Chapter Twenty-Six: Separating the Wheat from the Chaff

The editors possessed the authors' QQ numbers and contact details, and their primary work for this period consisted of reaching out to them one by one. Some authors explicitly refused to sign on the spot, while others remained silent for days, effectively signaling their lack of interest in signing.

The rest remained in a wait-and-see mode. As the days passed and more signing applications were submitted, a rough figure began to emerge.

The final tally showed that over 30% of the authors chose to leave. Without signing, remaining at Zeyue was meaningless.

What Zhao Zejun truly cared about was not "how many" writers had left, but "which" ones. Although he had already made an approximate assessment of the composition of those leaving and those staying, he still had the editorial department conduct a detailed statistical analysis as a precaution.

Among the top-tier "god-level" writers—those earning ten thousand yuan or close to it monthly—not a single one had left. Some of these individuals had been cultivated by Zhao Zejun, while others had excellent relationships with Yu Zhe and his team. Ultimately, however, it was because they could earn more money at Zeyue.

The more people who left, the more recommendation resources were available for those who remained, and the greater the platform's support for them would be.

As for the high-end writers—those Zhao Zejun currently defined as being able to support themselves through writing, earning a salary comparable to a standard job, yet not exactly wealthy—less than 10% had departed.

Among the mid-tier writers—those with a stable readership, consistent updates, and monthly earnings ranging from four or five hundred to a thousand yuan—the attrition rate was also under 10%.

The bulk of the departures consisted of entry-level writers who earned very little. The vast majority of these individuals could only manage to scrape together the "Diligence Award"; aside from the 400-yuan bonus, their remaining income was often in the single digits.

In reality, most of these writers couldn't even meet the requirements for the full-attendance bonus.

After Zeyue pulled back the curtain on the era of monetizing web literature, it brought a positive influence to the industry and incentivized creativity. Yet, from another perspective, the economic stimulus also had negative repercussions, dampening the enthusiasm of many entry-level writers. Everyone invested the same time and effort into writing; if they couldn't make money, why bother?

Zhao Zejun personally viewed this negative impact not as a bad thing, but rather as a process of weeding out the weak. If they couldn't persist, it was better for them to quit early and use their energy elsewhere, where the future returns might be better than writing novels. It was better for them, and it saved the website’s recommendation resources.

"What about the website traffic?" Zhao Zejun asked Song Yun.

Signing data was targeted at writers, while website traffic relied primarily on readers. Zhao Zejun constantly shifted between these two concepts, and except for himself, neither Huanjian nor Qidian could figure out exactly what game he was playing.

The data provided by Song Yun showed that Zeyue's recent traffic had not only failed to decrease due to the authors leaving, but had actually increased slightly year-over-year.

This was not unexpected.

Most of those who left were entry-level authors who couldn't take many readers with them. Meanwhile, the authors who stayed, once signed, abandoned any lingering doubts and could focus on writing with peace of mind. At the same time, the website increased the Diligence Award, which further stimulated their enthusiasm and creativity.

With books updating more frequently and containing more words, the increase in reader visits followed naturally.

The current situation was a mix of pros and cons, and Song Yun and the others still couldn't feel entirely optimistic.

From a long-term perspective, the web literature industry was ultimately supported by a massive base of entry-level writers. Every mid-tier, high-end, or "god-level" writer had originally emerged from the ranks of the entry-level. In terms of sheer numbers, these writers made up the vast majority of the industry and provided the primary traffic.

Zeyue's previous tiered recommendation model was designed to build a pyramid, cultivating and discovering talent from the widest pool of entry-level writers.

With so many of them leaving now, it was hard not to feel that the foundation was being destroyed.

After the internal meeting concluded, Accountant Tong approached Zhao Zejun privately.

Zeyue’s accounts had been in the red for two consecutive months.

The Diligence Award had greatly stimulated the authors' enthusiasm, and as more and more writers qualified for the bonus, the revenue from tip-sharing was no longer enough to cover the costs.

Although some authors had left, those who remained generally accelerated their writing speed. Additionally, many new writers had joined specifically for Zeyue's Diligence Award. Combined with Zhao Zejun’s decision to increase the award amount, Zeyue’s capital could finally no longer keep up.

It was a "happy problem." The growing deficit indicated that more and more writers were persisting. With more such writers, the update speed of novels on the site was guaranteed, which naturally attracted more readers and increased reader stickiness.

But the available cash was running out.

"Accountant Tong, call this number." Zhao Zejun handed him a business card. "From now on, they can provide us with a monthly interest-free loan of 100,000 yuan. Furthermore, I will personally inject another 500,000 yuan into the company at once. That should be enough."

Accountant Tong took the card, puzzled. He couldn't fathom how Mr. Zhao had enough leverage to secure interest-free loans.

But upon seeing the company name on the card, he realized the truth.

Ze-Jian Construction Engineering Co., Ltd.
Zeyue Network Culture Communication Co., Ltd...

"Mr. Zhao, does this company belong to you as well?" Despite having already guessed as much, Accountant Tong still found it hard to believe.

The Mr. Zhao before him was not even twenty years old, just a college student. It was already surprising enough that he had founded a web company.

A web company was understandable; after all, he was a student at a prestigious university studying a relevant major.

But this card clearly belonged to a 'construction company.' A construction company capable of providing a 100,000-yuan interest-free loan every month might not be a giant, but it at least showed that the company had a certain scale, a healthy financial status, and was already on the right track.

This meant that even before starting university, he had already founded this company and was operating it successfully.

Just who was this Mr. Zhao?

Zhao Zejun smiled faintly: "Accountant Tong, go ahead and handle it. Use a formal loan contract; when Zeyue has money in the future, we will pay it back."

"Understood." Accountant Tong felt a weight lift off his chest. No wonder Mr. Zhao had such confidence to burn money without hesitation! He had a reserve force backing him—a reasonably sized construction company that could provide a blood transfusion at any time.

While the employees at Zeyue were filled with various thoughts and anxieties, the reaction from Huanjian and Qidian was quite different.

Ever since Zeyue implemented its signing system, the situation for those two websites had been "looking bright"!