Chapter Ten: The Ancestor of Novels

In 2001, the variety of cuisine in Yijiang City was limited. The famed Food Street wouldn’t be established for another seven or eight years, and even the night market barbecue was monotonous, offering only a few options like beer and lamb skewers. The crayfish that would later sweep the country had yet to make an appearance. Yu Zhe was enthusiastic, pulling Zhao Zejun toward Shu King Hotpot at the entrance of the pedestrian street, but Zhao Zejun waved his hand, suggesting they go to Dai Mei instead.

Both Dai Mei and Shu King were top hotpot destinations at the time, but Shu King catered to the mid-to-high-end crowd, while Dai Mei was known for its affordable prices.

A two-flavor hotpot base cost two yuan, vegetables were fifty cents to one yuan per dish, and meats were one to one and a half yuan each. The two of them ordered a tableful of dishes, which altogether cost thirty-five yuan.

They ate for nearly three hours, chatting as they ate.

Yu Zhe’s “Invincible Under Heaven” had several major issues.

First, it was too bland, lacking twists and turns. A story with only climaxes and no valleys is, in essence, devoid of true climaxes. The protagonist, after learning the invincible martial arts from the Old Man of the Valley, went on a killing spree without challenge—every enemy was a pushover, and even the final boss could withstand only three moves.

This was like a max-level warrior clad in golden armor descending on a novice village to slaughter level-one characters—the first couple of swings might be satisfying, but the thrill quickly wore off.

The second issue was with the world’s power structure. Aside from the protagonist, everyone else in the world was on the same level—all martial arts masters—while the protagonist had already transcended the martial world into the realm of fantasy.

A fight between Chen Jialuo and Yuan Chengzhi might still be interesting, but if characters like Zhang Xiaofan or Xiao Yan from fantasy novels faced martial artists, there would be no suspense at all. Readers would know the outcome without needing to read it.

If the protagonist doesn’t belong to the book’s power structure, there’s no motivation or pleasure in leveling up—there’s not even a need to level up, so no plot can develop.

The third issue was a thin plot.

Yu Zhe didn’t quite get it. His novel, not even a hundred thousand words, already had eight fights and three major battles—how could it be “thin”?

Zhao Zejun explained, “That’s exactly your problem. How can a novel consist of nothing but blood-pumping combat?

You have to understand, most online novel readers are men.

What attracts men? Or put another way—what do men desire most?

To put it in literary terms: ‘To awaken ruling the world, to fall asleep in the arms of beauties, to have ten thousand taels at one’s waist, traversing Yangzhou...’ To put it plainly: wealth, power, and women!

It’s not just about killing—there’s also doing, and seizing!

By now, Yu Zhe had completely forgotten the hotpot, staring at Zhao Zejun and nodding vigorously. His small eyes shone with unconcealed desire.

Clearly, this was exactly how he felt himself.

“You see, being invincible under heaven is just a means to an end. That means must serve a purpose—one can’t be all means and never achieve the goal.”

Zhao Zejun ate a piece of lamb, and continued unhurriedly, “And what is that goal? Having invincible martial arts just for revenge is a waste. After revenge, you should seize your enemy’s wealth. Besides, your enemy is bound to live in luxury and keep many beautiful women, right? Think about it—this villain monopolizes all these beauties, while you, already an adult, have never even held a girl’s hand. Isn’t that infuriating? So, whether it’s about upholding social justice, rational distribution of male and female resources, or the great mission of humanity’s continuation, isn’t it necessary to rescue these delicate, busty beauties?”

“Absolutely!” Yu Zhe slapped his leg emphatically.

Zhao Zejun winced in pain—Yu Zhe had slapped his leg instead.

...

After discussing the issues in Yu Zhe’s novel, Zhao Zejun went on to teach him some basic online novel techniques—how to create suspense, how to suppress before rising, and even how to canvass for votes from readers and, ideally, create a QQ group.

By 2016, when online novels flooded the market, these were common knowledge even to ordinary readers. But in 2001, when web novels were just beginning, every author was writing fueled by passion, with virtually no mastery of technique. These seemingly simple tricks and tropes had been distilled over more than a decade by countless industry experts and proven effective. It could be said that no matter what a future master’s work looked like on the surface, at its core it couldn't do without these methods.

A scientific formula or theorem may seem mysterious before it has been summarized, but once you understand the underlying rules, even a primary school student can memorize and apply it fluently.

They ate until nine-thirty in the evening. The restaurant was closing, with only one or two tables of diners left. Zhao Zejun glanced at the time and said, “That’s enough for now—any more and you won’t remember it all.”

Yu Zhe was still unsatisfied, but he understood that continuing would only muddle his thoughts. In just a few hours, he’d taken in a wealth of new concepts, enough to digest and apply for a long time.

On the way back, Yu Zhe marveled, “I think the senior editors at Swordsman Alliance who guide writers aren’t as good as you.”

Because I’m standing on the shoulders of giants, thought Zhao Zejun.

“Actually, I like reading popular fiction too. To put it plainly, popular fiction is just spinning an intricate, plausible tale and giving readers what they want but can’t get in real life. My father’s a Chinese teacher, so our house has many classics from around the world. I’ve read them since I was a child. Writing novels is really no different from manufacturing—under the bounds of legality, you provide whatever the customer wants!”

“I see. Tonight, I’ll go back and revise ‘Invincible Under Heaven’ as you suggested and repost it!” After learning the secrets for a few hours, Yu Zhe was full of confidence, feeling he’d taken a major step toward becoming “invincible under heaven” himself, and couldn’t wait to put theory into practice.

He could almost see, after revising his novel as Zhao Zejun suggested, how the “new Invincible Under Heaven” would be enthusiastically received by readers at Swordsman Alliance, with countless fans clamoring for more.

His rise to fame would surely bring a flood of readers urging him to update faster and faster...

Zhao Zejun cut off his fantasies, “Let’s forget about this ‘Invincible Under Heaven.’ The problems are too big; patching it up isn’t worth it. It’s better to start a new novel from scratch.”

“Start over? That means coming up with a new outline and all that,” Yu Zhe muttered.

Zhao Zejun laughed in exasperation, “Did you not hear a word I just said? You can’t write a novel without a good story!”

The problem was, if Yu Zhe could come up with a first-rate story, with his writing style he’d already be famous—he wouldn’t need Zhao Zejun’s advice. While Zhao Zejun could pass on his experience, the ability to craft stories wasn’t something that could be improved overnight.

“That’s true,” Zhao Zejun thought for a moment and said, “How about this: I’ll create a story and give you an outline. You write according to the outline. Over time, with more practice, you’ll get the hang of it and eventually learn how to craft stories yourself.”

The reason Zhao Zejun was imparting all this experience to Yu Zhe was to instill confidence—that Zhao Zejun truly understood novels, and knew how to write them well.

Clearly, this goal had been achieved. Hearing that Zhao Zejun was willing to help, Yu Zhe nodded eagerly, “That’s great! When can you give me the outline?”

“Not today, but I’ll get it to you as soon as I can,” Zhao Zejun replied.

After parting ways with Yu Zhe, Zhao Zejun went to a public phone booth and paged Jiang Xuan.

Jiang Xuan, who used a bulky domestic pager, returned the call before long.

He told her the plan was canceled and asked her not to mention today’s events to anyone else. Jiang Xuan simply replied, “Got it,” without further questions.

When he got home, Zhao Zejun locked himself in his room. Lying on his bed, he appeared to rest, but his mind was active, recalling a famous novel he’d read in his previous life.

Half an hour later, he took out a small notebook and, on the first page, calmly wrote a line:

“Outline of ‘I Am a Rascal’”

“I Am a Rascal” was the debut work of Xuehong, a first-generation titan of online fiction, and the book that made his name.

Writing web novels requires diligence, but also talent. Xuehong was a writer blessed with extraordinary talent and greater diligence than most. His passionate, stirring style kept him at the forefront of the field for over a decade.

Zhao Zejun had chosen this book for good reason. The original author’s style was very similar to Yu Zhe’s, and the novel was only about 300,000 characters long—suitable for the current length of online fiction.

Moreover, though not lengthy, this book held a significant place in the history of online novels. In a sense, it was not just the progenitor of the hot-blooded power fantasy genre, but also one of the ancestors of web fiction itself.

In his previous life, in 2003, this novel was published on a newly established website and caused a sensation, becoming wildly popular.

Riding the wave of this success, Xuehong went on to write “I Am a Rascal: Rise of Storms,” “I Am a Rascal: The Sword of Blossoms,” and “Dragon’s War in Xinye,” four interconnected novels known as the ‘Rascal Tetralogy,’ quickly cementing his position as the leading online writer of the time.

By 2016, the novel’s fame had faded; many young readers didn’t even know Xuehong had written it under another pen name. The “Rascal” series had long since been banned due to internet culture reforms.

But now, there were still many years before such bans. The web novel world was in its infancy and unregulated, so there was no danger of works being banned.

After carefully recalling the story, Zhao Zejun finished the outline in less than two hours, covering the plot, characters, basic power system, and world-building.

Four pages in total, less than three thousand words, yet weighty.

Zhao Zejun was curious—if he gave this outline to Yu Zhe and Yu Zhe became famous, what would happen to Xuehong in this timeline? Would he abandon web fiction altogether? Would the world lose a great writer, with Yu Zhe taking his place? Or, with Xuehong’s talent, would he simply create another bestseller?

He didn't know. But it was an experiment, and he was rather eager to see what sort of butterfly effect his actions might bring.