Chapter Ninety-Nine: Those Young Men

Online novels were only just beginning to take root in the country, and the circle of web fiction authors was still quite small. Within just a few months, Yu Zhe had risen to become a leading figure in the field, drawing many fellow writers eager to befriend him, seek his advice on writing techniques, and exchange experiences. Having grown up with little sense of accomplishment, Yu Zhe now found himself idolized by a group of writers. The feeling was intoxicating. Many of his writer friends had previously helped spread the word about the disaster relief efforts in Gaogang Village online. Taking advantage of the summer vacation, Yu Zhe decided to host them in Yijiang City, providing for their food, lodging, and entertainment.

“Come on, let me introduce you—everything I’ve achieved today is because I’ve stood on Zhao’s shoulders!” Yu Zhe slurred as he introduced Zhao Zejun to the group, his breath heavy with alcohol.

The atmosphere turned a bit awkward. Zhao Zejun shot him a glare—three drinks in and already talking nonsense. Why not just say you’re trampling on my head?

“Ahem… Don't listen to this guy’s nonsense.” Zhao Zejun coughed to smooth over the moment. “Thank you all for your help last time. On behalf of the elderly in Gaogang Village, I want to thank you.”

“Hello, I’m an author at Sword Alliance, pen name Song Dynasty Chronicles. I love writing historical fiction—pleasure to meet you…”

“Hello, Boss Zhao, I’m Cat Who Doesn’t Eat Fish. I like mythological stories...”

“I’m Linglong, nice to meet you…”

Among the six writers, aside from Yu Zhe, Linglong was the only woman—a delicate young lady with a few freckles on her nose who preferred writing romance; Ji, the eldest in the group and known by the pen name ‘Zhuang Buzhou,’ was twenty-five, noticeably more reserved than the others. He specialized in xianxia and was a top-tier author at Sword Alliance, frequently dominating their rankings. Zhuang Buzhou was also more aloof than the other struggling writers. When toasting Zhao Zejun, he only gave a polite nod.

After everyone had introduced themselves, Yu Zhe, still full of boisterous energy, proclaimed, “Everyone, I’m not exaggerating—if Zhao here ever decided to write a novel, even if we joined forces, we couldn’t match him! He’s got a mind full of stories; pick any one of them, and it’d be a bestseller!”

“Brother Zhao, I’m thinking about writing a romance novel, but I feel like modern love stories are all played out. It’s always ‘you love me, I don’t love you, I love him, he loves you’—it’s so boring. Do you have any advice?” Linglong, with her freckled nose, rattled off her words like a tongue-twister, making everyone laugh.

Yet all eyes turned to Zhao Zejun. Meeting their so-called ‘Boss Zhao’ in person, they realized he was just a high schooler like themselves—someone who hadn’t even published a single work. Inevitably, there was some disappointment. Yu Zhe had sung his praises to the skies. Did he really have any substance?

Instead of directly answering Linglong, Zhao Zejun looked at Yu Zhe. “Yu Zhe, have you ever told everyone the core of online novels?”

“It’s all about gratification!” Yu Zhe replied without hesitation.

“Exactly. Brother Xueyun was just talking about those satisfying moments. But how do you make a romance novel gratifying? If there’s no conflict, love is too bland. You can’t exactly have the heroine date a ton of men, right?” Linglong stuck out her tongue.

“The heroine can’t sleep around, true—but that doesn’t stop many men from falling for her, does it? These men, every one of them, are the best of their generation: some are stunningly handsome, some are fabulously wealthy, others wield immense power. In terms of personality, there’s the warm-hearted nice guy, the cunning schemer, the domineering alpha, the gentle homebody… Yet regardless of their type, they’re all hopelessly devoted to this woman, doing everything they can to win her favor.”

Zhao Zejun guided Linglong step by step, locking eyes with her as he asked, “If you were the heroine, wouldn’t you feel gratified?”

Linglong, still quite young, blushed instantly at such a blunt question. She pressed her lips together and smiled, unable to reply.

“Well? Wouldn’t you?” Yu Zhe slammed the table, playing the part of a bully.

With everyone watching her, Linglong lowered her head and quietly mumbled, “It’d be pretty gratifying.” She then burst out laughing at her own embarrassment.

“But—how can all these outstanding men fall for an utterly ordinary heroine?” the young woman pressed, hitting upon the crux of the matter.

Everyone present, all with some writing experience, recognized that Linglong’s question was at the heart of the whole novel. Zhao Zejun’s true skill would be revealed in how he addressed it.

It’s like going to a specialist when you’re ill. The expert tells you what’s wrong, what caused it, and that it’s untreatable—this shows discernment, yes, but real expertise lies in whether they have a cure.

Zhao Zejun’s calm voice continued to fill the private room.

“Cinderella is Cinderella precisely because she has no remarkable traits—plain looks, maybe even a few freckles, an unremarkable job, perhaps a bit absent-minded, forgetful, getting lost or leaving her keys behind… In short, just an ordinary girl.”

“Exactly!” Linglong grinned, “That’s how I’ve set up my character.”

“That’s a great setup! Most readers are ordinary themselves, so it’s easy for them to identify with her.”

After praising her, Zhao Zejun continued, “In modern society, a girl like this would hardly attract attention. But what if she were transported to the past?”

“To the past? What do you mean?”

Back when time-travel stories weren’t yet popular, the whole table looked at him, momentarily puzzled by the idea.

“I mean, for some special reason—an accident, a disaster, an illness—she dies, but her soul survives and travels back to some period in history.”

He paused. “For example, a girl from the 21st century, fond of daydreaming and reading history, accidentally falls through a time tunnel and arrives—let’s say, in the Qing dynasty, at the time of the Kangxi Emperor’s succession crisis, becoming a palace maid. In the dangerous, intrigue-filled palace, she uses her knowledge of the future and modern skills to attract the attention of the emperor and his princes…”

“Oh, I get it!” Linglong interrupted excitedly. “This is just like what Brother Xueyun was talking about—the ‘golden finger’! The heroine uses her golden finger to help those around her through all kinds of challenges, drawing their attention. And as they interact, the princes gradually discover her charm and unique abilities, and fall in love with her!”

“Congratulations, you’ve learned to jump in with answers!” Zhao Zejun quipped, borrowing a famous catchphrase from the Spring Festival Gala, prompting another round of laughter. Once the laughter subsided, he continued, “Online novels are, in fact, built around the golden finger. This is different from traditional novels; you could even say that the entire plot exists to serve the golden finger.”

The writers nodded along as they listened. At that moment, Zhuang Buzhou, who had been silent until now, suddenly spoke up.

“I can’t agree with your point, Brother Zhao,” Zhuang Buzhou said coolly, shaking his head.

The room fell silent.

Zhao Zejun glanced at him. Not only was Zhuang Buzhou the oldest there, but apart from Yu Zhe, he also came from the best family background. As Yu Zhe had mentioned privately, both of Zhuang’s parents were local county officials. He himself had a position at the county finance bureau, didn’t have to show up regularly for work, still drew a salary, and though his income wasn’t high, it was steady and easy. That left him plenty of time to write novels.

Being contradicted on the spot, Zhao Zejun was unfazed. He smiled and said, “Then what’s your perspective, Brother Zhuang?”

Zhuang Buzhou struck a scholarly pose and intoned, “According to your view, novels exist solely for gratification, with everything serving the golden finger. But what about literary value? What about deeper meaning? What you’re describing is nothing but an assembly-line product, which fundamentally goes against the essence of literary creation!”

Finishing, he shook his head solemnly and said with regret, “Young Zhao, as an elder, I hope you’ll use your talents in the right way and not lead the youth astray. What you just said is sheer misguidance!”