Chapter 17: Learning from Each Other’s Strengths

Chu Lan was never fond of these so-called mystery and detective stories, but Zhang Bowen’s reaction didn’t seem fake. Could it be that her son truly had a talent for writing?

“Are you exaggerating because you’re afraid of hurting his self-esteem?”

Definitely a real mother, Chu Lan thought of this first.

Zhang Bowen shook his head. “Do you think someone thick-skinned enough to get on Jiangcheng news would be afraid of a little criticism from me? The kid is genuinely good—his plotting skills are impressive.”

“I’m honestly a bit embarrassed by all this praise...”

Zhang Chu was itching to finish writing the rest in one go. Luckily, after returning in his previous life and becoming a stay-at-home adult, he’d had to help run the bookstore, which meant he’d ended up reading a wide variety of books.

The works he’d read carefully had become his foundation and reserve of knowledge.

As the old saying goes: read ten thousand books, and your writing will flow naturally. There’s some truth to the words of the ancients!

Chu Lan glanced at the father and son, then gave a reminder: “Don’t stay up too late on the computer. It’s not worth ruining your eyes over a novel and making it harder to find a wife in the future.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be done by tomorrow at the latest. It’s just a short story, not a million-word epic.”

Zhang Chu nearly raised three fingers in a scout’s oath. Living at home did have its inconveniences; he was always being watched over. He was actually starting to look forward to the freedom of university.

Right now, Zhang Bowen was emboldened by his desire to read and gently pushed Chu Lan out of Zhang Chu’s room, then turned back and instructed, “And you, stop chatting online and finish writing. Pull an all-nighter if you have to—never ignore inspiration when it strikes. When you’re done, let me take a look and help you polish it. Who knows, you might actually pass the first round.”

...

Definitely his real mother and father!

Finally, the bedroom returned to tranquility. On this night after the college entrance exams, Zhang Chu hurriedly finished writing the first short story from “Detective Sherlock.”

This novel, adapted from an original TV show from Earth, was actually made up of several short stories, each one a case, but all interconnected. For example, behind “A Study in Pink,” this story, there was Moriarty’s hidden hand!

There were many Sherlock Holmes fan works out there, but this was the one Zhang Chu knew best.

To write these tens of thousands of words, he’d kept his Savior System’s “External Assistance” mode open for a long time. Only then could he keep reviewing the plot and details as he wrote.

“This system is practically a scam! If I can search for this TV series, why can’t I just download all the episodes?”

Zhang Chu’s heart ached; it cost 500 reputation points just to activate “External Assistance,” and then one point for every minute it ran. In this session alone, nearly 700 points had burned away.

He hadn’t even turned it off while chatting with his parents—after all, restarting it cost another 500 points, so it was cheaper to keep it running, only 60 points per hour!

Reputation points weren’t increasing at the moment. After the college entrance exam, they had stalled completely—today’s two exams had only drained his points further.

“Do I really have to wait until the exam results come out to see any increase? If I actually become valedictorian, wouldn’t that be a bit much?”

Zhang Chu was a little worried. At first, he’d only wanted to use the system to save himself, but this salvation was excessive—he’d gone straight from hopeless student to “academic god.”

He couldn’t rely on the system to cheat his way through university forever; eventually, he’d have to have real skills. The system was just an external tool. In the end, he needed to count on himself.

By normal means, there’s no way a hopeless student could become a top scholar in three months, but with the system, he could definitely save time and boost efficiency.

Sitting at his computer, Zhang Chu knew he should be writing, but his mind wandered. “It seems my brain works better now. I never used to calculate whether spending reputation points was worth it.”

In his previous life, his mind had been so dull he’d abandoned mental math altogether; when selling books, he’d needed a calculator just to make change.

But now, he realized it wasn’t worth restarting “External Assistance.” If he needed to use it again within nine hours, it was better to leave it on.

“Seems like when I connected my mind to Teacher Tao’s, I caught some of his way of thinking. Maybe ‘caught’ isn’t the right word. System, do you know what’s going on?”

“Host, please don’t worry. This is simply the soul learning from others’ strengths to offset your weaknesses. Because your mathematical thinking was lacking, once you connected minds, you gained a corresponding improvement.”

If the system could quantify Zhang Chu’s attributes, there would probably be obvious pop-ups: Intelligence +1, Intelligence +2!

Zhang Chu was delighted—he’d finally found an efficient way to quickly improve himself. No matter how expensive “On-Site Assistance” was, he’d have to use it a few more times to shore up his weaknesses.

From then on, he threw himself into writing, and his speed noticeably picked up.

It all comes down to practice. People who rarely write might struggle to produce an 800-word essay, but for a web novelist churning out 10,000 words a day, 800 words is just a few minutes’ work.

Now Zhang Chu was writing more smoothly than ever. The framework and style he’d set earlier were a great help, and with his thoughts flowing, he almost wished he could trade for a triple-speed typing card.

But poverty kept him grounded—a triple-speed card cost 10,000 reputation points, and he only had 8,144 left, still ticking down!

[Sherlock glanced at Watson’s phone and spoke, rather arrogantly: “Harry Watson, it’s obviously a family member who gave you this phone. It can’t be your father—this is clearly a young person’s phone. Maybe a cousin, but someone like you, a war hero, wouldn’t be homeless unless you weren’t born into a big family. So it must be a close relative, namely your brother. And Clara—who’s Clara? Three kisses mean a romantic relationship, and someone who buys such an expensive phone is more likely to be a wife than a girlfriend. It must have been a recent gift, used for just six months, then problems in the marriage, so now you have it...”]

Meticulous reasoning, a proud demeanor—the quintessential Sherlock Holmes leapt from the page. Back in Conan Doyle’s “Complete Sherlock Holmes,” there had been no such thing as mobile phones.

Now, Zhang Chu was borrowing Conan Doyle’s narrative style and rhythm to depict a modern Holmes. The story wasn’t a simple copy, but a major reimagining. Only a novel with such creative innovation could be called quality fan fiction, not just a rehash of old ideas!