Chapter 436: Volume Two Final Summary

Volume Two Final Summary

When I started writing, I really wanted to write a summary—reflections and new insights flowed like a spring. But once finished, I became too lazy to write again; writing is absolutely draining—it's like unleashing a massive technique, and afterward you either sit in meditation to restore your energy, or just... plod on, plod on, plod on...

Writing Volume One was like building with blocks: on flat ground, you place two flat rectangular blocks, then stack squares, rhombuses, and others on top until they reach the same height, finally covering both pillars with a large triangle—and the house is done.

Though the author is clumsy and inexperienced, this was just the kind of shape a three- or five-year-old would build—stacking upward like this, and even if you're dumb, you can't make it collapse.

But Volume Two became an ultra-difficult Russian Tetris.

Swish swish swish swish swish.

Every day, the author wasn't choosing blocks to stack upward, but had to first handle the impending update, then stare at the chaotic pile already formed below, scratching his head, wondering how to connect these things into a house.

That's why I kept saying later: the root problem of Volume Two was writing without planning.

From then on, I was driving a speeding car at full throttle, with no pre-designed road—relying entirely on real-time control to let the car carve its own path, then looking back halfway and asking, "Does that shape look like a petal?"

"....... That's a shoe horn."

"Who cares! I just made a petal—I actually meant to draw a lotus!"

That was the creative journey of Volume Two.

Of course, another reason was unfamiliarity and lack of experience.

No web novel experience, no storytelling experience, lacking even basic understanding.

When I wrote Volume One, I understood nothing—I just had a simple story and wrote it out.

After finishing, the main feedback was that it felt too oppressive, so I reflected: right, this is a shuang novel—so how do you make it shuang?

Then let's fight monsters and level up.

That became the martial competition plot of Volume Two.

I didn't consider how to connect or advance the main storyline, thinking those things were still far off, and wrote a segment about Bowang City.

To be honest, that was the most successful plot segment—both subscription and monthly vote counts peaked—but even after it, I still reflected.

Because at this point I began to develop some creative awareness; as word count grew, I started wondering: what exactly am I trying to write? Where should this book go?

Though I still didn't fully understand, I at least realized one thing—writing should advance toward the plot and ** you want; a book should tell one story, and when it's done, it's done—that's complete creation.

Designing a martial competition as merely a "tool" to deliver a single shuang emotion, without considering main plot progression or other elements, is a failure in terms of plot structure.

Or rather, it's a failure in this book—because martial competitions can be written well: with a solid, stable worldbuilding, deepening the gap between realms, intensifying the satisfaction of leveling up, making skill and realm advancement a clear thread, and so on.

Those require careful research and careful setup, but this book prioritizes plot tension, so it couldn't achieve that.

So I realized then that the shuang I had imagined in my head was incompatible with what I was already writing; after completing this plot, I posted a short, two-day-only chapter for my loyal readers, saying I'd realized this book must be written by weaving emotion into a compelling narrative, not forcing emotion into a monotonous one.

Of course, this is my shallow current understanding—I may gain new insights as I write further, but that's how I thought then.

That led to the subsequent "Joyful Death Tower" plot.

From Chapter 229, leaving Bowang, to entering Great Kongdong, ending at Chapter 333—these hundred chapters formed a story with a clear main plot.

These hundred chapters had pacing issues and lacked writing skill, but my creative choices were firm; the plot weaving and resolution were fundamentally complete, and when I finished, I felt immense relief and real pride.

Because I truly drew the lotus.

It was extremely, extremely difficult—so many threads, so many characters, so hard to control; and when the plot grows complex, it becomes hard to write with force.

Looking back at Volume One, it really felt like playing house.

The plot was very simple: a boy encounters a cult, enters the mountains, has a miraculous encounter, befriends Heichi, meets Zhu Zhu Gaoyang, meets Ming Ming Qitian, then returns to uncover the old man's identity and defeat a powerful enemy.

The enemy descended from heaven—the Immortal Lord needed no story or humanity; the conflict was pre-made—the cult's goal could completely ignore society; the setting was a "mountain city," a giant enclosed space, no need to consider outside reactions; friends came from afar—they appeared here, and all you needed was to depict their charm, not their origins or destinations.

The method to defeat the enemy didn't require deep thought—Ming Ming Qitian and Yue Yue Muzhou were already powerful enough; just weave the battle.

And at the story's start, the author faced no constraints from existing texts, and didn't consider pacing, reader reactions, or any such issues.

And so on.

All these conveniences vanished in the Qu Zhu plot.

So after completing this plot, I truly felt I had progressed as a writer—perhaps my prose became less polished, some bad habits emerged, but my understanding of writing deepened continuously.

So after finishing the bloated Volume Two, at least one thing motivated me: when I chose to write a simple shuang point, I succeeded; when I chose to weave tangled threads into a coherent plot, I succeeded painfully.

When I finished Volume One, there were many praises, but I told many people I lacked confidence—I didn't understand how I wrote, and when asked, I'd say "by instinct," and I didn't really know what readers liked.

I still dare not claim I fully understand now, but I've gained some awareness—of my writing ability, of creative consciousness, of the nature of web novel serialization, and so on.

So for Volume Three, I'm trying to combine—or balance—the two.

Writing some "orthodox" things.

While advancing the main plot, I'll pay more attention to shuang point placement—no longer using long setups to structure a plot, but spreading out the climaxes, reducing foreshadowing and suspense, aiming for a clearer, more orderly progression.

Because previously, when I read novels myself, I preferred finishing entire books or long ones—I almost never followed serial updates, so I never paid much attention to the "serial" element.

But now it seems that, compared to a complete story, the daily-entertainment feel of web novels matters more: each daily update must contain sufficient information and elements, or enough fun gags and daily moments, with something anticipated just ahead—basically, readers must get at least one solid experience within these few thousand characters.

So I'll strive to better align with the serial nature—though plot tension may suffer and complexity will decrease; constantly writing deep, explosive content exhausts the author and makes plots drift; Shenzhen is a bustling place—let's write some brighter things.

This time, for Volume Three, I didn't forget to name it: "Fish and Dragon Dance!"

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