Ten Years and Reflections

It has been nearly ten years.

It seems it was back in my first year of middle school when I first opened the Qidian website. Even now, I can still remember holding an MP4 player smaller than my own palm and telling my homeroom teacher that the stories written inside were far better than anything in our textbooks. The title of that book was "Immortal Path, Smoke and Dust." I also recall spending fifty cents a day at a rental shop, reading "A Strategist of the Times" four or five times over.

I smile.

There was a time in high school when someone asked what I wanted to do in the future, and I said I wanted to be a novelist.

And so, here I am now, a junior in college, standing before you all.

I began writing during the winter break of my freshman year. From those early fan-fiction attempts to the novel about to be published, everything feels like a dream.

There is nothing more wonderful than watching one's dream slowly come to life. Perhaps this dream is merely a phantasm, destined to shatter at the slightest breath of reality.

I scratch my head. I had intended to say something grand and impassioned, but what I’ve said so far feels rather lackluster. In my subscriptions for March, I included the new book by Linhai Tingtao. On one hand, I enjoy soccer; on the other, I admire his individual chapters—specifically, his launch announcements.

Those were a summary of his ten years in the industry, detailing every little bit of his journey with his readers, as if he were chatting with an old friend.

To be honest, I am envious.

I do not know if I can write for ten years just as he has, to look back after a decade filled with memories and recount every little detail of the years gone by.

The last decade was a decade of me and the novels I loved.

The next decade, I want to spend with you.

I imagine that ten years from now, you will all have forged your own paths—perhaps settled into happy families, achieved your ideals, or made a name for yourselves. And then, on a quiet afternoon, a crisp morning, or perhaps accompanied by the evening sunset, you might light a cigarette, pour a glass of wine, and open a webpage to find me there. You might say, "His writing style hasn't improved in ten years, and his punctuation is still as long-winded as ever."

I, too, wish that in ten years, I will be able to write, word by word, about every friend who has supported me, and share our own story.

Forgive me; my writing is poor, and my imagination is limited, but I cannot conceive of a better picture than that. I love this vision, and I look forward to such a future.

I learned about the publication date around the middle of March.

Since the beginning of the month, "18" from our group has been pestering me to ask the editor when the book would go live. But every time I opened the chat window to my editor, my legs would turn to jelly.

Truth be told, chatting with an editor is far more terrifying than talking to a girl I like. However, my current editor is a very kind person. Just a few days ago, he asked me on QQ, "Are you ready?"

I replied, "I am ready." I knew he meant the publication of my book.

But that wasn't what he meant. He said, "There are many bad people in this society." He spoke cryptically, but I understood his meaning. He was giving me a preemptive warning.

However, I had already received this "vaccination" long ago. I was featured in a major promotion last week, and other authors from the same batch went live a week earlier than I did.

One author told me that night that the one with the best performance had fewer than 200 subscriptions in the first 24 hours, even though his follower count was the same as mine—over 18,000. The implication was clear: I would likely face the same numbers.

Since last Friday, I have been walking on eggshells. In truth, I have never had much confidence in myself.

During this time, I felt so lost that I didn't even dare to speak loudly. When I first received the notification, I was filled with joy. I thought that even if I couldn't write a million words a month like Linhai, surely I could manage ten chapters on the first day.

At the time, I excitedly told Shunqiang that if I reached two hundred subscriptions on the first day, I would add an extra chapter and finish this volume in one go.

But later, I hesitated. I was afraid of being like a peddler in a busy marketplace, shouting and selling my wares with all my might, only to have people walk past me without a single soul willing to stop and take a look.

I felt lost and lacked confidence.

But then, 18 told me:

"Trust your readers."

That was the final straw—or rather, the only rope that could keep me from drowning in the giant waves. I chose to believe, because I feel that even if this is just a straw, it is incredibly sturdy; even under fire and blade, it will not break.

Thinking back to my announcement during the Sanjiang promotion, I suddenly feel very happy.

Because my heart hasn't changed. I still believe that my readers are the best readers in the world.

Forever and always.

Now, let me return to where I began.

Ten years ago, I first started reading novels online.

Ten years later, today, my own novel is being published online for the first time.

I only hope that ten years from now, I will still be sitting in front of a computer, writing an announcement, chatting like an old friend. Perhaps by then, we will have families and careers, or perhaps we will still be struggling through life. But I hope you will still want to spare a minute or two, forty or fifty seconds, to sit in front of the screen, light a cigarette, brew a cup of tea, and check on the author you met ten years ago—the same green, naive friend from a decade past.

I bow to you all, and thank you for your support along the way.

The update will be at 8:00 PM. There is actually so much, so much more I want to say, but allow me to let these feelings settle. This is wine; let us bury it for ten years, and then take it out again. Shall we?