Writing Web Novels In America-Chapter 248 - 253: Venomous Snake

In the BET building, the President’s office.

African media mogul Robert Johnson was sitting in his office chair, watching a video.

Even though they hadn’t been invited, BET’s reporters still went to El’s funeral.

After all, the recently best-selling author, Wang Jian, was drawing a lot of attention, and the focus of the funeral was on a young African American.

"Is this the Greenwood Cemetery?" Johnson was a little surprised.

As the most historic cemetery in New York that housed the most notable figures, the burial costs here were considerably exaggerated compared to other places.

"This Wang, the expenses for this funeral must have been substantial," he sighed to himself.

But then, Roberson’s brow furrowed.

Because he noticed that by this tombstone, three celebrities were buried.

William Colgate, the founder of the Colgate company, Emile Pfizer, the second-generation Sect Leader of Pfizer Pharmaceuticals, and Albert, one of the founders of the Juilliard School.

Well, for an African American gangster to be buried here was unimaginable.

But... those three celebrities were all known to have Ku Klux Klan tendencies, and there were even rumors that their daily activities included hunting Africans as a form of entertainment.

"It’s really hard to imagine how this Asian best-selling author managed to get these old money folks to agree to bury an African next to them," the African reporter remarked.

How did they agree?

Johnson took a sip of his coffee but didn’t answer the question.

If these three were alive, they would have certainly enjoyed witnessing this scene.

After finishing their afternoon tea, they’d have something to be active about again.

But because these three families were so powerful, this disgraceful part of their family history was deliberately covered up and not known to the public.

Except for those like himself, who had extensively studied history and could understand the gist of it.

Even the Caucasians didn’t quite grasp the evil details of this matter, let alone most of the African poor!

"I can’t say! I can’t offend these giants!" Roberson clenched his teacup so hard that muscles on his arms bulged.

Although he didn’t have a fondness for African American gangsters, he still cared deeply about the dark history of racism.

"Look, Wang is really very sad," the African reporter sighed. "Did we maybe misjudge him?"

"Even among African American brothers, conflicts arise."

"And besides... celebrity partners can sometimes indeed be too greedy."

What great actors!

Roberson was also shocked by the shamelessness of that Asian author.

But then, the Asian author in a dark suit on TV made another shocking move.

He pulled out a suitcase and opened it, revealing stacks of green US Dollar bills.

Those bills were very old.

"Indeed, he’s not a miser; he’s willing to give his comrades’ families some help," the African reporter noted again.

Hmm?

Could this author really possess the Chinese virtues of tolerance and forbearance? Was the matter of the grave location just a mistake?

Robert Johnson still furrowed his brow, feeling a strong sense of dissonance.

This continued until he saw the deceased’s family’s surprised expressions and the deceased brothers’ looks of envy and jealousy.

"Wait," he turned to the reporter, "Does the deceased’s family still live in the Bronx District?"

"Yes," the African reporter nodded. "After the funeral, the Asian author even arranged for drivers to take them back."

FUCK!

That’s a viper!

Still a very cunning snake!

Carrying a large amount of old money, what would be the outcome in the Bronx District?

I estimate that by tomorrow there will be news reports saying that the victims’ families were shot.

"No!" Roberson shook his head, "the news won’t notice how many people died in the Bronx District."

"These people will die silently!"

Holy shit! Why did I offend this person, and why did I do it so openly?

He must now know the cause and course of the event.

And me, also a billionaire, have no financial advantage when facing this Asian writer!

Robert Johnson started to think about the usual tactics he employed.

African rights, discrimination...

Couldn’t offend the three major families, should I then say that the families of the African victims will certainly be robbed by other Africans?

That would definitely get me ridiculed as "black on the outside, white on the inside"!

He hesitated for a moment, then still dialed the phone number of the NBC Legendary Journalist.

This Asian writer is currently not opposing me just because he lacks the strength.

So, I absolutely must not let him rise up!

"Hello, Mr. Wood," Robert Johnson uncharacteristically refrained from using his media mogul tone, "How should we handle this matter with Wang?"

"The fact that he’s been organizing funerals for victims has greatly alleviated the Africans’ resentment toward him."

"It doesn’t matter," Wood’s voice was very calm, "his base is still the group of writers."

"We have already contacted many subordinate associations to protest against the Writers Association’s announcement."

"As long as the writing community abandons him, he’ll lose his chance to quickly rise up."

"A person always has moments of negligence," Wood continued, "we just need one opportunity, and we can kick him completely out of the United States!"

...

Meanwhile, in the office building in Flushing,

Wang Jian was sitting in a chair, revising the outline of his new piece.

That $200,000 was just a casual move.

As for the welfare of El’s family, he wasn’t particularly concerned.

"You say I’m obsessed with the game of capital?" Wang Jian smirked, "Then I’ll write a book about how to spend money."

If there’s anything that can dilute the contrary mentality of the upright and self-serving writing community,

it would only be the pursuit of inspiration, and experiencing life for new writing.

Like Vladimir Nabokov and his world-famous "Lolita."

Or like the famous director Polanski, who had already breached the law, yet artistic youths were still defending him.

He was just experiencing life, which is why he created such delicate emotions in "Red," "Blue," "White."

"Although these works don’t follow logic, can’t withstand scrutiny, and can basically be classified as trash literature," Wang Jian shrugged and chuckled lightly, "then again, which writer doesn’t have a few such trashy works that even they can’t bear to read?"

"Perhaps, because this book is trashy enough, it may actually bring me closer to the grassroots writers."

Wang Jian clicked the mouse, looking at the bestseller list with works like "Mist" and "Da Vinci’s Code," he sighed softly.

"This book, the money it should make, you all can help me earn."

Having said that, he clicked the mouse and created the new book’s title.

The bold black font displayed: "I Am Really Too Rich!"

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