Heroes' Prison

Chapter 1846 - 1762: The Grand Finale [New Book + Completion Thoughts]

A beautiful woman in a wedding dress stood among the crowd, covering her mouth, her eyes brimming with tears as she excitedly stared at Huang Yi. It was none other than Qin Shiyu.

She wore a wedding dress to welcome Huang Yi out of prison!

"Brother!" A little girl rushed out from beside the red carpet, giggling as she followed him, holding a flower basket and scattering petals.

"Xiao Chunzi?" Huang Yi was taken aback, then smiled and patted her head.

At this moment, the symphony began playing around them, and a long-waiting band started the "Wedding March."

Amidst the joyful music, Xiao Chunzi followed beside Huang Yi, scattering petals along the way as they walked forward.

Finally, Huang Yi reached the end of the red carpet and stopped in front of Qin Shiyu.

He stood in the sunlight, amidst the sea of people, at the center of the world, a smile on his face, staring at her without moving.

Qin Shiyu could no longer hold back; she ran up crying and threw herself into his arms.

"Brother Yi, we’ve been waiting for you to return."

"I never left."

(The End)

Huang Huayi

July 14, 2019

————

The following words are free of charge:

It’s finally finished!

From the first Chapter serialized on April 16, 2013, to completing the last Chapter on July 14, 2019, a total of 2,280 days, over six years, and even my editor changed three times, it’s finally done.

When I wrote the last sentence, all the emotions suddenly surged out, and I couldn’t help but burst into tears. For the first time since I grew up, I cried like a child. It’s a feeling no one else could understand, only myself.

At the moment I wrote that last sentence, it felt as if my soul had ascended, as if watching a Chapter of my life come to an end. I thought I was numb, thought I could control my emotions well. Even when writing to the part where Xiao Chunzi appeared, there were no waves in my heart. But when I wrote the last sentence, suddenly I couldn’t control it anymore. It was like all the emotions suppressed for over six years burst out at once, completely uncontrollable.

I persisted for over six years, I didn’t give up, I overcame countless difficulties and finally finished it.

If the book had followed the original plan, it would have been finished smoothly in two years, but that wouldn’t have been as unforgettable as it is now. It was because this book experienced unexpected events, because it had a tumultuous fate, endured countless twists and turns, and survived countless storms, that finishing it feels so indelible.

The early stages of this book were written smoothly, and its performance steadily rose, often ranking in the top 10 of online gaming charts. But in June 2014, at the height of this book’s popularity, I was diagnosed with cirrhosis, and suddenly the whole world darkened.

I was still very young at that time, full of energy, very driven, and stayed up late writing for long periods, with heavy thoughts, often writing until three or four in the morning, sometimes only sleeping at dawn. But even after lying down, my mind kept spinning, contemplating plotlines, completely uncontrollable, unable to sleep well or eat well. Over time, I developed cirrhosis.

The illness knocked down a once high-spirited young man, and I no longer had the heart to write, discontinuing this book, not even daring to visit Starting Point, fearing the criticism in the comments section. It seemed like I entered another kind of life, I was no longer myself.

Reflecting on that time now, most of the memories are blurry. I only remember grayness, frequent pain, often tiredly squeezing into the subway, going to the hospital for blood tests. It was crowded in the subway, I was very weak, my face pale, extremely tired, so I could only squat among the crowd, my head pounding, the noise around me was loud.

After enduring the subway ride, I still had to register and wait in line for examinations, blood tests, and medications at the hospital... At that time, I was taking Interferon, available in imported and domestic options. The imported Interferon required one injection per week, each costing over a thousand yuan. I didn’t have that much money, so I had to choose the domestic Interferon, which cost sixty yuan per injection but required an injection every other day. I had to give myself injections, and my arms became stiff from the needles, filled with puncture marks. Later, as it became more challenging to find a spot, I had to inject my thighs and abdomen.

During that time, life felt ironic; it was because I stayed up late writing that I fell ill, and all the little royalties earned had to be spent, gaining nothing but an incurable disease. Besides taking Interferon, I also had to take antiviral Western medicine, Chinese herbal remedies, and decoctions mixed with over a dozen herbs. Each hospital visit cost several thousand yuan.

But just two months after two years of Interferon, it relapsed. I then switched to purely taking medications, combining Chinese and Western medicine for a few more years, slowly tapering off the Chinese medicine. Now, I still have to take Entecavir and Fuzheng Huayu Capsule every day.

During the discontinuation period, the physical pain was secondary; the greater suffering was mental. I couldn’t write; it felt like I was crippled, unable to write anything. I’d often sit in front of the computer all day, unable to write a single word, hitting my head, scolding myself, but nothing would come out. On the other hand, there were readers urging updates, their angry scoldings; I was in a panic. I wanted to write, but just couldn’t produce anything.

I could only watch as most readers left in disappointment, those who once cheered for me turning to curse me, even wishing for my early demise. Yet, on the other hand, some readers still persistently encouraged me, trying to contact me through various channels, giving me encouragement and rewards. Seeing these readers, I felt very guilty because I couldn’t write anything, letting down their expectations. This feeling of failing others was even more painful than being scolded.