Chapter 9: Do Not Belittle the Young and Poor
The chubby editor hesitated before speaking: “That author with the cute pen name—‘Little Newbie’—I wonder if they’ll change it after coming to us.”
Liu Da grew impatient, flicked away his cigarette butt, and walked out. He hadn’t discovered a promising new author for two consecutive months, and his performance was languishing at the bottom of the rankings at Hundred Reads.
He couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy. How did Wang Ke get so lucky? Two months ago, he’d poached a rising fantasy star from “Four Seas Web Novel,” and now another talent, “Little Newbie,” had landed in his lap. Comparing himself to others was simply depressing.
Suppressing his irritation, Liu Da focused on reviewing submissions. He knew to keep work and personal emotions separate, which made him especially diligent.
Manuscript after manuscript passed through his hands. A rare few earned a contract; the vast majority were tossed into the trash.
Five minutes later, he finished another one.
Rubbing his weary temples, Liu Da dabbed a few drops of medicated oil onto his skin, the sharp scent clearing his mind instantly.
He’d seen colleagues take it further, applying it under their noses so each breath brought a jolt of pungent freshness—just watching them made him shudder. Liu Da didn’t dare try that, fearing he might go overboard.
Riding this new wave of clarity, Liu Da opened a fresh submission.
“‘Battle Through the Heavens’—not a bad title. I wonder what the content is like.” Excitement flickered as he clicked open the manuscript and started reading quickly.
After just one chapter, Liu Da’s brow furrowed. The protagonist was a loser, constantly oppressed by his own family—what a terrible setup. He felt suffocated just reading it; there was no satisfaction, no sense of triumph. How could readers possibly enjoy this?
Still, Liu Da pressed on—this was his job.
When the protagonist’s fiancée appeared to break off their engagement, his eyes brightened. That was an interesting twist.
Then, as Xiao Yan, the main character, declared, “Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west—never look down on a poor youth,” Liu Da felt as if he might burst.
Forget genius prodigies or heroes who crush all enemies with one blow—nothing was as exhilarating as that line.
And Xiao Yan’s character resonated deeply with him—not due to any handsomeness, but because of his experience.
Xiao Yan was constantly suppressed in his family, labeled a disgrace, bringing no benefit or honor.
Liu Da, too, was on the verge of becoming the Xiao Yan of the editor’s office—five months running without discovering a single promising newcomer.
Some editors also went months without results, but they had big-name authors in their portfolios, ranking high on all the charts.
Only now did Liu Da realize what a remarkable talent he’d uncovered—someone who had created an entirely new genre.
Everyone knew that the “genius flow” was the hottest trend in fantasy, but this author had gone the opposite direction, pioneering the “useless protagonist and broken engagement” trope. That took real genius.
As Liu Da, both excited and lost in fantasies of his own comeback, carefully finished the remaining chapters, he found himself thoroughly entertained.
The protagonist started at rock bottom, but within a few chapters unlocked his hidden potential and began the climb back up.
Already, Liu Da was looking forward to the three-year promise.
Three years later—would Xiao Yan ascend to Cloudmist Sect? What kind of presence would he have as he returned to that ancient institution and faced the woman who had humiliated him?
He could hardly wait to read more—
“A master?”
Glancing at the author’s information as he approved the manuscript, Liu Da felt a pang of disbelief. He knew the writing was good, but was it really necessary to be so ostentatious?
Well, if anyone could be flashy, it was someone who wrote this well.
As soon as the manuscript was approved, Liu Da sent a contract notification to the author, Li He, through the backend system.
This was his treasure!
Liu Da was delighted.
But then, doubt crept in.
Although “Battle Through the Heavens” fit his taste and was refreshingly original, it ran counter to prevailing trends in fantasy—where one path celebrated unstoppable genius, this story championed the redemption of the outcast.
And of course, everyone’s taste is different.
What Liu Da found thrilling might strike readers as unremarkable.
Should he recommend it?
Whether readers embraced the story would directly affect his performance.
After wrestling with the decision for three minutes, Liu Da chose to trust his instincts.
He’d recommend it!
If readers didn’t take to it, so be it—he hadn’t found any new talent for five months anyway, what difference would one more month make?
In any case, even though he’d decided to give his recommendation slot to “Battle Through the Heavens,” he still had to finish reviewing the rest of the submissions.
He doubted any of them would match up to this one.
...
Noon.
Li He slammed out of the game in frustration.
Terrible game, useless teammates.
Utter trash.
He vowed never to touch that garbage game again—the experience was abysmal.
Picking up his trusty domestic phone, he checked the time. “Noon already. Time for lunch. I wonder if that shameless Huo Luo has eaten yet.”
At that moment, a notification pinged at the top of his screen: his author’s backend had approved his submission.
“Approved—so fast.” Li He shamelessly speculated, “Maybe they were intimidated by my ‘master’ status and let me skip the line.”
Opening the writer’s app, he saw all ten chapters had been published.
“Not bad, very nice.”
Li He could already imagine the chaos he’d cause readers by ending chapters on cliffhangers.
Just a few more lines, and everyone would be satisfied—but no, he would end it abruptly.
He had plenty of drafts, could update regularly every day—but no, he’d take a break right at the climax.
The feeling was just too good.
“Signed immediately… hmm, Editor Liu the Great.”
Li He thought to himself, this editor is shameless—what a showy name.
Liu the Great—why not just call yourself Liu the Almighty!
Hmm…
Something didn’t seem right.
Realizing this, Li He smoothly let the matter drop.
He exited the writer’s app and started a video call with the shameless one.
The call connected quickly.
The first thing Li He saw were a pair of dark, panda-like eyes, followed by Huo Luo’s weary face.
He also noticed Huo Luo holding a piece of paper—the lyrics and chords Li He had given him yesterday.
What a savage.
So he really did go practice singing.
“Honestly, do you even get anything out of singing in that state?” Li He asked out of concern for his best friend.
Worried he might literally wear himself out.
“No worries, I’m wide awake,” Huo Luo replied confidently, panda eyes and all.
Unbelievable.
“Come on, let’s eat,” said Li He.
“I think I can practice a bit more,” Huo Luo insisted.
He felt he was still full of energy. One all-nighter was nothing—who hadn’t pulled an all-nighter at an internet café in high school? It was the consecutive nights that really wore you down.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Li He laughed. “Come on, East Gate of the First Cafeteria. I’ll wait for you there.”
He’d never realized Huo Luo could be this hard on himself. It puzzled Li He—what was the rush with singing practice?
Over lunch, Li He voiced his doubts.
Huo Luo, eyes drifting from a tall, pretty underclassman back to his best friend, replied with a cheerful smile, “It’s nothing.”
Li He clearly didn’t believe him. Why else would he push himself so hard?
But Huo Luo didn’t want to say, and Li He didn’t press the issue.
That’s how true friends should be—not prying into things the other isn’t ready to share.
Sometimes, it might even be for your own good.
Like if he saw your girlfriend on a date with some guy who wasn’t even as handsome as you.
That sort of thing...
Back at the dorm.
Li He suddenly noticed a string of conspicuous numbers at the bottom left corner of his system’s virtual panel.
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