Chapter Nine: Rectifying One's Thoughts

After coming back, Zhao Zejun had considered making money by writing novels. But in 2001, online novels were all free. Besides, although he’d read a lot of them, he could only recall the general plots; if he tried to write them himself, they would definitely lack the original flavor.

The style of writing is very important in online fiction. Even with the same plot, a master can write something that stirs the blood, while a novice’s work is flat and tasteless.

That’s skill—or rather, talent.

Zhao Zejun knew himself well. He was a good reader, understood the world of online fiction, but lacked the talent to write books.

Even at the very top, back in 2016, the superstar web authors only made tens of millions a year, and only after nearly a decade of grueling work, pounding away at the keyboard from dawn to dusk.

Reborn, Zhao Zejun had no intention of living that way again.

In his previous life, he hadn’t known Yu Zhe well, so he had no idea Yu Zhe was actually writing novels online!

But thinking about it, it suited his quiet yet secretly flamboyant personality.

Given how sneaky he acted, probably no one else knew about it either. After all, writing web novels wasn’t exactly something to brag about at that time, and after the “psychological trauma” he’d experienced, Yu Zhe would be even less likely to confide in anyone, for fear of being laughed at.

He had very few readers; Yu Zhe had written three novels in total, but the sum of their readers probably didn’t even outnumber the characters in the titles. The review sections were desolate, not even a spammer in sight.

Yu Zhe scratched his head in frustration, dandruff flying everywhere. “Take a look for me, will you? How am I doing? I think I’m pretty good—sometimes I get so moved while writing I nearly jump up and dance, but the readers just don’t care. Give me an objective analysis—what’s wrong?”

As he spoke, he sent over a link to one of his novels via QQ.

The novel was called “Invincible Under Heaven”—a terribly cliché title.

Looking at that title, Zhao Zejun’s mind sparked with a new idea.

The self-sacrifice scheme was a last resort, fraught with hidden dangers and uncertainties. What to do about Jiang Xuan’s little gang after the fact—should he come clean? What if a passing “do-gooder” called the police? What if Yu Zhe suddenly snapped and fought back? What if Jiang Xuan’s boys got carried away and actually hurt him badly?... Even with careful planning, there’s no way to guarantee nothing would go wrong.

Even if everything went off perfectly, Zhao Zejun had no intention of enduring a beating for nothing, especially when there was no way to save face afterwards!

A brick to the head, a belt lashing—that really hurt!

Right now, a much safer plan was staring him in the face. There was plenty of time, and it would be a win-win for both him and Yu Zhe!

Yu Zhe loved writing web fiction, and Zhao Zejun was overflowing with stories—why not make something of it? In 2001, online fiction was just getting started. None of the so-called legendary works had appeared yet; the field was wide open.

He didn’t need to write novels himself; he’d cultivate a web fiction superstar!

Of course, this depended on whether Yu Zhe had the talent for it. If he didn’t, then sorry, the original plan would have to proceed.

Both passion and ability were essential. In an era when online novels didn’t make money, writing was purely for love. Sticking with it for hundreds of thousands of words, even without readers, proved Yu Zhe’s genuine love for the craft. As for his ability—Zhao Zejun needed to finish the novel before passing judgment.

He opened the story.

“Invincible Under Heaven” told the tale of the Ming dynasty: a prime minister falls from grace and his household is raided by the secret police. The prime minister’s son escapes, falls off a cliff by accident, and meets a dying martial arts grandmaster. The master passes on all his inner strength and teaches him one powerful technique. The prime minister’s son becomes a peerless fighter, killing his way through executioners, the secret police, their leader, and finally the emperor himself.

At the end, the protagonist stands atop the imperial city under a full moon, sighing loudly: “To be invincible is truly lonely.”

As Zhao Zejun read, Yu Zhe stared at him like a turtle watching an egg, scrutinizing every change in his expression. Every so often, he’d lean over to see what Zhao had reached, then worried Zhao might not understand, he’d start explaining the plot.

Zhao Zejun remained silent, absorbed in reading.

The whole novel wasn’t long—seventy or eighty thousand words at most. He finished quickly.

When he was done, Zhao Zejun said nothing.

Yu Zhe’s heart skipped a beat. Clinging to a last shred of hope, he asked, “Is it that bad?”

Zhao Zejun turned and stared at him for a long time, making Yu Zhe squirm.

To be honest, this web novel—even by the standards of 2016, when web fiction was formulaic and dominant—was atrocious. Even among “idiot” novels, there were differences; the plot of “Invincible Under Heaven” simply failed to grip.

Yet despite the weak story, Zhao Zejun could sense a certain wild, flamboyant, over-the-top energy in Yu Zhe’s prose!

Yes—Yu Zhe’s style was perfect for web fiction: shamelessly showy, but full of passion!

This writing style was the polar opposite of his personality!

In fact, Zhao Zejun had a feeling Yu Zhe’s tone was very similar to that of Xue Hong, the web novel superstar who exploded in popularity after 2002.

Of course, their ability to devise plots was worlds apart.

Still, there was no doubt Yu Zhe was prime material for a web novelist—all he lacked were the right techniques.

And Zhao Zejun had those techniques! In college and his early working years, he’d read countless online novels. Only when he got busier did he drift away from them, but he still knew plenty of top stories, first-rate plots, well-structured worlds, mature patterns and tropes!

All that was needed was a skilled writer to bring these stories to life—perhaps even better than before!

With this in mind, Zhao Zejun, taking advantage of Yu Zhe’s distraction, reopened Jiang Xuan’s QQ chat window and quickly sent a single word: “Abort.”

Within half a minute, the small group of punks in the same room settled their bills and left. As they departed, they cast curious glances at the two high schoolers sitting in the corner.

Yu Zhe didn’t notice anything unusual. He was getting anxious. “Well? Tell me honestly, I can take it!”

Zhao Zejun smiled. “No rush, let’s take our time.”

“Yeah, yeah, give me some encouragement first, then the criticism.” Yu Zhe nodded eagerly; all writers have fragile hearts.

“Well, first of all, the title is excellent. The reader instantly knows what kind of story to expect—it’s simple, direct, and exudes power.”

“Huh? That’s a good thing? People on the forums say it’s corny,” Yu Zhe said, puzzled.

“It’s not like you’re aiming for a Nobel Prize in Literature. Why bother making it so artsy?” Zhao Zejun retorted.

Yu Zhe paused. “Huh? That’s completely different from what everyone else says. So many people online criticize web novels for being vulgar. I’m afraid to show my work to people I know, in case they laugh at me.”

Zhao Zejun shook his head firmly. That kind of thinking was completely wrong. Trying to elevate web fiction to highbrow literature was a dead end!

You need a clear sense of purpose, and the first step was to correct Yu Zhe’s thinking, to change his perception of web fiction.

“Why do people read web novels? Is it to get a second education in their spare time? To explore the mysteries of the universe and humanity? World peace and harmony? To study deep questions like philosophy and love? To control inflation?”

“No,” Yu Zhe answered confidently, shaking his head.

“Then why?” Zhao Zejun pressed.

“Um… for entertainment, I guess,” Yu Zhe said uncertainly.

“Get rid of that ‘I guess’!” Zhao Zejun declared with authority. “Congratulations, you’re right. It’s just for relaxation and entertainment, to kill time! If people wanted to study or discuss life, they’d go to cram school or a bar, not read web novels!”

“How do you discuss life in a bar?” Yu Zhe muttered, still naïve.

“Stay on topic!” Zhao Zejun snapped.

Yu Zhe hurried to get back on track, still confused. “But if it’s just for fun, doesn’t that make it lowbrow? I’m a writer…”

“A writer? You’re just a laborer at home pounding out words! Slightly better than a bricklayer, because they stand to move bricks, you sit to write!” Zhao Zejun immediately corrected him. “But don’t for a second think this is a lowly profession. Before you start writing, you need to be clear about your purpose!”

“What is it?” Yu Zhe was at a loss.

Zhao Zejun said solemnly, “You’re striving to enrich the entertainment lives of tens of millions of internet users! In essence, you’re not much different from Pavel Korchagin.”

Yu Zhe thought for a good half minute before saying seriously, “Damn, I feel like you’re pulling my leg, but I can’t find any flaws in your argument. In fact, I’m already convinced! So do you think my novel serves that purpose?”

Returning to the topic, Zhao Zejun put aside his half-joking tone and replied thoughtfully, “Let’s start with style, not content. You said you’d get excited while writing, even jump up and dance. At first, I didn’t believe you. But after reading, I do—I not only believe you, I feel the same way. Your style is full of passion and energy!”

As he spoke, he gave a sincere thumbs-up.

Yu Zhe had been writing web novels for over a year, but he’d never received such high praise!

A well-off official’s son like him craved recognition; even the way he’d spent money to win classmates over was all for a sense of acceptance.

“Come on, let’s find a place to eat and talk it over. My treat!” Yu Zhe said.