Lately, I’ve been feeling restless.
Restless in my heart. Restless in my bones.
Sitting in my air-conditioned room did little to cool the heat prickling under my skin.
Beyond the slight unease lingering from last Friday’s encounter with that girl, what truly made my head throb was the scene before my eyes.
“Is it really *that* bad?”
I stared at my computer screen, questions swirling in my mind.
I’d updated a chapter—about two thousand words—on a light novel site last week.
This weekend, the click count had risen by ten. Minus my own upload check and this current view… only eight clicks?!
Seven days. Eight readers. Unless someone misclicked, it was barely one view per day.
How utterly embarrassing.
Harsh comments could be ignored, but click counts were cold, hard data. They demanded attention.
This rock-bottom number proved my story had serious flaws.
But what exactly was wrong?
You can’t write in a vacuum. Beyond studying high school textbooks as classics, I needed to analyze top works on the site.
I clicked on several recommended novels from the homepage, ready to learn from fellow rookies—two eyes, one mouth, just like me.
What I found crushed my hopes.
Their writing was unacceptable.
First: dull openings.
No parallel sentences for impact. No classic quotes to spark interest. Just flat dialogue and lifeless descriptions. How could they score high?
Second: chaotic structure.
No central theme. Just diary-like daily logs or mindless battles. No clear “general-specific-general” or “general-specific” flow. Teachers would fail such essays outright.
Third—and worst—the endings.
Abrupt. Unfinished plots. Unclear messages. Cliffhangers dumped on the next chapter. That’s how you get zero marks for going off-topic.
*How* did these stories rack up clicks in the thousands?!
Had my taste strayed so far from the mainstream?
Perhaps truth *was* held by the few.
Maybe decades later, like Van Gogh’s paintings, my work would finally be recognized—a treasure fought over by collectors.
Staring at those dismal numbers, I decided to calm my nerves with a brain-melting math test.
…
An hour later.
The test was easier than expected. I logged mistakes in my correction notebook and redid them.
Still restless, I grabbed an English cloze test for extra practice.
…
Ten minutes later.
Done already? Fine—I might as well finish the whole paper.
…
Another hour passed.
Something felt off today. Beyond anger, a faint anxiety gnawed at me.
Even if I’d messed up the school’s final report, would the teacher really give me a demerit? Or worse?
When your mind won’t settle, do something unfamiliar to distract yourself.
Ordinary problem sets weren’t cutting it. I needed novelty.
My eyes darted around the room, landing finally on the computer screen.
“Forgot to delete it?” I muttered.
My cursor hovered over the desktop shortcut: *The Republic*.
*Today,* I thought, *I’ll slaughter raccoon dogs to silence this noise in my heart.*
A smile touched my lips.
After research and personal trial, I’d cracked the strategy to beat the “unbeatable” raccoon dog.
…
I logged in, charged straight to a general store. Behind the counter stood a kind-faced NPC shopkeeper, his snowy beard trembling as he greeted me in a deep, reassuring voice.
*Fair prices. Honest trade.* That’s what his presence promised.
“Honored Cleric,” he boomed, “buying or selling today?”
Standard NPC script.
“I want the Rogue’s crude dagger.”
“But you’re a Cleric! What use is that to you?”
His puzzled expression was impressively animated. Most NPCs just traded blindly—this one had *personality*.
“Just sell it! I’ve got coin!” I slapped down 20 Imperial Gold—my daily login reward.
“Sir, your request is… unusual. I’m curious.” His eyes widened with genuine interest.
“Hand it over!” I snapped.
Under my glare, he reluctantly surrendered the dagger.
Clutching it, I marched to the village gate, found the vicious raccoon dog, and began a grueling war of attrition.
I’d swapped my Cleric’s staff for the Rogue’s high-damage dagger. Calculating HP and MP, I settled on a rhythm: *two slashes, one heal*.
Low-level heals drained little mana. My Cleric’s high starting MP could sustain it. The healing perfectly offset the raccoon dog’s damage.
*Flawless strategy. This will work.*
…
Ten minutes later.
I lay sprawled at the village gate, utterly drained. Beside me lay the corpse of the raccoon dog that once stood on my head.
*Acquired: Raccoon Dog Pelt x1, Raccoon Dog Meat x1. EXP +5.*
The system message popped up.
Hard-won spoils. My mana bar was empty. My health bar clung to a sliver of white.
Just as victory warmed my chest, a chat window forced itself open:
*“What an extraordinary battle!”*
“Who are you?” I scanned the dense forest around me.
A female mage in black robes and a pointed hat peeked from behind a tree. Her smirk was visible even through the screen.
*HoneyPomeloTea - Mage Lv.2*
Her level tag flickered—barely stronger than me.
“A Cleric-fish wielding a Rogue’s dagger to stab raccoon dogs? Hahaha!” She’d spotted my class too.
“What’s so funny?” I shot back.
“Everything!” Her typed words reeked of laughter.
“Laugh all you want! Fight me if you dare!” Her mockery ignited my fury.
I chugged mana and health potions, refilling my depleted bars. No letting her exploit my post-battle weakness.
“Ready when you are!” She raised her wooden staff.
“Ready.” I gripped my dagger, stance firm.
“See you at the graveyard!” Her final message flashed.
*Graveyard?*
Before I could type *“Arrogant much?!”*, she hurled a fireball.
My full health bar vanished—instantly.
*White. Then empty.*
“Insane damage?!” I gaped at the screen.
“Like hell I’m meeting you at the graveyard.”
I yanked the power cord out of the socket.
*Why do I feel worse after playing this garbage game?!*
I slumped back in my chair, eyes closed.
“What a broken game… Just sleep.”
I dragged myself to bed, buried under the covers.
What makes a good game? Balance. A Lv.2 mage shouldn’t one-shot a Lv.1 Cleric. How’s a wrong-class player supposed to survive?
“Trash game!” I yelled at the ceiling, then buried my face in the pillow.
Silence. A comfortable bed. But my mind raced.
I tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
That girl’s face kept surfacing—her expression, her worry. How could I ignore it?
*Jiang Muqing… was that her name?*
My thoughts refused to still.
