Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Tiger Harbors No Ill Intentions Toward Man

The sacred ground of online novels!

Those provocative words stirred a subtle tremor within Rizhao’s heart, setting his emotions aflame.

These few words perfectly encapsulated the ultimate goal of the career he pursued.

Back then, he founded Huanjian with this ideal in mind. But as capital flowed in and Huanjian underwent a series of changes, he felt that this ideal was becoming increasingly elusive, gradually turning into a mere mirage.

Yet here and now, Zeyue, led by Zhao Zejun, might just help him realize that original dream.

“The goal is lofty, but let’s take it step by step,” Zhao Zejun observed Rizhao’s slight excitement and chuckled. “Let’s start with training. What I mean by training actually has three layers of meaning.”

Rizhao’s eyes brightened. Even a single training program could be so multifaceted—just how much substance did the other party have?

Zhao Zejun calmly explained, “First, it’s about editors from different groups exchanging ideas. The stones from other hills can polish jade. Regular sharing of experiences among editors broadens their horizons and might inspire their own group’s work.

“Second, veteran editors training newcomers. As the website grows, we’ll need to keep recruiting. Experienced editors are ready-made teachers who can help newcomers avoid pitfalls. This builds a legacy system within Zeyue, where new editors get up to speed quickly with guidance. Even if senior editors leave, the site won’t suffer much because successors will be ready.”

Rizhao nodded repeatedly. Zhao Zejun paused, then continued, “Third—and most importantly—our website ultimately needs great books. Most authors in the industry are still amateurs who lack even the basic knowledge of online novel writing, relying solely on personal passion. This leads to a situation where talented authors might strike gold with one book, while those less gifted wander down many detours before achieving some success; most give up midway.”

“Yes, I encountered many such writers back at Huanjian. Truly a pity,” Rizhao reflected.

“So, why not establish a writers’ academy on the site? Each editorial group would be required to produce at least one article per month on writing techniques, principles, and the like. These would serve as teaching materials and popular science, submitted to me for review and then published on the homepage to share writing experience with authors.”

Rizhao, a seasoned insider, instantly grasped the importance of this third point.

Practice yields truth, but theory guides practice. Once this academy gained momentum, Zeyue would be elevated to a revered status among online writers, especially newcomers.

More importantly, if those ‘popular science articles’ truly capture the essence of online novels, the site could mass-produce a large group of mid-tier writers.

Talent is unpredictable and unreliable; relying solely on it is precarious. Mass production may not create the finest or most exquisite works, but it guarantees a consistent output above a baseline of quality.

Once mid-tier writers can be reliably mass-produced, Zeyue’s lifeblood will never run dry.

Beyond these obvious benefits, there is a deeper significance only a seasoned manager like Rizhao could appreciate.

By establishing the academy, Zeyue’s editors become the very first experts in online novels. This status will instill immense pride and a sense of belonging in them.

“Mr. Zhao, I really… wow, I’m impressed!” Rizhao admitted, amazed that what seemed a casual suggestion could carry such profound industry-wide implications.

Looking back, Huanjian losing to Zeyue suddenly felt entirely justified.

Zhao Zejun was equally pleased with Rizhao’s performance. Another person, like Song Yun, might follow instructions rigidly but without understanding the deeper reasons, resulting in diluted effectiveness.

“Mr. Zhao, I have a small additional idea. Please advise,” Rizhao said.

“Not so much advice as discussion. Go ahead,” Zhao replied.

“This academy shouldn’t just be for Zeyue’s writers. It should be open to Qidian and the entire online community,” Rizhao proposed.

Zhao Zejun laughed heartily and gave a thumbs-up. “Recruiting you was truly a lucky find for Zeyue. Let’s do it!”

Opening it to the entire network might seem like giving away Zeyue’s editorial achievements for others to benefit from. But it’s not that simple.

The internet is inherently open. Even authorized novels get pirated, so the academy’s content would leak eventually if not shared openly, giving a petty impression.

On the contrary, generously opening it to all forges goodwill between Zeyue and every online writer—a goodwill that may not decide fate outright but will heavily influence authors’ emotional leanings.

To embrace all streams is to be truly great. It’s a matter of vision.

“That’s enough for now. You take charge of this and make it a mandatory task. It’s the company’s internal cultivation, and it must be done thoroughly.”

Rizhao’s second point concerned Qidian.

“Mr. Zhao, two tigers cannot share one mountain. Qidian is not an unambitious company. We must prepare early.”

“How to prepare?” Zhao Zejun smiled.

“Talent—both writers and editors. I’m somewhat respected in the industry. With your approval, we could poach people from Qidian.”

Rizhao hesitated. “I heard Qidian has already approached some of our writers.”

Zhao Zejun was aware of this; he was no disconnected leader. In fact, Zeyue’s initial core of writers and readers were personally cultivated by him, giving him independent channels for intelligence.

After Zeyue’s first batch of works was published, Qidian reached out to seven or eight mid-tier and a few top-tier Zeyue writers, half-jokingly probing if they were willing to switch, offering better terms.

None gave in. Some even reported the approaches to Zhao Zejun.

Those who reached mid-tier at Zeyue had good judgment and had grown with Zeyue, showing strong loyalty rather than chasing short-term gains.

The poachers were ordinary Qidian editors with no apparent ties to higher-ups, but everyone knew they couldn’t act without authorization.

Zhao Zejun pondered. “Let’s put Qidian on the back burner for now. Our website is just getting on track. The urgent task is to strengthen our foundation, not to engage in a costly, mutually destructive war with Qidian.”

“I hope Qidian understands that a full-scale war would drain the very vitality of online novels. But, Mr. Zhao, a tiger may not intend harm, but people often wound the tiger’s heart,” Rizhao said uneasily.

“We don’t want an all-out war, and Qidian can’t afford it either. For now, it’s just minor skirmishes with little impact,” Zhao Zejun grinned.

Rizhao was slightly mistaken—it wasn’t that the tiger had no intent to harm, but that for now, it was resting and replenishing strength.

A dog eating filth after a thousand miles, a wolf feasting on meat after a thousand miles—there’s no vegetarian tiger in this world. A tiger, by nature, will always have the intent to harm!