A few years ago, in a class of French literature back in my hometown, I was introduced to European Romanticism which immediately aroused my desire of being truthful to myself. Unfortunately, I have been incapable of doing that because of my always being a bad student.
I have long been longing to be a writer, which is an adventurous journey to the land of mystery. Many warriors of this profession cannot even pacify their hunger, not to mention a great majority of the famous ones is exploited post-humorously by some speculator. Telling my readers that I just like to write and do not care about fame is a total lie, though I have to admit that a writer has barely absolute control over his reputation.
Alone am I afraid of pursuing the unknown. I have been lacking the strength and courage to let go of my passion previously. From now on, Werther Armand will be the spokesman and guardian of my feelings. I want him to live intensively his beautiful life to complement my ardor.
This is the overture of the Romance of the Chinese man.
P.S. I am not a native speaker of English. So, making language mistakes is inevitable. Please just be generous to me and let me know so that I can polish the flaws.