Just because I wrote "Zhu Xian," the school beauty sent me razor blades.

At noon, Lin Yuan opened the document and his fingers landed on the keyboard.

Crackle, crackle.

For three hours, I didn't move an inch except for drinking a couple of sips of water.

Seven chapters, 20,000 words, written in one go.

After finishing the last section, Lin Yuan leaned back in his chair and let out a satisfied sigh.

The opening is well-developed, with suspense layered upon layer, a young man's extraordinary adventure paired with a tragic fate. Seven chapters is just the right number, ending precisely at the most unsettling point—any more would be too lenient, any less wouldn't have been enough to satisfy the hook.

The basic quality of an online novel author is to evoke a simple yet powerful impulse in the reader:

Author, are you asleep? If not, update when you wake up. If you are asleep, update even while you're sleepwalking.

The introduction only contained one sentence:

Heaven and earth are not benevolent, and all things are dogs.

While others' bios are still about "a young man being jilted at his engagement, who angrily draws his sword to defy fate," he goes straight to the heavens and the earth. The scope instantly expands from a village brawl to the primordial universe.

Check the layout, confirm it's correct, and click the mouse.

Submit for review.

Editorial Department of Red Eggplant Literature Network, 4 PM.

Editor Zhou Ming slumped at his workstation, his soul already off work.

Submissions surged during the summer, and the Xianxia (fantasy/martial arts) section was practically a showcase of assembly-line templates—nine and a half out of ten books followed the same formula: starting with a broken engagement, the protagonist roaring "Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west of the river," and the old man with the ring appearing on time.

It's the same old story, just a different name but the same fate.

Zhou Ming was numb from reviewing the applications. He would glance at the introductions and scroll past them at lightning speed, just wanting to finish his KPIs and leave work on time.

Just as his eyelids were drooping and he was about to sign a long-term cooperation agreement with the Duke of Zhou (a figure associated with sleep), a new submission popped up in the background.

Pen name: Old Man of Akina Mountain.

Book title: Zhu Xian.

Zhou Ming was stunned for a moment.

Good grief. Others use pen names like "Lone Sword Frost" or "Nine Heavens God Emperor," but you're just like "Old Fool of Mount Akina"? This name doesn't sound like someone who's here to write fantasy novels; it sounds like someone who's here to set up a stall at the gates of the immortal realm to talk about driving skills.

He opened the manuscript with the intention of having some fun.

Then, the first sentence pinned him to the screen.

Heaven and earth are ruthless, treating all things like straw dogs!

Ten characters.

A muffled clap of thunder.

Zhou Ming's nonchalant expression gradually disappeared. He sat up straight, forgetting to sip his milk tea.

Not right.

This doesn't taste right. It's not the passionate feeling of "my fate is in my own hands, not in the heavens," nor is it the fast-food flavor of "the ancestor is shocked and the genius kneels down."

The story begins in the vast land of China and ends in the village of Caomiao, featuring two teenagers and an old monk. The writing is calm and the atmosphere is ancient. But the more you read, the more you feel that a knife is hidden beneath the calm surface.

Puzhi imparts his skills late at night, Zhang Xiaofan's naive kindness, and Lin Jingyu's exceptional talent—all these foreshadowing elements are present.

Zhou Ming instantly straightened up. What fish? Fish are nothing compared to a manuscript!

I read it word by word, sentence by sentence, and couldn't stop.

Men in black launched a night raid on Caomiao Village, massacring the entire village. Two teenagers lost their families overnight, standing helplessly, clutching the cold corpses of their loved ones.

Zhou Ming's heart clenched suddenly.

Other families wiped out: The whole family is killed → Roaring in anger → Bloodline awakening → Cheat code arrives → Enemies line up to give you experience. It's exhilarating, then forgotten, like fireworks that dissipate and leave nothing behind.

But "Zhu Xian" didn't provide an outlet for suffering.

Zhang Xiaofan didn't unleash his full power, didn't fight back, and didn't embark on a path of revenge. He simply stood amidst the blood-red ruins, bewildered and helpless, as if he had been abandoned by the entire world overnight.

That sense of fatalistic helplessness is like a hand slowly clenching one's heart.

Zhou Ming felt a tightness in his chest.

When he scrolled to the end of the chapter, he realized he had forgotten the approval form.

Rhythm, selling points, signing potential—those were not on his mind at all in those few minutes.

He was simply a reader drawn into the story.

Three seconds later, Zhou Ming suddenly came to his senses.

A top-notch article.

No, it's not a dark horse. It's a dark horse riding a rocket that casually overturned the track.

He opened the author backend and glanced at it—a new account. Zero posts, zero contracts, registered less than a month ago.

Zhou Ming stared at the screen, comparing the backend information with the manuscript in his hand several times.

The narrative pacing, character development, and emotional progression were not at all what one would expect from a newcomer who had been registered for less than a month. He initially thought it was some veteran author using a different account, but after checking several times, he confirmed it was indeed a complete newbie.

Zhou Ming rubbed his temples, and for the first time, he began to doubt his judgment after fifteen years as an editor.

If this is a newbie, then what about all the other newbies he reviewed before? Are they the kind of people who make you want to file for workers' compensation just by opening their documents?