Chapter 25: To Sign or Not to Sign

Yu Zhe and Zhao Zejun were in the same city, and since their campuses were not far apart, they met for dinner.

There was no helping it; the writers at Zeyue had been in an uproar recently due to the new signing system.

Most of the initial batch of writers had been brought in by Yu Zhe. In particular, several top-tier authors had various personal connections with him. As it was common knowledge that Yu Zhe and Zeyue’s big boss, Zhao Zejun, were close friends, these writers had been pestering Yu Zhe to talk to Zhao Zejun and demand a clear explanation of what was actually going on.

"Boss, did you go too far this time?" Yu Zhe asked, feeling somewhat uneasy. "The authors have serious grievances."

Zhao Zejun chuckled, looking indifferent. "How many are kicking up a fuss?"

"I don't know the exact number, but it's quite a few," Yu Zhe replied.

"You write novels, so you know how the internet works," Zhao Zejun said. "As long as a small group of people makes enough noise, they can create a massive wave of public opinion. In reality, the vast majority of people are quietly writing or reading without saying a word. So, the complaints being voiced don't necessarily represent the true consensus."

"This..." Yu Zhe felt there was something off about Zhao Zejun’s logic, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Zhao Zejun waved his hand. "Think about it. Why are they making a scene? Is it for fairness and justice, for the healthy and orderly development of the web novel industry, or to fulfill their life’s ambitions?"

"Of course not. It’s just because the signing system is cutting into their profits." As an insider, Yu Zhe was very clear on this point. "If they sign, they feel constrained. If they don't, the money they’ve been getting from reader tips and the 'diligent writing' bonus disappears. You gave them a multiple-choice question: freedom on one side, money on the other. Naturally, they’re annoyed."

"Exactly!" Zhao Zejun smiled. "The louder they scream, the more it shows how much they care about the benefits they’ve already secured. They’re conflicted—they want freedom on one hand, but can’t bear to let go of the money on the other. That’s why they’re acting out. I’ll be honest with you: if nobody were complaining, that’s when I’d be worried."

He passed a cigarette over and hummed a tune. "Giving and getting—you have to give something to get something. Who gets to have it all? Where in this world does such a good thing exist?"

Yu Zhe took the cigarette, lit one for Zhao Zejun first, and pondered the meaning. Uncertain, he asked, "Boss, are you saying that the uproar doesn't matter? It won't affect Zeyue?"

"There will definitely be an impact, and some loss of authors is inevitable," Zhao Zejun said.

"Then why are you still..."

"Just wait and see. It’s too early to say anything now. Tell those high-end writers this: if they are willing to stay, Zeyue will not treat them unfairly. If they want to leave, I certainly won't make things difficult for them."

Zhao Zejun gave a faint smile. "As for the outlines I helped them perfect, let’s just consider it a parting gift from one acquaintance to another."

"Boss, since when did you become so generous?!" Yu Zhe was stunned. This was completely out of character for "Boss Zhao." As a friend, Zhao Zejun was loyal and magnanimous, but in business, he had never been known to take a loss. Let alone taking one voluntarily!

"Not only can they leave, but you should also tell them that if they leave now and want to come back in the future, I will welcome them just the same. Of course, the recommendation resources will naturally be tilted toward the authors who remained loyal to the site."

Yu Zhe couldn't help but laugh. "Boss, one word from you to skew the recommendation resources, and us poor writers would see our rankings collapse in a landslide. They wouldn't dare leave."

"You, a 'poor writer'? Do you have no shame?" Zhao Zejun rolled his eyes. "Your monthly income should be consistently over thirty thousand by now, right?"

"Hehe, hehe..."

...

The notice from Zeyue had an impact that rippled throughout the entire web novel industry.

Executives at various websites harbored their own agendas, staff members whispered among themselves, and top-tier authors, along with thousands of ordinary writers, were privately debating where they should go.

"Sheyun" was an average writer on Zeyue Chinese Network. His performance was mediocre—he couldn't be compared to top-tier gods like "Xue Yun"—but he did have a few thousand readers. Between the diligent writing bonus and reader tips, he could make a few hundred yuan a month. Last month, after Zeyue changed its policy, he received 530 yuan.

It wasn't a huge sum, but considering his regular job only paid 1,600 yuan a month, those five hundred-plus yuan were not a trivial amount to ignore.

Seeing the new signing system, he felt a headache coming on.

If he signed, he would lose his personal freedom and the copyright to his novel; it felt like raising a child with painstaking effort only to give it away to someone else. It was hard to accept.

But if he didn't sign, those few hundred yuan a month would vanish.

"Wife, do you think I should sign?" Sheyun asked his wife.

After she understood the situation, she stared at him for a long time. "Tell me, did writing novels rot your brain?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"You’re an idiot. If you can't write for other sites, then don't. Can you make five or six hundred yuan writing for those other places?"

Sheyun thought about it. Given his current level and the benefits offered by other sites, his income would definitely be lower elsewhere. Not to mention, the diligent writing bonus alone was much higher at Zeyue.

"But my copyright would be gone!" Sheyun argued.

"My dear husband, why are you so naive? Look at all these web novels—how many of them actually have copyrights that can be sold for money? Now look at the ones that did sell—how many readers did they have? How many do you have? Your copyright isn't worth much to begin with."

His wife rolled her eyes and continued, "Besides, if the copyright really does get sold later, you still get half. The site handles the operations, and you don't have to lift a finger. Why wouldn't you do it?"

"That sounds reasonable. But I still feel uneasy about it," Sheyun muttered.

Women prioritize the present, while men often think more about the future. Sometimes, this causes women to miss opportunities, but men are prone to being impractical. His wife continued, "You work yourself to the bone at the factory all year, fighting tooth and nail with colleagues just to get 'Employee of the Year' and a one-grade raise, which only adds a hundred yuan a month. You’re at home every day now, drinking tea, sitting in front of a fan, listening to music, and making 500 yuan more a month. What more could you want?"

"Alright, I'll consider it..." Sheyun said, while boredly refreshing the website's backend.

As he refreshed, a new message popped up.

"In order to protect the interests of our many signed writers, Zeyue Chinese Network will increase the diligent writing bonus to 400 yuan per month starting next month."

Sheyun’s eyelids twitched.

...

Just like Sheyun, all writers on Zeyue Chinese Network received the notification about the increased bonus.

This notification carried significant weight. In other words, as long as they were willing to sign and maintain their word counts, they could get 400 yuan a month even if they didn't have a single reader.

400 yuan was already higher than the minimum living standard in most cities across the country.

That extra hundred yuan crossed the poverty line and acted like the final straw, breaking down the mental defenses of many writers.

Meanwhile, Zeyue’s legal department was established, and the signing system was officially implemented. A few lawyers were temporarily borrowed from an outside firm; like most of the staff, they were part-timers.

Zeyue was not short on money, but they knew that good steel should be used on the blade. Since the internet economy was in its nascent, cash-burning stage, every cent had to be spent effectively to peel away a layer of skin from their competitors.

Not long after the signing system was pushed through, the results became apparent.

As expected, nearly a third of the authors had left.