Chapter 83: You’re Telling Me This Is a New Book (Asking for Monthly Votes)
The fan base accumulated by the great master from Breaking Through the Heavens was truly staggering; otherwise, the novel could never have dominated the entire web literature scene from the moment it was launched, suffocating all competitors, never once relinquishing its throne atop the Storm Rankings. When legions of readers flocked to the master’s new book and glimpsed its classification, they were collectively stunned.
Immortal cultivation?
Not only was the new work not another “waste protagonist” story, it wasn’t even a fantasy novel—it had boldly crossed genres, venturing into the realm of immortal cultivation.
“What’s going on?”
“A novel about immortals? Why is the master writing this genre?”
“It’s not even the waste protagonist trope, nor fantasy, for that matter.”
“Why abandon the waste protagonist fantasy, when the master handles that style with unmatched flair and has his readers firmly in his grasp?”
“Immortal cultivation? What is the master thinking?”
“Why ignore the explosive popularity of the waste protagonist genre to write something so unpopular? Immortal cultivation can’t compare with fantasy—the heat and traffic aren’t even in the same league!”
“True, immortal cultivation novels were once all the rage, but that was long ago, a thing of the past; now they’re relics, on the verge of extinction.”
“Who even reads immortal cultivation novels anymore?”
The readers were baffled. They exited and re-entered the page, scrutinizing it several times, only to find nothing had changed, leaving them even more perplexed.
What was the master doing?
Despite their confusion, they clicked into the new book and its first chapter.
“Prologue.”
Upon entering, the readers remained bewildered. In this day and age, who still writes prologues? It’s not that prologues are bad, but hardly any author bothers with them anymore. Prologues were once all the rage, especially in immortal cultivation novels, a staple just a few years back.
But as the genre faded, prologues vanished from readers’ sight.
Yet here was the master’s new book, opening once more with a prologue.
“Time: Unknown...”
“Place: Vast Land of Divine China.”
“Heaven and earth are heartless, treating all things as mere straw dogs.”
A collective gasp echoed among the readers.
This was it—this was the feeling, the flavor.
The master would always be the master!
Breaking Through the Heavens had, “Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west of the river; never underestimate a poor youth.” Immortal Executioner had, “Heaven and earth are heartless, treating all things as mere straw dogs.”
Just this one line sent countless readers into a fervor, itching to reward the author.
But most of the wealthy readers held back, haunted by memories of rewarding Breaking Through the Heavens and the subsequent regret. Every time they got excited and tipped, the master would, without fail, follow up with some maddening twist.
So they read on with restraint, resolving that as long as the master didn’t pull any infuriating stunts, their rewards would flow generously.
The prologue’s purpose was to introduce the story’s background; Immortal Executioner’s was no exception. The few hundred words were quickly devoured.
When the readers flipped to the next page, the screen redirected them to the review section.
Everyone was dumbfounded.
Just one chapter—a prologue, at that.
Was this really the master? Had they stumbled into a counterfeit? The master wasn't supposed to be like this.
If he didn’t start with ten thousand words, he’d hardly live up to the title of “human-shaped writing machine.”
“Maybe we were too quick—the system hasn't refreshed yet.”
So the readers exited and re-entered, only to find the prologue. Exit, enter, prologue. Exit, enter, still only the prologue.
Exit, enter, prologue. Exit, enter, still only the prologue.
The readers began to lose their minds.
“Perhaps the master released the prologue first, and the subsequent chapters will follow soon.”
The crowd calmed themselves for the moment.
Two hours later, with no new chapters appearing, they realized the launch of the master’s new book truly consisted of only the prologue.
The readers exploded.
Not writing waste protagonist stories was one thing; not writing fantasy and switching to immortal cultivation was bearable. But launching a book with just a prologue was simply too much.
The review section instantly burst into flames, a torrent of comments flooding the page.
To the uninitiated, it looked as if the master had somehow offended someone, as if a swarm of trolls had descended to sabotage the new book.
Yet after reading the prologue, the ranks of critics swelled silently by one more ID.
In less than three hours since release, the review section had over five thousand comments, breaking the record of Hundred Reads Literature, and the web literature circle as a whole.
Of those five thousand reviews, 99.9% were complaints against the author—another record shattered.
The master was always breaking records in the web literature world—even in being criticized and cursed.
While the readers were bombarding Immortal Executioner’s review section, Liu Da sat at home, equally bewildered.
In truth, before an author releases a book, the website runs a vetting process, mainly to check for prohibited words or content, or any subversive ideas.
But for high-level authors, this process is usually bypassed automatically; naturally, the master belonged to this group.
So Immortal Executioner was released without any review, but when Liu Da refreshed the novel’s homepage two hours later, he felt utterly defeated.
“The master won’t rest until he drives me mad!” Liu Da was on the verge of tears.
He’d just solved the issue of the new book being an immortal cultivation novel; now this.
Damn it!
Was this even human?
Unable to endure, Liu Da messaged Li He: “Master, will there be updates today?”
Li He replied in confusion, “I already updated!”
Liu Da refreshed Immortal Executioner’s homepage again, finding the latest update was two hours ago.
The prologue was still the prologue, unchanged.
Liu Da: “Master, a single prologue isn’t quite enough, is it?”
Li He: “The readers are too enthusiastic; they need to cool down a bit.”
Liu Da: ????
Was that even a human response?
The so-called “readers are too enthusiastic and need to cool down”—if this kept up, they’d not just fail to cool down, they’d explode.
Liu Da sent another message: “Master, the launch is when readers’ enthusiasm peaks. More updates mean more rewards.”
Surely the master wouldn’t ignore money!
Is there anyone in the world who doesn’t love money? Anyone uninterested in it? Of course, there are—those for whom money is just numbers, not even fit for toilet paper.
Li He: “Consumption should not be impulsive. It should be rational, sustainable, scientific, and green.”
Liu Da: ????
How had this turned into a high school politics lecture?
Ultimately, Liu Da gave up, sliding off the sofa and squatting on the floor, utterly spent.
Let it all be destroyed!
Meanwhile.
After reading the prologue, industry insiders were equally baffled, uncertain what the master was plotting.
When Hundred Reads Literature announced the master’s new book, they couldn’t pretend not to be anxious; after all, the master had dominated the Storm Rankings for three consecutive months, never budging from the top.
Yet when they saw the new book was an immortal cultivation story, a secret delight flickered in their hearts.
Not that they had no faith; Hundred Reads wasn’t foolish. If the master’s new book were truly subpar, internal approval for him to write in this genre would never have been granted.
But to say the master could write immortal cultivation well—well, that seemed unlikely.
What was left to write about in this genre? It was an old, worn-out type of web novel, with few remaining fans.
Moreover, immortal cultivation and fantasy differ greatly; their pacing and sense of exhilaration are built differently. When it comes to fantasy, the master is peerless, unmatched in quality.
But immortal cultivation? That’s hard to say.
“Could it be the master’s immortal cultivation novel is unlike any other?” a bestselling author speculated.
That’s exactly what the master loves to do; just look at how Breaking Through the Heavens pioneered the waste protagonist genre in fantasy.
The master always seeks to be different, to write what others haven’t, to launch new genres.
And the master’s accumulated readership is terrifying.
“There’s definitely something off—it can’t be this simple,” the editor-in-chief felt uneasy.
Breaking Through the Heavens wasn’t noticed by everyone at first, but that unassuming book ended up making history.
If Breaking Through succeeded, why not the new book?
“No, this is definitely suspicious; the master surely has something hidden up his sleeve.”
The editor-in-chief grew more and more uneasy, pacing restlessly, unable to figure out what new tricks could be played in the immortal cultivation genre.
Right eyelid twitching, he opened the master’s new book and its latest chapter.
Seeing the number of comments under the chapter, his anxiety deepened.
When he read, “Heaven and earth are heartless, treating all things as mere straw dogs,” he nearly exploded.
He remembered the line from Breaking Through the Heavens: “Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west of the river; never underestimate a poor youth.” That phrase ignited countless readers.
Now, similar words appeared in Immortal Executioner.
“Indeed, the master cannot be underestimated.”
“Hundred Reads clearly had ulterior motives. They thought if the master didn’t write waste protagonist stories or switched from fantasy to immortal cultivation, they could lull me into complacency.”
“Hah! Wishful thinking.”
The editor-in-chief continued reading. The prologue was short, just a few hundred words.
Unlike ordinary readers, he didn’t rush to flip to the next page, but instead carefully savored and analyzed the prologue—its world view, power distribution, historical evolution, and core ideology.
He pondered deeply.
After a while, he swiped his finger across the phone screen, right to left.
The page switched from the reading view to the review section.
Editor-in-chief: ????
Back, swipe, review section.
Back, swipe, review section.
Editor-in-chief: ????
Was this a joke?
After repeating this several times, the editor-in-chief was completely bewildered.
Insanity!
——
PS. Released first, revised later