092 Attracting Fans

The status of EyeBook was comparable to Facebook in Li Daniu’s previous life, boasting an astonishing number of users. Ever since Li Daniu registered his EyeBook account, his follower count had been steadily rising, especially after "The Lord of the Rings" became a sensation, shooting up to over a million.

Li Daniu hadn’t logged into his EyeBook account for some time; he’d simply been too busy, completely forgetting about it. This time, it was only because he wanted to respond to recent reports about himself that he remembered he still had the account.

Logging in, Li Daniu was stunned by the number of his followers—it had already reached 1.7 million. Compared to the leading actors in his film, this figure still seemed modest, but those actors’ followers were mostly bought; genuine fans probably numbered only one or two hundred thousand.

Li Daniu, on the other hand, had never spent a dime to inflate his numbers; every one of those 1.7 million followers was authentic.

“If this were my previous life, I could easily make a living off advertisements,” he mused.

With followers, any rebuttal carried more weight; otherwise, no matter how eloquently you wrote, it would be pointless if no one saw it.

Li Daniu’s EyeBook, aside from a few posts about Tuvalu, mostly contained brief exchanges with a certain sharp-tongued critic. That critic had begun lambasting "The Lord of the Rings" before even reading it, so Li Daniu had offered a retort. Unexpectedly, after reading the book, the critic reversed his stance, and the matter was dropped.

After checking his follower count, Li Daniu tapped the notification icon in the upper right corner and discovered many mentions. Besides earlier questions about "The Lord of the Rings," most were recent, concerning Li Daniu’s plan to invest a hundred billion dollars in Tuvalu’s development.

“Your Majesty, are you really planning to pour a hundred billion dollars into New Tuvalu’s construction?”

“I think you’d be better off distributing that money among Tuvalu’s citizens—eleven thousand people, each would become a millionaire, wouldn’t that be better? By the way, is Tuvalu accepting immigrants?”

“Where’s this hundred billion coming from? Seeing how you wrote 'The Lord of the Rings,' it’s clear you have quite an imagination, but I didn’t expect you’d apply it to reality, especially with something as serious as building a nation.”

“In five years, earning a hundred billion—did you discover a diamond mine?”

“With seven billion people worldwide, if each donated a dozen dollars, you’d have enough. Is that your plan?”

“Don’t waste your efforts bragging. Just focus on writing; 'The Lord of the Rings' was excellent, looking forward to your next work.”

“The grandeur of 'The Lord of the Rings'—could it be adapted into a film? Has any studio approached you for the rights? Please hurry, don’t wait until I’m dead to release it.”

…

Seeing this jumble of messages, Li Daniu shook his head. Indeed, having so many followers wasn’t entirely a blessing; online, people’s personalities are magnified infinitely—the good nitpick, the bad are downright vile.

After all, the internet is a realm of true free speech; even rumors are hard to challenge legally—at worst, a brief detention and a fine.

After some thought, Li Daniu posted a new update:

“The statement about earning a hundred billion in five years—I never said that. But since a certain news portal has made it a headline, I suppose I must play along. I hereby announce that New Tuvalu’s first-phase construction budget will be a hundred billion dollars, and within five years at most, I will earn that hundred billion. Now, as King of Tuvalu, I declare that New Tuvalu’s airport is open for global bidding, with a budget of two billion dollars. Of course, if the design is exceptional, I don’t mind raising the budget further.”

No sooner had this update been posted than Li Daniu’s phone began chiming non-stop with notification sounds as his mentions jumped instantly from zero to 999+.

He silenced the notifications, finally restoring peace to his phone. He recalled a video he’d seen in his previous life, of a celebrity whose phone crashed after posting an update due to the overwhelming number of notifications.

Though Li Daniu’s followers weren't as numerous as those of that star, 1.7 million was nothing to scoff at. Most of them had discovered him through "The Lord of the Rings," while a smaller portion had come via news reports, intrigued by his royal status and his purchase of the Auckland Islands.

Now, as his update was shared by tens of thousands, Li Daniu’s follower count kept rising—within the time it took to smoke a cigarette, it had already reached two million, and the growth rate kept accelerating.

These new followers were mostly those who saw others sharing Li Daniu’s latest update, then decided to follow him—each new follower shared the update again, pulling in yet more fans.

One sparks ten, ten sparks a hundred—this was the speed of the internet.

Seeing his follower count climbing, Li Daniu became interested. To him, this was a great platform, just like those big influencers in his previous life, who could easily leverage their popularity for lucrative ad fees or promotion deals.

Though Li Daniu had little interest in ad revenue and didn’t plan to profit from it, he could certainly use his popularity to promote his own products in the future.

So, to accelerate his follower growth even more, Li Daniu posted another update:

“Twenty-one billion dollars in deposits—only enough to build the airport. So I need to start earning. Want to know how I’ll make a hundred billion in five years? Follow me, I’ll livestream my earnings.”

Beneath this update, Li Daniu attached a Swiss bank deposit certificate: 2,198,000,000, currency in dollars.

As expected, this update triggered yet another wave of shares, and the pace of new followers surged again.

There’s an interesting theory: that any two strangers in the world are separated by just six degrees—that is, through six people, you can connect with anyone on earth.

Of course, this theory is impossible to prove—how could a refugee in Africa connect to the President of the United States through just six people? No one would bother to verify such a thing, because in reality, relationships are about closeness and distance, and the president wouldn’t concern himself with so many African refugees, nor could he.

But online, this theory sometimes becomes very practical.

Li Daniu’s updates, under this theory, began to spread across the entire EyeBook network. Thanks to the appeal of his posts and his unique status, everyone who saw his updates felt compelled to follow him.

A king, the author of "The Lord of the Rings"—either identity was extraordinary. Coupled with his astonishing statements and the deposit certificate of twenty-one billion dollars, any one of these would attract attention, let alone all together.

Opening his notifications, Li Daniu began to read the mentions:

“Bold! Never mind whether you can make a hundred billion in five years—just this reply is gutsy: ‘Though I never said it, since you made it a headline, how could I not play along?’”

“Twenty-one billion in deposits, Your Majesty—if you’re not interested in the extra ninety-eight million, you can transfer it to me. My account is…”

“I’ve never seen someone so straightforward—don’t you know how to round up? Two million short of twenty-two billion, yet you simply call it twenty-one billion.”

“I’m curious—where did you get so much money? Tuvalu’s annual income is ten million dollars; even with zero spending, it’d take twenty years to amass that.”

“Is it royalties? But didn’t you pledge 'The Lord of the Rings' income to the New Zealand government?”

…

“My dear, how about we skip building the airport and make a golden bed ten meters wide instead? I’ve unlocked countless positions on it.”

Seeing this, Li Daniu nearly gagged. The thought that the person who posted this might be a burly man made him toss his phone aside.

“A golden bed—wouldn’t that be uncomfortable…”