Chapter 14: An Overwhelming Amount of Updates
On Friday, after finishing his classes, Jiang Zheng returned to his dorm and discovered a message waiting for him in his author’s dashboard. He clicked it open.
It was a recommendation notice.
Jiang Zheng’s heart leapt with joy. Although it was just the trial promotion every new book receives, even a single recommendation was enough to make him happy.
The hardest part for a new book was the lack of exposure—without it, nobody even knew the book existed, so naturally, few people would read it.
Staring at the trial promotion, Jiang Zheng stroked his chin, contemplating. Logically, when a recommendation arrives, adding extra chapters is a great move—especially for a newcomer like him. More updates would maximize the effect of this exposure.
Of course, it wasn’t mandatory to add more chapters during promotions. It was entirely up to the author—if you wanted to, you could; if not, it was fine as well.
Jiang Zheng soon made up his mind. The first recommendation was meaningful enough, so why not add more? Not too much—just another ten thousand words!
He already had a stockpile of chapters, so posting another ten thousand words posed no trouble for him.
With this decision, Jiang Zheng cheerfully uploaded an extra ten thousand words.
……
Jiang Zheng had a decent number of loyal readers, so as soon as he updated, many came to read.
Very quickly, the comments section exploded.
“This author is amazing—twenty thousand words updated during the new book phase?”
“This update volume is higher than many books that are already on the shelves.”
“If he keeps this update rate, even if he doesn't increase it when the book goes on sale, I’ll fully subscribe.”
“Twenty thousand words? Is the author some kind of tentacle monster?”
“Another update king has arrived?”
……
Jiang Zheng didn’t see any of this.
He did look at comments sometimes, but not every day. After updating, he went out for a workout.
He didn’t notice that his collection stats were shooting up—within a short time, he’d gained a hundred new followers, and the number kept climbing.
A hundred might not seem like much, but in reality it was quite significant. The trial promotion’s effect was limited; among all recommendation tiers, the trial promotion was at the very bottom.
After all, every new book received this recommendation, so it didn’t carry much weight.
Still, for newcomers, the trial promotion was one of the few avenues for exposure and quite important. Many people might only gain a hundred followers throughout the entire recommendation period, yet Jiang Zheng had reached that in no time and was still rising.
For a new author with no fame, this rate of increase was quite astonishing.
Twenty thousand words in a single update was substantial—usually, such output came at the cost of declining quality. Yet readers discovered that Jiang Zheng’s work showed no such weaknesses.
Despite the massive word count, the chapters maintained a consistently high standard—both the plot and prose were excellent.
As readers enjoyed the story, votes and rewards quickly followed.
Readers on this platform weren’t stingy—if they liked a book, they’d show their support through votes and tips.
For now, though, Jiang Zheng hadn’t yet received any major tips from big supporters. He was still a new author, his book only a few days old; while his updates were impressive, they weren’t enough to attract the heavy hitters just yet.
But the book clearly had the makings of a hit. It wasn’t hot yet, but at this rate, it seemed inevitable.
……
Drenched in sweat, Jiang Zheng returned to the dormitory. Today, he’d run fifteen laps—six kilometers—and managed to complete it. His physical condition had improved rapidly, with obvious results.
Lately, he even felt his mild nearsightedness had begun to improve.
After showering, he chatted and joked with his roommates for a while, then lay on his bed scrolling through short videos on his phone.
Suddenly, Zhou Quanyi and Yu Qingkui spoke up: “Guys, did you all see the message in the group?”
“Yeah, I saw it.”
“Knew about it ages ago.”
Everyone chimed in.
“What message?” Jiang Zheng asked, surprised.
Zhou Quanyi glanced at Jiang Zheng. “Old Fourth, didn’t you check the group? The counselor posted the final exam schedule.”
“I missed it. When did that happen?” Jiang Zheng asked.
“This afternoon. I thought you’d seen it,” Zhou Quanyi replied.
Jiang Zheng shook his head—he hadn’t noticed.
He opened the group chat on QQ, and suddenly a string of notifications sounded.
This confused Jiang Zheng a bit—he’d muted the group, so messages shouldn’t have pinged like this.
The notifications were from someone else.
Jiang Zheng saw his editor had messaged him several times, asking if he was there, as if it were something urgent.
He paused for a moment and replied.
Afterward, seeing the editor hadn’t responded, he figured it was after work hours and turned to check the group messages.
Sure enough, pinned at the top was the counselor’s notice about the final exam arrangements.
Jiang Zheng read it and understood the situation.
He wasn’t worried about finals. Unlike many who dreaded the end-of-term exams, Jiang Zheng thought there was nothing to fear.
He always paid attention in class. While he wasn’t as hardworking as Yu Qingkui, he’d mastered his major’s material.
College finals weren’t especially hard; if you listened carefully in class and reviewed diligently, you could pass easily—the only difference was in the score.
For students unconcerned with scholarships, passing was enough.
Suddenly, Jiang Zheng’s editor replied.
“You finally got back to me.”
Jiang Zheng felt a bit guilty—he’d been logging on every day, but must have been logged out of the backend without noticing, so there’d been no notifications.
“Sorry, Editor. What did you need?” Jiang Zheng typed.
“By the way, I noticed you’ve been updating a lot. Since you’re still in the new book phase, you can actually update less—six thousand words a day is enough.”
The editor replied quickly.
Jiang Zheng frowned slightly. “Isn’t a higher update rate better?”
The editor soon answered: “During the new book phase, too many updates actually isn’t good. Of course, after your book goes on sale, the more the better. Many recommendations are only available during the new book period; if you burn through it too quickly, you’ll miss out on a lot of exposure, which isn’t ideal for you.”
Reading this, Jiang Zheng suddenly understood.
He was a seasoned reader, though new at writing, so he knew a few things.
The new book phase came with special benefits—some recommendations were only available during this time. Once it passed, those opportunities disappeared.
For a new author, recommendations were vital.
Unless someone dropped a Platinum Alliance-level tip, recommendations remained the best way to gain exposure.