Meng Dongye was sitting beside a big bed with a MacBook in front of him, while the magic brush was hung by a red thread on the opposite wall. 

He was typing as three men stood next to him with emotionless faces. They looked young and were all gazing at the brush. 

Another man was looming over Meng Dongye’s shoulder. His hands were placed on top of Meng Dongye’s. Their four hands quickly moved along the keyboard, making loud sounds. 

The three other men often reached their hands to touch the brush. Meng Dongye couldn’t see this horde of ghosts, but every time the magic brush swayed, he would cuss loudly. “Go away! Don’t even think about taking it! It’s mine!” 

I finally understood how the magic brush worked. The brush didn’t provide or promote inspiration. The ghosts living in the brush helped the current owner write. 

I walked...