Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Yaoguang couldn't quite explain why, but he suddenly decided to cast Long Jianlu as the main antagonist, the big bad boss. The name just seemed perfect for that role! For now, he'd stick with it, and if he came up with a better devilish moniker later, he could always use the 'Find and Replace' function in Word to make the change.

What about the protagonist? Yaoguang pondered. The young man with the mechanical mask, Dr. Flash, had left a deep impression on him. In his first attempt, he hadn't put much effort into developing Shan Rong's character.

Now that Long Jianlu was the villain, how about making Shan Rong the lead in this book?

A protagonist, Shan Rong, dressed in the attire of a sword immortal, a cool and handsome youth with a mature and powerful disposition, aloof and composed – perfect!

The antagonist would be the arrogant and despicable devil king, Long Jianlu, who only cared about dual cultivation – not bad at all!

This was shaping up nicely... Lying in bed, Yaoguang began to envision the conflicts and struggles between them.

He wanted more than just a simple clash between good and evil; those were clichés. There should also be an evil deity in the mix, yes, an evil deity! This deity would be lurking in the Dark Valley, on the brink of resurrection, though nobody knew about it... Except Shan Rong, who stumbled upon something amiss due to a sudden incident.

However, he soon fell victim to a conspiracy by the demonic cult and was expelled from his sect. Now, he wandered the land of cultivation, seeking a way to clear his name. Where should the story begin? With his expulsion from the sect, of course!

Yaoguang needed to carefully craft the plot of Shan Rong's betrayal. He was an upright man, a scion of a reputable family, a rich and handsome fellow who had vowed to devote himself to... what was the name of that mountain again? Yaoguang had completely forgotten his own creation. Flipping through his notebook, he found it: it was the Bixia Peak's "Sky Sword Sect."

Yes, Shan Rong hailed from the prominent "Shan Clan" in the mortal world. He joined a sect to seek medicinal herbs for his ailing mother, eventually healing her and beginning his cultivation journey on the mountain. He was the last disciple of the revered Master, "Ling Yun Sword Immortal," and a powerful young Sword Immortal within the sect. Despite having cultivated for only four decades, he had already advanced to the Golden Core stage and entered the Nascent Soul realm.

During an operation to eradicate demonic cult members, Shan Rong fell into a trap that was seemingly prepared just for him, shattering his Golden Body. No, let's not go with that storyline. Let's keep him chaste... Yaoguang pondered, deciding instead that Shan Rong was seduced by a demonic woman, falling in love with her and thus becoming ensnared by a demonic cult's parasitic charm. Through this charm, the cult's "Charms God" could perceive his thoughts.

Unwittingly, Shan Rong revealed many secrets, leading to the annihilation of his elite youth team during their second mission... Wait, no, total annihilation might be too grim. Yaoguang revised it to "nearly complete annihilation," with only two young immortals losing their lives. At the last moment, Ling Yun Sword Immortal led a group of experts to rescue them all, albeit suffering severe injuries in the process.

Later, the charm inside Shan Rong was discovered, resulting in his expulsion from the sect. That made sense.

What about the great Demon King Long Jianlu? What was he up to?

He was sealed in a dark, sunless place for ninety-nine years, following a heavy defeat that left the demonic cult without its leader, unable to fully recover its strength. This Demon King was once a scoundrel – yes, that could work as part of his backstory, given he wasn't the main character.

The question now was: How would Long Jianlu escape?

For several days, Yaoguang grappled with this dilemma.

Would a sect martial competition collapse the mountain, freeing the Demon King? No, that was too coincidental. Would the seal simply break after a set time? That lacked narrative tension...

As Yaoguang entertained guests playing games, his mind continuously pondered the problem.

Suddenly, a notification popped up on his phone: an email reply. "Hello, we have received your manuscript, 'Time is the Song of All Things,' and have carefully..."

Yaoguang: "!!!"

Glancing at his customer, Yaoguang cautiously opened his email to read the rest of the message.

"...read it. Could you kindly provide us with your contact information for our editorial team? The details are as follows..."

"Oh my god!" Yaoguang set his phone down with a thud, leaning back into the sofa as his heart pounded so fiercely that he almost couldn't catch his breath.

Customer: "???"

"Darling, I'll buy you coffee!" Yaoguang blurted out immediately.

"What good news did you receive?"

As Yaoguang walked through the café, he radiated an aura of elation. He was no longer in the mood to work that day. He hurried back to his old house that evening, nearly colliding with a food delivery rider along the way. After adding the editor's contact information, he quickly received a response confirming their interest in signing his book.

"Ahh—" Yaoguang blissfully collapsed onto his bed, then shot up again, almost overwhelmed with gratitude to this newfound benefactor.

Then, he read the following message: "Would it be acceptable to buy out your novel for eighty yuan per thousand characters?"

Yaoguang: "..."

This was something he often saw on forums. Writers would frequently gather to complain about feeling like typists, with web novels being purchased for twenty, thirty, or forty yuan per thousand characters. This meant that the publisher acquired all rights, including print and electronic serialization, with royalties calculated based on the number of characters.

Yaoguang did some quick calculations. His debut novel was 130,000 characters long, which would amount to 10,400 yuan.

For a moment, he wasn't sure how to respond. The other party's status showed "typing," but eventually, it stopped, awaiting his answer.

He wasn't skilled in bargaining, so he fell silent for a moment. Flipping through his manuscript, he typed a few lines and erased them repeatedly, contemplating phrases like "This is too little," "Can't you pay the actual royalties?" or "Is everything at your company this cheap?"

Perhaps sensing his typing, the other party promptly sent several messages explaining that they would serialize his novel in their magazine first. If it gained reader popularity, they would publish a standalone book. Given the current struggles of magazines, they couldn't offer much; the company was essentially subsidizing the publication. They then reassured Yaoguang that the magazine still had sales and, as a debut author, they could help promote him. Besides, wouldn't he be writing more books? If the response was positive, they could collaborate again with higher pay for the next one.

Yaoguang didn't reply, his good mood spoiled. He turned onto his side and lay down.

Ten thousand and forty yuan—this was all he stood to gain.

But he desperately needed the money. Liang Jue was getting married, and he wanted to give his best friend a substantial red envelope... For this story, he had been writing until two or three in the morning every night, often pulling all-nighters. It had taken nearly a month to complete this book, only to receive a meager sum just above ten thousand... Come to think of it, could writing novels actually sustain him?

Yaoguang tossed and turned, reluctantly acknowledging that the editor was right. He would continue writing, and the fact that a publisher was willing to take on his story proved he could earn a living through writing.

The next morning, his wage from working at the café arrived - four thousand three hundred yuan.

With this, he made up his mind and agreed to the editor's proposal.

However, this was not the end of it; complications arose, not just regarding the remuneration. When signing the contract, he noticed a clause stating, "Permission is granted for editors to make alterations within a certain scope, including character relationships and world settings."

This clause was unacceptable to Yaoguang, leading to a standoff with the editor.

Eventually, they compromised, requiring Yaoguang to revise the work himself but according to the editors' suggestions. Yaoguang consented to this condition, signed the contract, and began revising. The editors also provided him with ample feedback.

Subsequently, disputes erupted between them, triggering Yaoguang's BPD and leaving him with the urge to jump out the window. The editor even requested changing the genders of the "Priest" and "Prophet," transforming the story into a love triangle involving one man and two women.

Yaoguang blurted out, "Then let's withdraw the manuscript."

But how? The contract was already signed. Breaking it would incur a penalty three times the original amount, which was over thirty thousand yuan. Yaoguang was furious, never imagining such an outcome for his submission.

This experience further solidified his determination to write long-form stories for the web, never again serializing in magazines. He despised the editor, yet she was in a bind too, catering to the readers. She repeatedly tried to appease Yaoguang, using every tactic possible, even sending him snacks by mail.

Finally, Yaoguang endured the pain and drastically altered the story, putting an end to this miserable ordeal.

The payment was prompt; he received nine thousand after taxes were deducted.

That was how he sold his first book in such a manner.

Now, all he wanted was to forget about it and never show anyone the revised version, not even his best friend Liang Jue.

The editing process had drained him for several days, with no clear target for his frustration. Blaming the editor-in-chief wouldn't help since they, too, were under pressure to boost magazine sales and cater to the market. But "the market" was an abstract and vague concept, leaving him directionless and forcing him to acknowledge that there might indeed be something outdated about his story, causing him immense distress.

But regardless, since he'd received his pay, he decided to put the discomfort behind him.

What could he buy as a wedding gift for Liang Jue? Couples' jewelry? Too expensive; his modest earnings wouldn't suffice. Perhaps some electronic gadgets? What would their newlywed household need?

This was the only solace in Yaoguang's life lately. He took the initiative to reach out to Liang Jue, arranging to have hotpot at the commercial street behind their alma mater after work one day. Unfortunately, Little Ya couldn't make it due to some commitments.

Yaoguang wanted to ask Little Ya what she liked, so he could choose a suitable gift for them. However, Liang Jue sensed that Yaoguang seemed a bit off lately and asked, "Are you okay? What have you been up to these past few days?"

"Huh?" Yaoguang was both exhausted and exhilarated, resembling someone under the influence of prohibited substances. "I haven't done anything. Is it that obvious?"

Liang Jue said, "You seem a bit off. Have you been taking your medication lately?"

"Yes, I am," Yaoguang replied. "Maybe it's just because of the writing?"

"Hey," Liang Jue's expression turned serious. "I'm being serious here. You need to take care of yourself."

"I know," Yaoguang reluctantly acknowledged.

BPD wasn't a trivial matter, but neither was it as severe as depression, bipolar disorder, or schizophrenia. Nonetheless, when an episode struck, patients often inflicted self-harm, overwhelmed by feelings of despair and anger. Liang Jue was one of the few who endorsed Yaoguang's belief in taking medication for his condition.

With Little Ya not around, Yaoguang found himself speaking more. He was willing to confide in his close friend about his struggles, seeing no reason to hide his situation from Liang Jue. It was clear that Liang Jue was genuinely concerned, fearing that his writing might exacerbate Yaoguang's condition.

"Maybe I'm just too immersed in the storyline," Yaoguang suggested. "The plot of the new book has me stumped, so my mind isn't very stable, right?"

Worried, Liang Jue asked, "Are you getting lost in the story? Have you thought about quitting your job temporarily? I think you're just exhausted, and this would allow you to focus on your writing."

At times, Yaoguang felt like he and Liang Jue were akin to Vincent van Gogh and Theo van Gogh – a troubled painter and his sole source of support for his art. Without Liang Jue, Yaoguang wouldn't have been able to continue writing; perhaps he would have given up long ago.

"No, no," Yaoguang reassured Liang Jue. "I'm doing fine, really. Don't worry about me."

Speaking up to this point, Yaoguang suddenly recalled the incident of "transcending" into the story.

Yaoguang: "If I really had to say... a month ago, it was a bit... peculiar? I'm not sure if it was an illusion..."

Liang Jue's expression turned serious.

With all his ability, Yaoguang described the experience to him, "It was like being sucked into the storyline, experiencing events alongside the protagonist."

Liang Jue's gaze shifted to the pendant hanging in front of Yaoguang's chest. Today, Yaoguang was wearing a shirt with two buttons undone, revealing the pendant in the early summer breeze.

Yaoguang explained, "It was a very realistic illusion."

After some thought, Liang Jue proposed, "Have you heard of déjà vu? Maybe this is a form of that? Could your memory be deceiving you?"

"Oh, right," Yaoguang was convinced, "It must be a kind of déjà vu then."

Déjà vu refers to the feeling that one has previously experienced a situation, even though they have not. It is a sensation that arises spontaneously at a later moment.

Liang Jue continued, "I think you've just immersed yourself too deeply. You've been thinking about it so much that unconsciously, you've constructed the plot of your own story, and when you wake up, you feel like you've transcended into it."

"Yes," Yaoguang confirmed. "That's right."

Convinced, Liang Jue asked, "Should we go see a doctor?"

"No, not necessary," Yaoguang declined promptly, believing that his mental state had been stable lately. They continued chatting as they did back in their school days, enjoying the meal together. Yaoguang even took the initiative to settle the bill, much to Liang Jue's annoyance.

Liang Jue suggested Yaoguang spend the night at his place, but Yaoguang refused, citing the need to write his manuscript.

Once again, his room was in disarray. He moved his clothes from the chair to the bed and sat down in front of his computer, thinking about the dilemma he faced: how to resolve the situation where the mighty Long Jianlu was trapped in a cave. This plotline had been bothering him for almost a week.

What should he do? As Yaoguang munched on chips, he typed out a few lines randomly; he had already started the story.

The beginning of the tale unfolded with Shan Rong, exiled, being hunted down in a rainy night. Not only was he expelled from his sect, but most of his martial arts abilities were also stripped away. Now severely injured, he carried within him a parasitic bug that threatened to devour his cultivation.

Shan Rong's powers had been reduced to the level of a Golden Core cultivator, and he was gravely wounded.

It was pitiful... truly pitiful.

Chewing on his snack, Yaoguang found himself rather fond of his protagonist, Shan Rong. He had crafted Shan Rong to be clever, with a hint of aloofness and a subtle air of wickedness. After all, he had once been a prodigy, now fallen from grace, consumed by resentment and anger. In his quest to track down the activities of the demonic cult, Shan Rong was in a bustling metropolis on Earth, while the cult was secretly preparing a bizarre ritual beneath the city – one that would unleash a plague, poisoning hundreds of thousands of lives...

Much like most authors, Yaoguang had no true grasp of the concept of "millions" dying in his book. Initially, he had planned for "tens of millions," but that seemed excessive, so with a flick of his fingers, he scaled it down to a mere million.

Why would the Demon Sect do such a thing? Without any reason? Simply for amusement? Well, they were the Demon Sect, but that didn't quite sit right. So Yaoguang wrote, "In the depths of darkness, these lives will be sacrificed to awaken the evil deity, their souls merging into a colossal force to be absorbed..."

Ah, that made more sense now. Yaoguang couldn't help but admire his own ingenuity.

He then shifted the scene to Long Jianlu, the story's villain, who was due to make an appearance. Long Jianlu wasn't keen on resurrecting the evil deity; he sought submission under his power, not mindless destruction by the deity's return. Ninety-nine years ago, precisely due to this difference, Demon King Long Jianlu had been betrayed by his subordinates and ambushed by righteous cultivators, cast into the Sky-Hanging Grotto, sealed deep within.

However, he knew nothing of this. He waited alone for the day of his escape, vowing that once freed, he would—what was the name again? Yaoguang had forgotten his own setup and hastily flipped through his notes. Yes, it was the Sky Sword Sect!

He vowed to utterly annihilate the entire Sky Sword Sect!

Yet, the challenge remained: how to release him. Yaoguang still lacked a viable solution, so he resorted to external intervention. He had an NPC accidentally fall through a crevice in the Sky-Hanging Grotto.

"Long Jianlu heard the sound and looked up to see a figure plummeting from the narrow sky. It was a person!"

"Without hesitation, he summoned the last vestiges of his magical power. The man's immortal robe billowed, his sash danced in the air. Bathed in the sliver of sunlight from the narrow sky, Long Jianlu instantly recognized the face."

What should come next? Yaoguang was notoriously bad at describing appearances; most of the flattering terms ended up describing the protagonist, Shan Rong.

A young man, around seventeen or eighteen, fair-skinned, with an elegant visage. His eyes were closed, and a pendant on his chest shimmered in the columnar sunlight...

At this point, an idea struck Yaoguang. He set down the chips and started typing with both hands.

"Long Jianlu's eyes widened as he gazed at the pendant hanging from the youth's chest. Time seemed to slow down. The hexagonal pendant held a suspended impurity within, resembling a wispy trail of ascending mist..."

Recalling his previous encounter, Yaoguang was filled with curiosity. Was it really déjà vu?

In reality, the pendant suddenly flashed.

Yaoguang: "!!!"

As the saying goes, if you don't court death, it won't come knocking. And so, Yaoguang found himself, once again, sucked into the story he had created.