Chapter 24: A Dangerous Enemy

The two greatest attractions of the internet are freedom and free content.

Zhao Zejun, however, had previously taken a scalpel to the concept of "free" with his "tipping" mechanism. Yet, that was merely a superficial incision; it did not fundamentally alter the nature of free access. This new signing system, however, completely stripped authors of their "right to freedom."

It wasn't just Song Yun who was confused; everyone at Zewyue found Zhao Zejun's approach incomprehensible, if not outright absurd. It was true that under Zewyue's promotion, the benefits for web novel authors had indeed improved. However, even at Zewyue, which offered the best conditions, the majority of web novelists still earned very little. Even mid-tier writers with a certain level of popularity saw very limited income from their work. Only a very small minority—those at the level of Blood Cloud—could currently earn enough from the diligent writing bonus and tips to match a regular salary. As for getting rich from their writing, that remained a distant, uncertain prospect.

Everyone understood that one must give something to gain something. Giving up freedom was not out of the question, provided the returns were sufficient. Under these circumstances, for a website to impose a mandatory contract that not only deprived authors of their "personal freedom" but also seized the copyright of their novels, while offering disproportionately low returns—what author would ever agree to that?

There was one thought the Zewyue staff present dared not voice: this move by Zhao Zejun was not a strategic strike at the root of the problem; it was outright aiding the enemy! With two rival sites openly colluding to poach talent from Zewyue, this "signing system" was tantamount to driving their own authors away and helping the competition. If Zhao Zejun weren't the boss of Zewyue, the staff would have assumed he was a plant sent by the competition.

"I know everyone is worried. Once the signing policy is out, a large number of authors will surely leave." Zhao Zejun voiced their concerns himself before anyone else could.

Song Yun coughed. "Mr. Zhao, we spent so much money and put in so much effort, all to compete for authors against other sites. The other two platforms will definitely seize this opportunity to poach our talent en masse..."

Zhao Zejun laughed heartily and said with an air of profound composure, "Let them poach. The more they take, the better!"

The crowd looked at each other in bewilderment.

"Everyone, please allow me to keep the reasons to myself for now. It is decided: effective immediately, Zewyue will implement the signing system." Zhao Zejun gave a faint smile, delivering the final verdict. Out of necessity for secrecy, he could not explain everything. It was easy to poach people, but he feared they would find themselves in a position where they could swallow, but not digest.

...

Before the news even reached the authors, a chorus of opposition had already erupted within Zewyue. Strictly speaking, everyone except Zhao Zejun held a negative view. Several of his founding team members voiced their objections on the spot, and the more moderate staff, while not speaking out explicitly, made their stance clear through their attitude during the meeting.

It was here that the advantage of Zewyue being a one-man show became apparent. Had this been another site like Huanjian or Qidian, which had multiple shareholders and a large group of co-founders with similar power, the proposal would likely have been dead on arrival due to conflicting opinions. Even if it had passed, it would have required lengthy negotiations, causing them to miss the optimal timing. But at this moment, Zewyue was entirely under Zhao Zejun's command; his opinion was the company's will.

One could discuss, disagree, or reserve their opinion, but the order had to be executed strictly and unconditionally. On the path to progress, one needs both the democracy of collective wisdom and the centralized power of a strong leader to set the course.

A few days later, a "Letter to Our Authors" was published on the Zewyue Chinese Network homepage. The wording was simple and clear. After briefly outlining the current trends in web novel development, it introduced Zewyue's new "signing system."

The policy included several key points:
First, any author who published over 50,000 words on Zewyue, regardless of quality, could sign a contract with the site.
Second, during the contract period, signed authors could only publish novels on Zewyue under their current pen name, and all copyrights would belong to Zewyue Chinese Network.
Third, Zewyue was obligated to provide support and benefits, including specific recommendations, a share of reader tips, a monthly diligent writing bonus, and a 50% share of any revenue generated from the novel's copyright.
Fourth, signing was voluntary; authors who chose not to sign could continue to publish on Zewyue but would not be eligible for the site's support or benefits.
Fifth, as the site grew, the signing system would become more rigorous, moving toward a mutual selection process that would only sign novels with potential.

...

The notice was not only posted on the homepage but also sent to every writer's backend dashboard. The initial reaction of the vast majority of writers was summed up in three words: "On what grounds?"

"Why shouldn't I be allowed to write on other sites? Where I write is my freedom; what right does Zewyue have to restrict it? And the copyright issue—why should I give my copyright to Zewyue? If the copyright ever earns money, you only give me half? Isn't this blatant exploitation and tyranny?"

Less than two days after the notice was issued, the Zewyue customer service lines were nearly blown up, and the site's online support functions were on the verge of collapse.

"Damn it, has Zewyue gone crazy trying to make money?"
"Shameless! Do you think you're really something special? It’s only been a few days and you’re already squeezing authors?!"
"Screw you and your whole family, Zewyue!"
"Keep this up and you'll be out of business soon!"

It was all abuse and insults; there wasn't a kind word to be found. Even the writer groups initially established by Zhao Zejun were in an uproar. Many left the groups directly, and the few who had interacted with Zhao Zejun messaged him to ask what was going on, their tone filled with dissatisfaction.

Only a tiny minority, those directly guided by Zhao Zejun—the top-tier authors of Zewyue—stood firmly by the site. They were deeply intertwined with Zewyue, effectively bound to its chariot. Authors like Yu Zhe had essentially had their novels co-created by Zhao Zejun, so it was only natural for him to claim the copyright.

The arguments in the groups grew heated.

Huanjian and Qidian learned of the matter at almost the same time.

"This Zhao Zejun is courting death." Kong Decheng sneered, saying to Rizhao, "See? He's still green. Once we teamed up with Qidian, Zewyue panicked and made a blunder. He thinks he's pulling the rug out from under us, but the result will only be forcing writers over to our side."

"Mr. Kong, I've met Zhao Zejun. He understands web novels very well; he shouldn't make such a massive mistake." Rizhao was puzzled. During the time he spent trying to acquire Zewyue, he had been very impressed by Zhao Zejun, feeling his understanding of the industry far exceeded his own. He doubted Zhao would make such a tactical error. Was this move a result of desperation due to the alliance between Qidian and Huanjian, or did he have some other motive?

On the surface, the signing system was indeed a blunder. The so-called "copyright revenue" was currently negligible. To drive away the authors they had fought so hard to acquire for the sake of uncertain future copyright earnings was akin to destroying one's own Great Wall.

"Rizhao, don't overthink it. Even the smartest people have their moments of confusion. Besides, web novels are a new phenomenon with no established experience to follow. This so-called 'Godfather of Web Novels,' Zhao Zejun, might not understand the industry any better than you or me," Kong Decheng said.

"Then what should we do next?"

Kong Decheng thought for a moment. "A large number of authors will certainly leave Zewyue. We must coordinate with Qidian and avoid infighting over these authors, or we might fall into Zhao Zejun's trap. Additionally, our two companies should launch a joint promotional campaign—not only to win over the authors leaving Zewyue but also to create a relaxed and free creative environment to attract new writers."

"Agreed," Rizhao nodded.

Meanwhile, at Qidian, Mr. Wu, who was in charge of operations, was frowning. Qidian's greatest advantage was its talent. Having emerged from the Fantasy Alliance, its founders' understanding of web novel writing and industry laws far exceeded that of pure investors like Kong Decheng.

When the news of Zewyue's signing system reached them, Qidian's top management's first reaction wasn't that Zewyue had lost its mind, but a sense of deep alarm. Where on earth did this Zhao Zejun come from? Why did he always manage to stay one step ahead?

The site's design style and recommendation schemes had matched Qidian’s own ideas, yet were superior. They had used economic incentives to win over authors—something Qidian was just about to do, only to be beaten to the punch by Zewyue’s tipping and diligent writing bonuses. And now, this signing system, which occupied a crucial place in Qidian's three-year plan, had been snatched away first by Zewyue! After long internal research and argumentation, Qidian's management had collectively concluded that for web novels to become professional, legal contracts were inevitable. They had planned to launch their own system once conditions were ripe.

"Rizhao, this is Old Wu. Your Mr. Kong is right. Our two companies must cooperate sincerely. Let's take this opportunity to strike a heavy blow against Zewyue. Zewyue is far too aggressive; if we let them grow, both of us will be in big trouble!"