Chapter 93: Piao Chuxi

The page opened.

Cao Sheng saw that the test version of Rongshu Xia still had green as its dominant color, and the logo was still a banyan tree.

But the homepage layout was indeed radically different from before.

It resembled the old version of Qidian's website in his memory.

In fact, from his personal usage experience, he had always thought the old Qidian website was the most user-friendly—easy to find books, and as an author, every new book he posted performed well on all recommendation slots.

Even without being on a recommendation slot, just the brief few minutes when the book title appeared in the update list after daily posts could attract some readers.

Later, Qidian's interface became increasingly grandiose, recommendation slots multiplied, and other features kept adding up, but unintentionally scattered readers' attention, making it harder for them to find books; as an author, every time he launched a new book, the first tens of thousands of words felt like playing a single-player game.

Looking at the categories on the new website—Fantasy, Supernatural, Xianxia Cultivation, Historical, Military, Supernatural Horror—Cao Sheng felt a momentary daze.

In that daze, he had a hallucination: as if he hadn't been reborn, or as if he'd been reborn into the early 2000s Qidian era.

Of course, there was also a sense of accomplishment.

Because the original Rongshu Xia page wasn't like this—it was his works and three design sketches that forcibly remade Rongshu Xia into the form he loved.

But on this test version, very few books were listed, and most recommendation slots and rankings were empty.

Like a newly renovated supermarket with no goods yet on the shelves.

Yet even so, he browsed this test version for a long time.

This Rongshu Xia made him feel that when it was eventually acquired by Shengda Literature, it could fetch a higher price, so he decided to invest additional funds during this round of Rongshu Xia's financing to maintain his equity share.

As for whether this Rongshu Xia could ever surpass Qidian?

He thought about it, and felt the possibility was slim.

Qidian's success in the original timeline wasn't due to its website design.

Back then, there were plenty of websites more beautiful than Qidian's.

Nor was it due to first-mover advantage.

Qidian in the original timeline was founded in 2002; many novel websites were established earlier, had higher popularity, and more famous authors, yet all were eventually crushed by Qidian.

Was it because Qidian pioneered the VIP subscription model, letting authors earn money, and thus attracting the vast majority of authors?

That was indeed an important reason.

But after Qidian, most novel websites in the industry soon followed suit with paid content, without lagging too long behind.

Has anyone ever dethroned Qidian from its dominant position?

No!

Not once!

So Cao Sheng didn't believe this timeline's Rongshu Xia had a chance to consistently lead Qidian.

He felt Rongshu Xia's literary youth gene ran too deep in its bones.

From the very beginning, it was a gathering place for literary youth—not just authors, but editors and bosses too were all literary youth.

With so many literary youth gathered together, how long could its popularity last?

When more and more young people grew indifferent to literary youth, a website and its people still clinging to it had no future.

…

Half a month later.

Cao Sheng sat by the stove entrance; his father, standing before the stove, said: "Asheng! Make the fire bigger—bigger is better!"

Cao Sheng grunted, reached out, and shoved several more sticks of firewood into the stove.

This scene was like yesterday reborn.

It resembled exactly the moment he first returned from rebirth.

His father stirred sand in the wok, preparing to roast yin rice for fried rice candy; Cao Sheng added firewood at the stove entrance.

The difference was—time had passed one year.

Their main house had been torn down and rebuilt into a two-story small building.

The kitchen had also been torn down and rebuilt into a bright, clean space.

Even the old stove he had grown up with had been torn out and rebuilt, its surface tiled with pure white porcelain.

The old tree stump he used to sit on while stoking the fire had been replaced by a newly made wooden stool, with a sponge pad tied to it.

Cao Sheng, sitting by the stove entrance, wore his old clothes, as if nothing had changed.

But his father, standing before the stove, wore a brand-new wool sweater, jeans, and lined safety shoes—all bought by Cao Sheng.

The steamed and dried yin rice was poured into the wok.

The scorching hot sand in the wok made the yin rice pop with a series of crisp, expanding crackles.

This year, their family's condition had improved, so they made less fried rice candy; instead, they focused on peanut candy and sesame candy, using several times more peanuts and sesame than before.

The smiles on Cao Sheng's parents' faces were more abundant than in any previous year.

This made Cao Sheng feel the meaning of his struggle.

His mindset was still that of a forty-year-old.

He long understood which people mattered most in his brief life, and what he should strive for.

Improving his and his parents' lives was his driving force after rebirth.

Competing with future web novel gods was his personal ideal.

Everything else, he didn't care much about.

…

Piao Chuxi night.

Firecrackers crackled through the village; children's laughter and shouts from outside occasionally drifted into Cao Sheng's ears.

Cao Sheng sat at his desk on the second-floor bedroom, having already eaten the New Year's Eve dinner, typing furiously on his laptop.

He quite liked holidays.

Because after a holiday, there was more time each day to type; he could type at night and also during the day.

This winter break at home, his word output had clearly increased quite a bit.

This month, he could type at least over two hundred thousand words; he should be able to publish four volumes.

He was consciously speeding up the publication of "I Wish to Become an Immortal," wanting to finish this book as soon as possible, then start a new one.

While there were still no worthy opponents, he would publish several more works first, using his own works to quickly run horses and claim land, expanding his first-mover advantage in this industry.

He had previously planned to write "I Wish to Become an Immortal" for four or five million words.

Recently, he planned to compress the length of this book to around two million words.

He would cut out any plotlines that could be reduced.

Squeeze out the water in the book.

This way, the plot could be more compact, and he could finish as soon as possible and publish new works as soon as possible.

The first day of the Lunar New Year.

Cao Sheng, following custom, carried some gifts to visit his uncle's house for New Year greetings.

From far away, before even reaching the entrance of his eldest uncle's house, the eldest uncle personally lit the firecrackers at the door to welcome him; the eldest uncle, the eldest aunt, the older male cousin, the older female cousin... even the second uncle, the second aunt, the younger female cousin Meimei, and others, had all gathered in front of the eldest uncle's house, each looking at him with full faces of smiles.

When Cao Sheng came here for New Year greetings before, where had he ever received such treatment?

When he saw his younger female cousin Meimei, he knew the reason for the scene before him; it must be that Meimei had told the eldest uncle and the others about his novel's publication.

That noon.

The two families of the eldest uncle and the second uncle gathered together, a large crowd, accompanying Cao Sheng to eat and drink.

Cao Sheng looked around; everywhere were smiling faces.

The older male cousin, who in childhood had thought him too young and been unwilling to take him to play, today frequently mentioned how Cao Sheng used to follow him around to play; the eldest uncle, who was always serious and never smiled, today had a smile that never left his face; the second aunt, who in childhood had said he spoke too little and would definitely have no future when grown up, today smiled and told everyone: "Ah Sheng, this child, I knew from a young age that he would definitely have a great future! How about that? Wasn't I right?"

Only the maternal grandmother had not changed much; the look in her eyes when she looked at him was still so kind. After the meal, just like in previous years, she took his hand, pulled him into her room, opened the large wooden chest by her bed, dug out from the bottom of the chest some cakes, red dates, dried persimmons, and other things that others had given her for festivals, and even more than ten White Rabbit milk candies, and stuffed them into his hands with a chuckle, saying she had saved them especially for him.