I Became an All-round Artist

Lin Xuan, Lin Yuan's older sister, had come home just before the New Year.

As soon as she arrived, she fixed her gaze on Lin Yuan. "On my way home, there was this young girl next to me who kept humming 'Red, green, blue...' for half an hour."

"And?" Lin Yuan was a bit confused.

With a playful smile, Lin Xuan stretched out her hand. "Your song tortured your sister for the entire trip. Shouldn’t I get some compensation for emotional damage?"

"I'll send a red envelope," Lin Yuan replied.

He sent a red envelope of 10,000 yuan to the family group chat, which included only their mother, Lin Yuan, Lin Yao, and Lin Xuan—four people in total.

In just two seconds, the envelope was claimed.

When Lin Xuan saw the results, her face darkened. "A 10,000-yuan envelope split four ways, and Yaoyao managed to snag 6,000 by herself?"

She immediately hugged Lin Yao, hoping to soak up some of her good luck.

Lin Yuan thought for a moment and pinched Lin Yao's cheek too before sneaking off to his room.

"What’s he up to?" Lin Xuan and Lin Yao exchanged puzzled looks.

Though they trusted Lin Yuan, his odd behavior of touching his sister’s face and then bolting to his room was undeniably suspicious.

"System, quick! Open a treasure chest!" Lin Yuan mentally shouted as soon as he got back to his room. He had just touched Lin Yao’s face, so he believed her luck hadn't worn off yet.

The chest opened, and the system announced: "Congratulations, you've received five short stories."

"Five short stories?" Lin Yuan instantly felt a wave of excitement.

Although these were short stories, he was thrilled because he preferred shorter works. The system required him to write the stories himself, and he had no desire to craft lengthy epics.

Short stories had another advantage—they didn’t take long for readers to finish, meaning he could quickly earn more recognition.

"How should I release them?" Lin Yuan pondered.

Then he remembered that the platform called “Tribe” allowed users to post articles.

Yang Feng had previously helped certify his Tribe account, which made things easier. He could release these stories under his pen name "Chu Kuang."

He decided to start with The Artificial Beauty. After all, it was only a few thousand words.

Let me introduce the story.

The Artificial Beauty is a microfiction, authored by the famous Japanese writer Shinichi Hoshi. Known as the father of Japanese microfiction, Hoshi's work is celebrated for its clever and unique storytelling. Interestingly, the name "Shinichi" from the famous detective series was inspired by him.

Lin Yuan opened his laptop and logged onto Tribe.

Tribe, much like Weibo or Facebook in his previous life, had a similar vibe.

The only notable difference was that Tribe’s fiction section was incredibly popular. Many people loved posting short stories on the platform—though hardly anyone ever posted longer works there.

Lin Yuan's Tribe account was named "Chu Kuang," and his official bio listed him as the author of Prince of Tennis. Despite having never posted anything on his Tribe account or promoted it, Lin Yuan had over 10,000 followers.

The inbox was filled with fan messages, mostly questions about the plot of Prince of Tennis or fans expressing their admiration for "Chu Kuang."

Lin Yuan didn’t reply. Instead, he directly opened the fiction section and began writing The Artificial Beauty.

"She was an exquisitely crafted artificial woman—so beautiful that no real-life beauty could compare. This artificial beauty had been designed by combining all the finest traits from various real women, making her a flawless goddess. However, she had a bit of an attitude, often appearing aloof and uninterested in others. But, considering many stunning women have a similar air of pride, it was understandable..."

At this point, Lin Yuan paused and asked, "System, didn’t you say my typing speed would improve?"

The system replied, "Yes."

Lin Yuan continued, "Has it?"

The system explained, "By learning professional-level piano skills, your typing speed has naturally increased. But most importantly..."

"What?"

"You’re single."

"So what?"

The system fell silent.

Apparently, those who don’t know how to tell a joke often don’t get jokes either.

Lin Yuan shrugged it off and continued typing away on his laptop.

"…Amid fierce competition, one bar was on the verge of bankruptcy. The owner, desperate for customers, spent a fortune to create this alluring artificial woman..."

Fifteen minutes later, Lin Yuan hit the enter key.

To his surprise, it had taken him less than twenty minutes to finish writing The Artificial Beauty—a story nearly 3,000 words long!

It seemed his typing speed really was something else. His biggest advantage as a writer was that he didn’t need to come up with the plot himself.

For most writers, the challenge isn’t typing fast but thinking fast.

Oftentimes, the story ideas don’t flow quickly enough, which slows down the writing process.

But when you don’t have to think about the plot, even a slow typist could churn out 10,000 words in a day.

Lin Yuan wasn’t a slow typist, and since he didn’t have to come up with the story on his own, he could write incredibly fast.

Once he finished writing, he didn’t overthink it. He published The Artificial Beauty in Tribe’s fiction section.

At that moment, his mom called from the other room, “Dinner’s ready!”

Soon, the family was gathered around the table for a meal. It was a feast with five dishes—clearly, his mother had spent quite some time preparing it.

But there was no need to worry about leftovers since Lin Xuan was back.

Despite her slim figure, Lin Xuan could eat a lot, which probably explained why she always had a bit of baby fat on her face.

As they ate, Lin Xuan bragged to her sister, “I know so many famous writers now. Just name one, and I might know them!”

“Chu Kuang,” Lin Yao teased.

Lin Xuan coughed awkwardly. “Of course, I know Chu Kuang... We even had dinner together recently... Though we’re not in the same company, so we’re not exactly close…”

Has Chu Kuang’s identity been exposed? Lin Yuan wondered, glancing at his sister.

But Lin Xuan didn’t seem to notice his curiosity and quickly changed the subject. “So, do you read Prince of Tennis?”

“My classmates do,” Lin Yao replied. “I’m too busy studying to read novels.”

Satisfied that his identity hadn’t been revealed, Lin Yuan relaxed.

At the same time, his short story had passed Tribe’s review, and everyone who followed Chu Kuang’s account received a notification: “Chu Kuang has posted a new short story.”

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