Global Update [Quick Transmigration]

Not to mention how shocked Yan Zhi was, after Qiao Jing and her left, Zhang Shuqi who stayed in the private room suddenly became restless.

He couldn't drink the drink he had enjoyed so much. After hesitating for a long time, he still proposed to relieve himself, but in fact he wanted to go to Qiao Jing's side to see the situation.

Zhang Shuqi didn't believe that these two were really on good terms.

——If Qiao Jing was really that kind of person, Zhang Shuqi would immediately hang himself upside down on the flagpole of Jingluo University!no sooner said than done!

He inquired about the room where the manager Qiao Jing was, and tiptoed to the door, his eyes widened. Since he failed to peep through the crack of the door, he pressed his ear against the door again, wishing to stick half of his body against it. Just to hear if there are any strange movements coming from inside——

"Ouch!"

Just as Zhang Shuqi was concentrating, the door was suddenly opened from the inside.

He fell on his back all of a sudden, and with a bang, both people in the room were startled.

Zhang Shuqi lay on the cold marble floor, feeling the severe pain all over his body as if his bones were falling apart, and raised his head with a bitter face.

Qiao Jing looked down at him with an indescribable expression.

But out of politeness, he still asked:

"Are you okay?"

"No, it's okay, I have rough skin and thick flesh, haha."

Zhang Shuqi jumped up from the ground immediately, and before Qiao Jing asked him why he was here, he ran away in a hurry.

But before leaving, he glanced at the girl standing half a step behind Qiao Jing from the corner of his eye.

The clothes are tidy, the makeup is not changed, and the hair is not messed up... very good!He knew that he was right, Brother Qiao was indeed an honest gentleman!

There is just one thing that makes Zhang Shuqi very puzzled——

Why are the girl's eyes so red, as if she just cried?

After returning from Rouge Lane that day, Qiao Jing immediately devoted himself to his creative career.

But he wasn't really writing any stories, but simply organized the various experiences that the girl named Rouge dictated to him into fluent paragraphs, and recorded them in his notebook.

During his questioning that day, Rouge broke down in tears several times.

Qiao Jing was stupid, she didn't know how to comfort the girl at all, and she didn't bring a handkerchief with her, so she had to sit blankly on the seat and wait for her to finish crying.

But he not only underestimated the richness of the girl's tears, but also underestimated his ability to interview. He had already thought about what questions to ask on the road, but when he saw the interviewee crying in front of him, his brain suddenly went crazy. Blank.

Fortunately, Yan Zhi believed him in the end and opened up to Qiao Jing, otherwise he would have returned without success this time.

The three pages he brought over were all filled with writing, but Qiao Jing came back and sorted it out, and felt that it was not enough.

Just like what Zeng Liang said, the places they go to can be regarded as "upper class" even in this industry, and only dignitaries and people with background can enjoy it. It is far inferior to those real low-level women.

In this era, even prostitutes are divided into different classes.For example, those famous prostitutes on the Qinhuai River are not only good at singing and dancing, but also recite poems and poems. Just a piece of jewelry on their body is worth hundreds of oceans.

Qiao Jing exchanged some relevant information from 008's database about the transformation of low-level prostitutes in the Demon City in the early days of the founding of the People's Republic of China. It is no exaggeration to say that every word on it made him feel sick to his stomach.

These low-level prostitutes are neither beautiful, nor can they sing or dance. In the eyes of the world, only their bodies are their only capital.

Therefore, they were abducted, insulted, beaten, and even not treated as human beings by those old bustards. If they got syphilis and sores, they would be tied to the bed and scalded with red-hot iron tongs... Finally, they died of pain. .

Most of them are very cheap, only two or three cents a time, and the guests they entertain are porters, water craftsmen, bearers, porters, rickshaw pullers and factory workers, so basically everyone is sick.Moreover, in order to earn more money, the bustard and the tortoise will force them to do needlework during the day and pick up customers in the evening until their lower body festers and festers, and finally they have to hand over all their income. It can be said that their lives are worse than dogs and pigs.

And these are the real lives of most prostitutes.

In the feudal society for thousands of years, no one has written a word about them, and no one has ever been willing to really understand their experiences.The so-called loss of face and neglect in the family is just the most understatement and insignificant item in the gloomy life of these women.

The book that Qiao Jing will write next is destined to severely hurt the fragile hearts of some people.

Simple irony is not enough anymore, what he wants is to tear off the scab on the scar abruptly, expose the bloody truth underneath to their eyes, and let those young masters who like to have fun and plausibly say that this is an elegant thing See it, let the whole world see it.

Feeling unwell?Can't bear to read?

--That's right.

Qiao Jing put down her pen, stood in front of the library window, staring at the playground below in a daze.

The afternoon sun was just right, and the boys formed two teams to play football on the playground.The loud voice disrupted his train of thought, but it was undeniable that it also relieved Qiao Jing's heavy heart a little.

He watched the game for a while, and then felt from the bottom of his heart that in a hundred years, all walks of life in the country have been developing rapidly. Only the national football team has realized the real sailing against the current and turning back time.

It can be called a miracle of the world.

"Junior Brother Qiao, this is a newspaper that just arrived, remember to tidy it up before you leave."

A male voice came from behind. It was a senior who worked in the library with Qiao Jing. He was going home for the New Year soon, and Qiao Jing was the only one left in the library during the winter vacation.

He agreed, but still stood at the window without looking back.

It wasn't until the end of the game on the playground that Qiao Jing reluctantly walked to his seat and began to organize the newspapers.

The library of Jingluo University can be regarded as one of the most complete libraries in China. Even the newspapers, magazines and other publications issued by different newspaper offices all over the country are backed up here.

Qiao Jing's daily work is to organize and file them according to date, so that people who need them can quickly refer to them later.

But flipping through it, he suddenly saw a familiar newspaper.

Staring at the strong and powerful characters of "Dongfang Beijing News", Qiao Jing was stunned for a few seconds, and then remembered, oh, before he knew it, the day had come for his novel to be published in the newspaper.

Since Jingluo University delivered a batch of newspapers by postman every Monday, when Qiao Jing saw his novel appeared in the newspaper, it had actually been a whole week since it started serialization.

To be honest, Qiao Jing actually really wanted to know how readers of this era would respond to his works, but he searched the entire novel column, and there seemed to be no relevant sections, which made him feel a little regretful.

Next time I send a manuscript to Editor-in-Chief Xu, I should ask in the letter, he thought.

Qiao Jing didn't think much about it, and as usual, he classified the "Dongfang Beijing News" and other newspapers together, and put them in the innermost file room of the library-these newspapers basically belonged to the kind that lasted for several months. No one will even read it for several years.

After finishing this work, the sky outside has completely darkened.

The library is not open all day. After the last student in the library left, Qiao Jing packed up his things, locked the door and left.

the next day.

Early in the morning, he came to the library again.

But before Qiao Jing took out the manuscript paper from the bag, suddenly, a student hurried in and asked, "Which area are the old newspapers located?"

Qiao Jing blinked and pointed him in the direction of the archives.

"Thank you!"

He quickly wrote down his name on the admission registration form, and strode into the file room.

Qiao Jing glanced at it, and there were two big characters on the registration form:

Kang Ping.

Ten minutes later, the student named Kang Ping came out with a stack of newspapers as if he had found a treasure.

"Do you still need to register?" He asked Qiao Jing.

Qiao Jing pointed to the big characters on the wall on his right: Please inform the administrator of the title and author of the book to borrow books, and issue dates for magazines, newspapers, periodicals, etc.

Kang Ping let out an "ah" and said, "I borrowed the "Mingcha Daily", all seven days last week."

Qiao Jing nodded silently, finished registering for him, and then tapped the big characters on the wall to his left:

Borrowed books must be returned within three months, and must not be damaged, dirty, or annotated, and offenders will be compensated according to the circumstances.

Kang Ping: "..."

He and Qiao Jing, who hadn't said a word the whole time, looked at each other for a few seconds, remained silent for a few seconds, and were in awe for a while.

In their school, there are still such disabled students!

Really a role model for my generation!

"Don't worry, I'll definitely return it on time." He nodded solemnly at Qiao Jing, and walked away with the newspaper in his arms.

Qiao Jing looked at his back inexplicably, thinking that this man was really weird, but he didn't pay much attention. He quickly looked away and continued to ponder the outline of his novel on his seat.

After Kang Ping left the library, he did not return to the dormitory, but went to the teaching building.

There are still a few days before the school holiday. This period is the period when the professors correct and mark the papers. For the vast majority of students, it is the time when they are drunk. Say it again!

Kang Ping is better than those guys who drink and revel in the daytime. He joined an interest club organized by the students himself, and he specialized in reading vernacular novels. These books are very interesting, and after I went to university, I found out that I was interested in them, and it was even more out of control.

It's a pity that most of the novels serialized in newspapers and periodicals nowadays are of low quality, and the uneven level is really difficult to read.

Many authors don't even know how to write vernacular novels!

In Kang Ping's opinion, it is better not to write half-text and half-white books.

And the "Mingcha Daily" he borrowed this time is considered one of the best newspapers run by the novel section in the whole country. There are some wonderful passages. After copying it down, when encountering some controversial topics in the novel, they will blush and have thick necks arguing about it, and no one will accept the other.

"It's finally here, I've been waiting for you for a long time."

He pushed open the door of the classroom and went in. A dozen other members of the club were already sitting at the long table waiting for Kang Ping. The president took the newspaper in Kang Ping's hand and glanced at it roughly: "Is this all about last week? Why is it so thick?"

As the president spoke, he even flipped through the pages, and sure enough, he found several newspapers that did not belong to "Mingcha Daily" in the pile of newspapers.

Kang Ping opened his eyes wide and slapped his head: "Oh, I messed up!"

The file room was too dusty, and he didn't want to stay for a long time. When he saw the words "Mingchao Daily" in a hurry, he roughly counted the dates and took them away. Unexpectedly, he also took a few copies with him.

"Why are you so careless in doing things?" The president frowned, "When the time comes, remember to go back and put it away for others, don't mess it up."

Kang Ping quickly apologized: "I'm sorry, President, I must pay attention next time."

"sit down."

We were all classmates, so the president said casually, seeing that Kang Ping had a good attitude of admitting his mistakes, his expression softened.

"Then follow the old rules," he picked out the copy with the latest date from today, and put the others on the table, "I'll read it, listen, everyone can discuss with each other after reading a plot, Express your opinion."

Everyone has no objection, because this has been a consistent tradition of their novel club since its establishment.

The president stood in front of the blackboard, cleared his throat, and began to read aloud.As for Kang Ping, who was sitting at the bottom of his head, he was still engrossed in listening at first, but it was probably because the serial content in the newspaper this week was too boring. After a while, he began to feel drowsy.

In order not to be found sleepy, Kang Ping stretched out his hand, pretending to tidy up the pile of newspapers on the table.But after thinking about it, his movements suddenly gradually slowed down, and he stared at the content on one of the sheets without blinking, until the president announced: "Okay, we can discuss it." Then he responded abruptly. Come on.

Kang Ping noticed that after the president finished saying this, everyone in the classroom basically looked at each other in blank dismay. It seems that he is not the only one who thinks this issue is not good.

"Hey," someone sighed, "It's fine if the literary world is in decline, but why is it that the level of these vernacular novel writers has plummeted?"

Immediately someone echoed him: "Exactly. I really don't like that kind of storytelling style. I was watching it vigorously. The author suddenly inserted a comment, and I could insert three or four sentences in a paragraph. I lost all my thoughts."

"That's wrong. The form of the novel doesn't matter, the key is that the plot is too ugly..."

"Thirteen or four characters appear in one chapter, and it's hard to tell who is who!"

"It can only be said that if you don't have Cao Gong's writing skills, then don't worry about writing "Dream of Red Mansions"."

Everyone was talking about it. It was obvious that these inner thoughts had been suppressed in their hearts for a long time, and they just happened to be released at once, without vomit.

At this moment, Kang Ping coughed and raised his hand.

"That," he licked his lips, and said excitedly, "Actually, I read a good one just now, but it's not a novel published in "Mingchao Daily"... Shall we read this?"