Chapter 9: The Light-Brain Picked Up by Xisha
“You’ve finished reading all available content. Please bookmark the story first.”
Seeing this all-too-familiar line, Meng Xingchong was utterly stunned.
Wait—what? That’s it?
He could’ve sworn he’d only been reading for two minutes. Wasn’t today’s content a bit short?
Meng Xingchong felt he was being greedy. After all, Great God Zao Si had already updated quite a lot. But still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t enough. Besides, this novel… it really made him feel both embarrassed and completely hooked.
But this was his job, after all. Meng Xingchong fluttered his wings, trying to cool down his face that felt like it was about to overheat.
Just as he was about to send the contract he’d prepared to Great God Zao Si, the discussion among nearby editors caught his attention.
“This author, Zao Si, really knows how to grab readers’ hearts. Every chapter ending just makes you want to keep reading.”
“You’re reading her work too? I’ve been following it as well. I even got the contract ready. I thought I could sign her today, but she’s still just short of the required word count.”
It was normal for excellent authors to attract the admiration of more editors. Meng Xingchong had no issue with that. But… word count???
He immediately turned back and reopened the novel he’d just finished.
18,000 words?
Only 2,000 short?!
It was like a bolt from the blue. Meng Xingchong froze on the spot. So it hadn’t just been his imagination that something felt missing—
It really was missing!
A whole two thousand words!
Even though the interstellar era didn’t have the meme of “shaking the author upside down,” Meng Xingchong could still deeply relate to it.
Oh, how he wished he could grab the author and shake out those words.
So… would there be another update today?
Meanwhile, Fengxing and Yumo had also just finished reading today’s update.
Ever since reading My Demon Hunter Arch-Nemesis from Fengxing, Yumo had become infatuated with the story as well.
Fengxing’s focus was all on the demon race’s combat abilities, while Yumo’s attention was on the interactions between Hu Sanli and Bai Ye.
To him, the romance in this book perfectly fulfilled his own fantasies about love.
He too wanted to find a female beastman and live a life that was both ordinary and passionate.
In Yumo’s eyes, the love between Hu Sanli and Bai Ye was like a red rose seen every morning upon waking—sweet as honey, yet so seamlessly woven into daily life that it had become the norm.
But regardless of what their focus was, when they reached the end, both of them had the exact same thought.
How dare you stop here?
Huh??
Author, can’t you update a little more?!
Fengxing refreshed the page again and again, until at last he let his gaze fall in disappointment. “There really isn’t any more.”
“Just wait a little longer. Tomorrow there’ll be an update. Maybe even tonight,” Yumo said, comforting Fengxing—and also himself.
“You’re right. I need to follow this author. I want to see her updates the moment they come out!” Fengxing said fiercely.
Yumo looked at his good brother but didn’t tell him—he had already followed the author yesterday.
“Oh right, in a few days our tribe is holding this year’s Friendship Tournament. You’re still not planning to attend?” Yumo asked.
For the snake tribe, the “Friendship Tournament” was, to put it bluntly, a matchmaking event.
And both Fengxing and Yumo, though still young, were already star figures at these gatherings.
One was absolutely unwilling to find a mate, even once saying to his father: ‘Why should I share my prey with some stranger snake?’
The other went every year, but because his standards were far too strict, he never once succeeded.
Needless to say, Fengxing was the “lonely king,” while Yumo was the perfectionist.
While reading, Fengxing had been focusing on the demon race’s combat power, but the story still affected him all the same.
He hesitated—something rare for him.
After a long pause his face flushed and he mumbled, “If it were a female beastman as strong as Hu Sanli, it might not be impossible.”
Yumo had expected that answer; hearing it, he burst out laughing without a second thought.
A clear breeze passed over Fengxing’s embarrassed face and carried away Yumo’s cheerful laughter.
In that moment, Fengxing and Yumo were both very happy.
But their happiness didn’t last long.
That night there was no update, and they felt disappointed but didn’t think much of it.
By the next day there was still no update, and the two realized something was wrong—their mood began to grow anxious.
[Author—where’s today’s update? Give us the update now!!!]
[If there’s no update I’ll make a scene!]
Compared with Fengxing’s rashness, Yumo was more polite.
[Great God, are you unwell? Or did you run into some problem?]
He shifted the topic to the update: [So, when will you update?]
It wasn’t just them leaving comments—readers who had recently discovered the book but had been lurking quietly began to show up and demand updates as well.
[This is the best book I’ve discovered recently. Author, please don’t give up (sobbing).]
[It’s so addictive. Since finishing it I think about it when I walk, when I eat, even when I sleep. If there’s no update I won’t be able to survive.]
[Author, if you update now I’ll spread the word for you!]
Not only were they commenting, some were even planning to tip the author to drag them out and force an update.
But when they checked the novel’s page, they saw that the author still hadn’t signed a contract. Unsigned books couldn’t receive tips, and for the first time the readers experienced the frustration of having money but nowhere to spend it.
Ao Weiwei was one of those frustrated readers.
In fact, she wasn’t purely a reader—she was also a small-time author. Because she had read too many novels and had been in a constant state of book drought, she eventually resorted to “cutting the flesh off her own legs” and started writing the kind of stories she liked herself.
But reading and writing novels were completely different things.
It wasn’t until she tried it herself that Ao Weiwei realized just how difficult writing a novel was. You had to keep updating, come up with all sorts of plots and characters.
Gradually, she began to drop updates from time to time, wandering around looking for novels to read, dressing it up as “seeking inspiration.”
Because she skipped updates too often, her readers even threatened that they would find her, lock her up, and only feed her if she kept writing.
But Ao Weiwei didn’t really care.
Her family wasn’t short on money, and their security was always on top-level protection—her readers would have a hard time taking her away.
Now, Ao Weiwei finally understood how her own readers felt.
Going on hiatus herself? Fine. But other authors going on hiatus? Absolutely not!
Usually Buddhist about everything, Ao Weiwei was uncharacteristically furious.
She started pestering her editor like crazy.
[(You shared My Demon Hunter Arch-Nemesis with Editor Juanwang.)]
[Editor, what on earth is going on at InsectLit? Do you still want this site to grow or not? With such a good story, hurry up and get it signed!]
[Go contact the author, get the contract signed, I want the flood of updates after signing!]
[Why aren’t you replying? It’s been three seconds already—do you not love me anymore?]
Meng Xingchong, already frazzled and now forced to endure the unreasonable tantrums of his own author: ……
