He looked up and thought for a long time, then suddenly laughed.

Suddenly, he felt that if Henry Clark and the main character really ended up having nothing to do with each other, maybe that would actually be a good thing… It seemed like his original thinking had gone a bit off track.

Isn’t the most important thing in telling a story the sense of suspense, making it so people can’t guess what’s coming next? Now everyone just assumes what’s going to happen in advance, even “pre-ordering” it, so where’s the suspense in that?

Maybe the main plot is still fine, but at least in terms of romance, there’s no suspense left—only the process is worth watching. That’s not necessarily bad, but it’s not exactly ideal either, like a story with a limp.

Since Henry Clark won’t let him write it the original way, he might as well just completely redo the outline. That way, he can break free from everyone’s predictions—it’s not like he can’t come up with other stories.

The worst that could happen is the book flops, and it’s not like that’s never happened before.

All the frustration he’d been stewing over all night vanished. Brian Carter laughed out loud and replied with two words: “You’re on.”

After that, he didn’t wait for a reply and logged off.

What the bet was didn’t matter.

What mattered was that he’d stepped out of the prison he’d drawn for himself.

—Just like Henry Clark stepped out from under that sky.

Brian Carter simply posted a single-chapter update: “Reworking the outline, taking a day off, and by the way, recommending a book.”

He fulfilled his promise to David Bolton, and with that last bit of worry gone, Brian Carter finally relaxed, stretched, and walked out of his room.

The door to the next room was closed, with a faint light shining through the crack.

Sure enough, David Bolton was still up.

Brian Carter understood completely… The book was going on sale the next day, and the pressure at this moment was enormous. It was perfectly normal to be too nervous to sleep.

Besides, as writers, they were used to staying up late. The quiet of the night often brought more immersion and inspiration—writing into the night was totally normal.

He knocked on the door: “Want to go out and get something to eat?”

David Bolton replied in a muffled voice, “Just had some instant noodles… Want some? Hey, come in, what are you doing standing out there?”

Brian Carter pushed the door open and walked in, immediately seeing David Bolton chatting nonsense with someone on QQ.

“You’re pretty chill. I thought you were writing, but you’re just goofing off.” Brian Carter walked over and glanced at David Bolton’s screen. The chat window had a girl’s avatar. “Damn, you’re even in the mood to flirt?”

David Bolton said indifferently, “Who knows if it’s a guy or a girl? If you take it seriously, you lose. Just relaxing a bit—what, am I supposed to just stare at my document?”

“True.” Brian Carter watched as David Bolton unwound.

The girl on the other end was saying: “My mom passed away.”

Taking advantage: “Want me to come keep you company?”

“I have a boyfriend.”

“I have a mom.” David Bolton sent, blocked her, all in one go.

Brian Carter: “……”

David Bolton turned around: “Don’t look at me like that. I know you just want some white chicken… Oh wait, you want a late-night snack. How about some white-cut chicken?”

“At this hour? No way we’ll find white-cut chicken. Let’s just get a bowl of wonton soup.” Brian Carter headed out, laughing. “Didn’t you just have instant noodles?”

David Bolton chuckled, “You’ve got something on your mind. Even if I’d just eaten eighteen baskets of dumplings, I’d still go eat with you.”

Brian Carter was a bit surprised: “Didn’t expect you to be able to read minds.”

“Read minds? I saw your single-chapter update. You were fine this evening, then suddenly you’re reworking your outline—did you hit a snag with the plot? Knocking on my door at this hour, what else could it be but to talk about the story?”

That’s right—Brian Carter had come over to talk about the plot with his writer friend. That was the whole point of moving in together in the first place, but this was probably the first time in half a year they’d actually done it, aside from giving each other feedback on new books.

David Bolton seemed to realize this at the same time, and couldn’t help but laugh, slinging an arm around Brian Carter’s shoulders as they walked: “Having a friend who still helps promote my chapters even when he’s on hiatus… I think that’s more important than talking about writing.”

Brian Carter agreed—having a friend who, even on the eve of a book launch and full of nerves, was still willing to go out for a late-night snack and talk about story ideas, that was what really mattered.

The two of them went to a street stall outside the neighborhood. Instead of wonton soup, they got some skewers and each ordered a bottle of beer.