Eighteen

Recently, things had been exceptionally lively. The reason was simple: Ice Dance, the renowned author, had launched a new project, entered VIP status, and completed it—all within a month. The work shot to the top of the earnings chart by the second day. Some questioned whether it was artificially inflated. Nonsense! Anyone who understands the penalties for manipulating numbers knows it’s no laughing matter. These days, you can't simply use a random piece of software to boost stats or register with a different ID like in the old days of pseudonyms. Now, if an author tries such tricks, they’ll face a lifetime ban from writing.

Each person's identification can only be tied to one account. If an ID is found to have been lent to someone else for opening a project—sorry, yours will be deactivated as well. People nowadays are fiercely protective of their IDs. Unlike a millennium ago, when losing one’s ID wasn’t a big deal and lending it out for any reason was considered generous, today’s society would sooner lend someone money or credit than their ID. No one is foolish; an ID carries too much—bank accounts, housing certificates, and so on. Though technology has advanced to the point where DNA can be used for identification and losses can be quickly recovered, nothing comes without a cost. So, forget about manipulating scores or creating multiple fake identities.

Zhu Anfu hadn’t expected his writing to be so profitable. He only noticed the flood of online comments after finishing his work. Many begged for ancestral formations, talismans, and the like. Some posed sharp questions: could unexplained phenomena in modern science be interpreted as supernatural? Zhu Anfu replied that he didn’t understand much about the current era.

Whenever Ice Dance responded to posts, the discussion grew even livelier, with people debating ways to ward off evil or increase romantic luck. One cheerful reader commented that he’d arranged the romantic luck formation described in Ice Dance’s novel, and recently, he’d been receiving love letters non-stop. Zhu Anfu promptly replied that such things only work if you believe, and advised everyone not to try them lightly, as they might bring negative effects.

While Zhu Anfu monitored the forum, Prince strolled over. “Master, someone claiming to be your dedicated editor has requested a video call. Shall I connect it?”

“A dedicated editor?” Zhu Anfu stood and followed Prince out of the bedroom.

“Master, I’ve already verified his identity. He’s indeed an editor from the website, with considerable experience. He’s been assigned specifically to you by the site,” Prince explained dutifully.

“Oh, go ahead and connect. But, Prince, if he says something I don’t understand, you’ll need to help me.”

“Yes, I’ll make sure the task is completed.” Prince immediately set up the video call and stood quietly by Zhu Anfu’s side, ready to assist.

“Hello, I’m Editor Li ZhouXXXXXXXXX Wu Yan (since the name is quite long, please just call me Wu Yan),” said a refined-looking man appearing on the screen, greeting Zhu Anfu.

“Hello, I’m Ice Dance. Is there something you need?” Zhu Anfu had grown numb to lengthy names; here, names were often exceptionally long—some even twenty characters, with the maximum limit set at thirty. Over the centuries, as parents combined their surnames when naming children, the names grew longer, causing teachers to despair during roll call. Now, students are called by their numbers in class, and for attendance, only the numbers are used.

“I just wanted to introduce myself. From now on, I’ll be responsible for ranking, shelving, publishing, and urging updates for all your works,” Wu Yan said, crossing his hands. He was very excited. Since learning that the account of the great author had been activated, every editor on the site had been waiting, hoping to be chosen as the dedicated editor. They were all prepared to drop their current authors for the chance. To his delight, luck had favored him.

“Oh...” Zhu Anfu answered simply, not out of rudeness, but because he genuinely didn’t understand what a dedicated editor was.

“Forgive me. My master isn’t familiar with the website’s current structure; there’s no intention to be dismissive. Could you explain the prevailing literary trends on the site, or perhaps suggest a direction for his next project?” Prince quickly interjected, not wanting his master’s lack of communication skills to be mistaken for arrogance. Both his masters were the best.

Wu Yan perked up immediately. “I recommend that you start a story set in ancient times, perhaps promoting religious themes. Nowadays, due to excessive government intervention, people lack religious faith and don’t have a clear understanding of history. Even scientists from a millennium ago don’t know much about the past. Aside from you, others have registered accounts, but what they write is similar to textbooks—slow updates, many gaps, and some have abandoned their work entirely. People’s desire to understand the past is as strong as your curiosity about the present...” Wu Yan spoke at length and explained the website's structure to Zhu Anfu. Listening, Zhu Anfu was inspired; he asked Prince to record what Wu Yan said, then patted his own backside and returned to his bedroom to prepare for his next project. Wu Yan was left speechless, but at least he’d gained insight into Ice Dance’s personality—a handsome, earnest character. Working with him would surely bring many benefits.

Yuchi Ankang found university life quite relaxed. Although universities were stricter than before, they taught only useful material, never wasting time on irrelevant subjects. Yuchi Ankang felt that since arriving in this new era, his mind had become sharper; now, he could grasp anything with a single hint, unlike before, when rote memorization was required. He suspected this improvement was thanks to Zhu Anfu feeding him fruit from the spatial realm each night.

A month later, Yuchi Ankang enrolled in mecha maintenance. As for manufacturing, it was partially covered in design courses unless one specialized in it. Ever since starting school, Zhu Anfu’s schedule had become more erratic. Morning and evening meals were fine, but lunch was always whenever he felt like eating. Yuchi Ankang was worried, but the school’s rules stipulated that once you arrived in the morning, you couldn’t leave until evening. He pondered how to persuade Zhu Anfu to attend school as well, so he could keep an eye on him. Yuchi Ankang rotated through all the departments and finally stopped at the history faculty, thinking that since Zhu Anfu was preparing to write a historical novel, this might be a convincing argument. Whether it would work, he didn’t know.