Chapter 10: I Don’t Think Too Many Readers Will Curse Me, Right?
If there was one thing Meng Xingchong regretted the most, it was signing a contract with Ao Weiwei.
No doubt about it—Ao Weiwei was the author who gave him the biggest headache.
Few updates, frequent hiatuses, always pretending to play dead, and whenever asked, the excuse was always the same: “No inspiration.”
Once, she even tried livestreaming under the watch of netizens—yet after a whole day, she only managed to write two hundred words.
He wished more than anything that he could turn back time and stop his past self—who had thought Ao Weiwei’s novel had “potential” and eagerly signed the contract!
An editor’s schedule was fairly flexible, but Meng Xingchong had developed one fixed habit: every single workday, he urged Ao Weiwei to update.
His reminders had practically echoed across the farthest reaches of the Empire, but the other party just stayed silent, feigning death.
And now, what was this—had the King Insect descended today? She actually dared to message him first?!
Meng Xingchong was shocked. He was bewildered. He wanted to ask her just how thick her skin was—to actually turn the tables and urge him to do work?
But then he saw the familiar book title she had shared, and Meng Xingchong understood.
This book truly did have that kind of magic—the power to make even a “dead” author take the initiative to contact her editor.
Yet the moment he understood, Meng Xingchong only felt more annoyed.
Was it that he didn’t want to sign a contract with that author?
He had already sent a barrage of messages to the author’s inbox, but up until now, the author hadn’t even opened them.
All his helplessness and frustration boiled down to one line:
“Great Weiwei, please—immediately! Right this instant! Go write! If you weren’t pestering me, maybe by now I’d already be in touch with the author!”
…
Song Wenlan had no idea that her novel had triggered such a chain reaction of chaos.
In truth, she hadn’t wanted to go on hiatus either.
But she had no choice—her light-brain had broken down.
Just yesterday, while writing the last chapter, Song Wenlan’s light-brain suddenly went black. No matter which button she pressed, it wouldn’t turn back on.
Helpless, Song Wenlan had no choice but to call Xisha out from his work again.
With a grim expression, Xisha dismantled the light-brain piece by piece, and soon found the cause.
“One of the rare components is broken.”
“Can it be fixed today? Or is there another light-brain?”
If it wasn’t for some irresistible factor, Song Wenlan would never have wanted to go on hiatus.
Unfortunately, her luck wasn’t so good.
“I don’t have any spare light-brains here.”
As he reassembled the parts, Xisha explained. He was using the room’s built-in communication device, which usually only connected with people from other star systems, and had no other functions.
“And your luck is especially bad—I just sold off that batch of rare components a couple of days ago.”
From what she had seen over the past two days, Song Wenlan realized that Xisha’s so-called “Garbage Star” really lived up to its name.
Every day, unmanned ships from waste-disposal companies dumped trash here. Xisha’s job was to scavenge for reusable energy or parts, process or modify them, and then resell them.
Much like how scrap collectors in the modern world could strike it rich, Xisha had also made quite a lot of money in this trade.
Watching his practiced movements, Song Wenlan couldn’t help but feel that if he had become a repair engineer, he would have done just as well.
“So when will new rare components show up?” Song Wenlan pressed.
Xisha shot her a glance and drawled, “That depends on your luck. Maybe tomorrow. Or maybe… not even a month from now.”
Song Wenlan’s heart sank completely.
She had never placed much hope in her own luck. The only comfort she had was that her book wasn’t under contract yet, and she didn’t have that many readers.
Surely… not too many people would curse her… right?
What Song Wenlan didn’t know was that her readers were already on the verge of going mad from her hiatus.
In the current interstellar era, authors hadn’t yet mastered the art of “writer’s block tricks.” Very few of them bothered to deliberately leave hooks or cliffhangers to keep readers hooked.
And yet here she was, dropping a hook at every critical moment, making it impossible to stop reading—while the wait for updates was ten times more agonizing than for other works.
One day passed, and the readers comforted themselves: the author would be back soon.
Two days passed, and they told themselves: just wait a little longer.
Three days passed—and the comment section exploded, the sheer resentment enough to feed a whole Evil Sword Immortal.
Finally, one reader couldn’t take it anymore. They charged into the reader forum and made a recommendation post for My Demon Hunter Arch-Nemesis.
They even sneakily egged on the others: go leave a comment, go bump the post.
[A story this addictive—don’t you want more people to know about it?]
In an instant, the remaining dozen or so readers caught his meaning.
Right! Such a good story couldn’t be known only to them—and the suffering of waiting for updates shouldn’t be borne by them alone.
Immediately, all the readers swarmed to that recommendation post, eagerly backing it up with their own proofs.
[I can vouch for it—this is truly the best book I’ve read in my entire life. After finishing it, I suddenly felt that every other book was unbearably dull.]
[I can vouch for it too. The fact that the site hasn’t signed a contract with the author is an enormous loss for the platform.]
[I swear on the dignity of our Snake King—if it’s not good, come find me.]
It didn’t take long for someone innocent to bite.
[Is it really that good?]
The readers had been watching the forum all along. The moment they saw this question, they pounced.
[It really is. Go read it, you won’t regret it.]
[Friend, if you miss this book, it will be the greatest regret of your life.]
[The author’s writing is truly excellent. Watching the protagonists interact is so sweet I couldn’t help but smile. And… let me tell you a secret—there are some benefits hidden in the text.]
Because the post’s activity was so high, it gradually climbed into the hot posts section. Many people saw the comments and became curious about this book.
They wanted to see for themselves—could it really be so good that missing it would become the regret of a lifetime?
Of course, some were drawn in purely for the sake of that so-called “secret.”
As everyone knows, the more secretive something is, the more people want to uncover it.
Whatever their reasons, once new readers opened the book, very few could pull themselves back out.
At first, they were only intrigued by Song Wenlan’s portrayal of the demon race. But soon, when they reached the part where the protagonists first met, their faces flushed red.
What kind of author was this?!
But they loved it. Write more!
Before long, they reached the final line: [You have finished all available chapters. Please bookmark the work before leaving.]
So then… what about the updates?
Why exactly didn’t Bai Ye bring Hu Sanli home? Did he really have a wife waiting back in his hometown?
And could Hu Sanli actually succeed in persuading Bai Ye to take her back with him?
These questions firmly lodged themselves in the minds of the new readers.
One after another, they flooded the comments section.
“Where’s the rest of the plot?”
“Author, hurry up and update!”
Seeing this, the old readers all smiled smugly, some even laughing out loud beneath the pleas for updates.
It didn’t take long for the newcomers to learn the truth—that the author had already gone three days without updating.
A bolt from the blue.
In a fit of fury, they fumed.
Unable to endure the lack of updates, the readers stormed back to the forum. But instead of exposing the old readers’ little scheme, they started making new posts of their own.
[After reading everyone’s recommendation of My Demon Hunter Arch-Nemesis, let me share my thoughts. First of all, I can confirm that everything they said is true—this novel is absolutely amazing. If anyone hasn’t read it yet, I’ll be very unhappy, okay?]
