Chapter 83

To all dear readers, this book is going live tomorrow at 10:30 PM—hope you’ll come take a look.

First, I will post ten thousand characters daily upon launch, and I intend to maintain this until the novel concludes.

Regarding bonus chapters: actually, I write very slowly, because I take this novel extremely seriously—each chapter is revised and rewritten repeatedly to ensure quality, and it’s also a story I genuinely love and believe in.

I’ve written full character profiles for every character, and my outline is comprehensive, so the quality will never slip.

For bonus chapters: one extra chapter for every five hundred monthly votes, and one extra chapter for every thousand first subscriptions.

I won’t forget the votes you’ve already given me—they’re precious monthly votes from you, and I’m deeply honored you’ve cast them for me; therefore, in the second week after launch, I’ll add five bonus chapters gradually (currently five daily).

Of course, to all readers who give me recommendation votes—I bow my head, horns planted firmly on the ground, thud-thud-thud.

My launch message seems too short, so here’s a little story of mine—casual readers can enjoy it as light entertainment.

A tale from the forest:

As everyone knows, I live in a mysterious forest called Qidian Zuo Jia Forest, where animals cannot survive unless they sit down and write—only by producing text recognized by the forest do magical seed pods fall, the forest’s sole food source.

Thus, beyond wandering, chasing, and basking in the sun, every animal spends most of its day sitting and scratching words onto soil, sand, or stone with stones, branches, or hooves.

I am one of them.

The most revered creatures in the forest are the sacred Bianji—they are the forest’s guardians and its finest animal friends.

Though sometimes they’re snatched away by Zhou Mo and vanish for two days, they always bravely defeat Zhou Mo and return to the forest to aid all creatures—for example, when rabbits contract Ka Plague, a terrifying illness, the Bianji heal them.

My personal Bianji is Liu Xing—the one who cured my Ka Plague. Liu Xing is among the most diligent and skilled Bianji in the forest: his vision is sharp, able to spot animals quietly writing stories no one else notices; he also spends years galloping ceaselessly through the forest, just to reach animals in time.

But the Bianji admit they sometimes feel sorrow—when an animal abandons their story, or becomes too cocooned—whether their tail rots away or they turn into a cocoon, it means these animals will temporarily vanish from the forest.

Whenever this happens, the Bianji light the seed pod vines on full moon nights and chant the ancient Quanqin Spell in low tones, trying to summon back the fading Zuo Jia souls.

I once witnessed it firsthand—that night, the vines’ glow turned the entire forest blue-green, dew gathered on the Bianji’s antlers, each drop falling slowly into the soil like falling stars. But the spell was never completed—the wind suddenly ceased, and fireflies scattered. Since then, I’ve carved every vanished name onto stone tablets, stroke by stroke, afraid even memory might rot away.

After who-knows-how-long, to survive, the animals slowly learned to help one another; I have some living animal friends still, so here I quietly write down their names:

The owl who writes with his claws, day and night reversed: “Mystery: Even Demons Must Become Supernovas”—brand-new dual sequences, Earth Explode, Sky Star.

The cat who loves dungeons and carves words with his sword: “Goblin Slayer: Piercing the Dungeon”—too many elements: [D&D], [Great Western King], [Demon Organs], [Chosen of the Gods]. In short, it’s the story of an underdog adventurer in another world, climbing step by step to legend, ascending to godhood… though aided by a slight “help” from a golden finger panel.

The mountain god who writes on cliff walls with his eagle beak: “Greek Mythology: The Cave God.”

Each name is a lamp that never goes out; the deeper the carving, the more sweat seeps into the stone cracks, mingling with moss.

I know—as long as the words remain, they haven’t truly vanished.

This is the little tale of Qidian Zuo Jia Forest. I walk, I pause—the mountain god asks me, “What are you thinking?”

I don’t hesitate: “I want to eat seed pods!”

So, dear readers—can you give me a first subscription?