"Andy, you can't go on like this. You haven't published anything in two years, you know? You still owe your publisher a few books!"
"Even if you can't write that garbage, you shouldn't refuse the jobs I find for you!"
"7Teen magazine asked you to write a blog. They like your style. This is your job. I'm your agent. I'm helping you!"
Andy watched the bald, middle-aged man in front of him nag incessantly all morning. His head was buzzing. He pressed his fingers against his temples, which felt like they were about to explode, curled up on the sofa, and said painfully,
"Oh, for god's sake Carl, stop nagging! Fuck, my head is about to explode. I need to take a painkiller and then take a nap. I won't see you off."
Carl watched as Andy rubbed his temples and staggered up the stairs. He raised his hand, his lips moving as if he wanted to speak again to persuade him, but then, as if remembering something, he lowered his hand and sighed softly,
"Then you should rest well. When you're rested, remember to call me."
Andy lay sprawled on the large, cluttered bed, his eyes tightly shut, a look of pain on his face, recalling the past 12 hours in utter disbelief.
"Cough cough..."
Andy climbed out of the icy swimming pool and vomited, patting his chest and spitting out large amounts of water. It took him a while to come to his senses. He felt weak in his limbs and had a splitting headache.
Damn it, where am I? Wasn't I killed by a speeding truck, hauling chickens?
He held his throbbing head, wiped the water from his face, slowly stood up, and walked into the house guided by the dim light in the villa, finding the bathroom.
With a snap, Andy was stunned when he turned on the light. A strange face appeared in the bathroom mirror: black hair, eyes as blue as lake water, soft features, a sickly pale complexion, about 180-190 centimeters tall, but very thin, looking quite disproportionate.
His features were just exceptionally young, with a hint of naiveté.
Staring blankly at the mirror, Andy, who was already in his thirties in his past life, turned around and walked out of the bathroom. His wet feet touched the soft carpet, and he collapsed onto the large white sofa in the living room, muttering, "Damn, did I get possessed and transmigrate?"
Lost in his memories, Andy suddenly felt a sharp pain in his head, as if a red-hot iron was being stirred inside, making his brain boil. He screamed and clutched his head, collapsing to the ground and rolling around. He didn't know how much time had passed before blood flowed from his nose, and he passed out.
In a daze, Andy saw a grayish-white cloud carrying a tiny electric current merging with a white cloud, the current breaking down the white cloud.
"Ah... what just happened?"
Andy sat up, somewhat bewildered. When he woke up, he found that his head, which had just been in pain and dizzy, was now clear. He felt something sticky under his nose, and when he touched it, he found it was full of blood.
He quickly stood up, went into the bathroom, and looked in the mirror. Blood was flowing from his nose all the way to the corner of his mouth. After thinking for a few seconds, he closed his eyes and tried to recall, then swallowed hard before suddenly opening them. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he felt another wave of dizziness. The owner of this body was named Andy Smith, 21 years old, a young writer who had achieved fame at a young age. His mother was a Tiffany jewelry designer, and his father was a lawyer, a partner in a New York law firm. What made him most excited was that the current time was—April 2006!
Looking at the messy, dimly lit, spacious living room, Andy turned on all the lights. The villa was decorated simply and brightly, with white as the main color and European-style furniture, giving it a modern feel. A huge family photo hung on the wall behind the sofa. From the information he found in his memory, his maternal grandfather was of Chinese descent, his mother was of mixed race, he had one-quarter Chinese ancestry, and his family was very wealthy.
Andy was very intelligent from a young age. He was proficient in piano and guitar and read all kinds of books. At the age of sixteen, he wrote his first novel, "Vampire Academy," which made him famous overnight. He then wrote another novel, "Paper Towns," which made him a very famous young writer in America.
Andy took off his clothes and soaked himself in the pristine white bathtub, watching the rising steam wet the three mirrored walls around him. He closed his eyes slightly and continued to reminisce.
Until Papertown was bought by a Hollywood film company, he was tricked by his sleazy agent into moving from New York to Los Angeles and even applied to USC.
Hollywood, Los Angeles.
In this world filled with hedonists, time plays tricks on you. One day you dream, and then your dream becomes reality. It's a wonderful time. If someone tells you that you made a mistake, got hurt, and learned a cruel lesson, and that you've become decadent here, under the warm California sun, while you're indulging in meaningless feminine scents...
In the year and a half since arriving in Hollywood, he has lost his inspiration and is now facing what is called a life crisis. Simply put, he can't write anything anymore, which is terrible because he is a writer, a professional writer.
Now I can't even write a damn punctuation.
Women, marijuana, alcohol, and drug abuse ruined his once healthy body. His sunken eyes, pale and sickly complexion, and thin frame looked extremely strange against his 188-centimeter height.
Finally, under the influence of marijuana and alcohol, he slipped and fell into the outdoor swimming pool and drowned, which allowed Wen Xiang, who had transmigrated into his body, to benefit from it.
Dressed in his pajamas, Andy wandered aimlessly around the villa, gazing at the familiar yet strange decor and photographs. He looked at the spacious study with walls lined with books, the luxurious movie theater, and the gym with its marble pool table and various exercise equipment...
"It's...like a dream."
Andy looked at the sunlight streaming through the French windows and scratched his messy hair. He spent the whole night sorting through his memories and checking the villa's condition.
Having not slept all night, and with the combination of memory reconstruction and the stimulation of marijuana and alcohol, he not only did not become lethargic, but was instead unusually excited.
Although Andy didn't understand why this was happening, he didn't take it to heart, assuming it was just excitement after discovering he had been possessed and transmigrated.
As mentioned before, this guy named Andy Smith became famous at a young age. He earned around 5 million from book royalties and film adaptation rights. His villa was bought for him by his parents for more than 2 million US dollars. He also had a red Ferrari F430 worth 250,000 US dollars given to him by his grandfather, and a Porsche Carreratta worth 460,000 USD given to him by his maternal grandfather.
Although millionaires are commonplace in affluent areas like Los Angeles, this amount of money was simply insignificant. Moreover, Andy had spent the past year and a half indulging in a life of extravagance, lacking inspiration and unable to write anything. The mental anguish caused him immense suffering, and he spent lavishly and recklessly indulging in alcohol. To this day, he himself doesn't know how much savings he has left. The number he remembers relatively clearly seems to be over 2 million. Fortunately, the publisher deposits a new royalty payment into his account every year. Apparently, both of his works have been included in the list of recommended reading books for teenagers by the American Department of Education, which will increase sales again. This is a stable source of income, perhaps the only piece of good news that Andy found comforting in the past.
Regardless, I inherited everything from him—his identity, his life. I am Andy Smith.
Andy shrugged, walked to the French windows, stretched, and although his head still ached a little, he began to think. So, what should he do now?
Still deep in thought, Andy squinted, shielding his eyes from the glaring sunlight. He licked his dry lips and felt an unprecedented excitement wash over him, as if an electric current was passing through him and making him tremble slightly.
****
Mass Release 1/10
Reviews would truly help me.