Chapter Eight: Mental Attributes

Zhou Chen made his decision: he would write "The Great Guardian." He began drafting an outline based on the plot as he remembered it. Even though he hadn’t read the ending, it didn’t matter; he was just in it for the quick cash. As long as the money rolled in, he could figure out the ending later.

The outline flowed surprisingly well. He listed the plot points, key tropes, plot twists, character names, and locations from his memory. He had dabbled in writing novels before, but never had an outline come together this smoothly. No wonder so many people enjoyed being literary plagiarists—this was even easier than writing fan fiction.

With two hours left before he could leave work, Zhou Chen didn't stop. He dove straight into writing the first chapter.

"Chapter One..."

He halted after only a few hundred words. He didn't know how to proceed. The original novel’s appeal lay in the protagonist’s investigative prowess and his witty, flamboyant persona in the brothels. Unfortunately, Zhou Chen was unskilled in both. He could manage simple prose, but he couldn't replicate the professional nuances. Despite his desperate attempts to recall the details, he found himself struggling.

"I was too naive. Being a literary plagiarist isn't as easy as I thought. My brain isn't sharp enough, and my thinking can't keep up."

Zhou Chen felt deflated. While he could clearly recall the memories of the original host—as if they were etched into his mind—his own memories were different. He could grasp the general plot, but producing the intricate details was incredibly difficult.

"Wait, I still have the system."

Leaning back in his chair, Zhou Chen suddenly remembered his "cheat code." He immediately pulled up the system interface. It appeared just as it had in the real world, displaying only basic attributes. His eyes lit up when he saw he had four unused attribute points.

The system defined its attributes: Strength, Constitution, Agility, and Spirit. Strength represented his physical force, Constitution his overall health, and Agility his speed and reflexes. Spirit represented consciousness, cognitive activity, and mental state.

Although Spirit didn't equate to IQ, a high level of it sharpened awareness, boosted logical and analytical capabilities, and, in a sense, represented wisdom. According to the system, the average person had a Spirit score of ten or less. Anything above ten belonged to the clever and sharp-minded, and the higher the score, the more genius the individual.

Zhou Chen had eight points in Spirit, which was average. With four points to spend, he could easily dump them all into Spirit. Since he was currently in the world of "A Love for Dilemma"—a mundane urban drama—he didn't need physical combat prowess. Adding these points would surely enhance his cognitive abilities and aid his writing.

Without hesitation, he allocated all four points to Spirit.

A sharp pain lanced through his brain, and his consciousness blurred for a fleeting moment. Then, a profound change took hold. Having increased his Spirit by fifty percent, his mind felt remarkably clear. Thoughts flashed through his brain, and previously hazy memories became vivid. His head felt clearer than it ever had before.

Zhou Chen closed his eyes to savor the transformation. After a long while, he adapted. He didn't waste another moment, using this heightened state to recall the plot. While he still couldn't remember everything perfectly, the vast majority of the content was accessible, and as he pondered, he found he could slowly piece the narrative together.

The effect was staggering. He realized that if he could boost his Spirit further, he would undoubtedly become a genius in the eyes of others. However, with his points exhausted, the key was figuring out how to earn more—which likely tied into the tasks he needed to complete.

After testing his limits, he discovered the constraints: his improved Spirit only boosted his logic, memory, and analytical speed. It didn't grant him knowledge he didn't already possess, nor did it give him photographic memory. Overall, he was still an ordinary man. But for Zhou Chen, this was more than enough.

Over the next few days, aside from picking up Huanhuan after work, he left the housework to Nan Li. She complained a few times, grumbling that he wasn't focusing on his main job and was wasting time on a novel. Zhou Chen didn't bother explaining; he simply ensured that after a night of his newfound vigor, a refreshed Nan Li stopped complaining the next morning.

*Even though I'm in my thirties, my mental state feels like a man in his twenties—full of energy,* he thought.

As for Huanhuan’s education, Zhou Chen held off on his plans; it wasn't the right time. Neither Huanhuan nor Nan Li would realize the severity of her declining grades until they saw the results for themselves. Whatever he said now would be useless and might only damage his relationship with his daughter. He believed the immediate priority was to nurture his bond with Nan Li. If they were a united front, other problems would resolve themselves.

Secondary to that was money. A man needed to earn more than his wife if he wanted a say in the household. Earn well during the day and be attentive at night—that was the secret to a good life. Otherwise, well, those who know, know.

A few days after posting his novel, he received a contract notification from the site. His editor, a person named Xiao Ming, reached out. He wrote under the pen name "Shan Li," a combination of his name and his wife’s.

Thanks to his heightened Spirit, his thinking was faster, and his typing speed soared. He could churn out twenty thousand words in four or five hours. Eager for quick returns, he updated at a rapid pace—ten thousand words a day—aiming to have the book officially launched within a month.

The few concerns his editor initially raised were dismissed after Zhou Chen’s explanation, and he was left to manage his own publication.