Li Xiaoming was a seasoned bookworm.
Though the web novel industry was still young and raw, he’d already devoured nearly every work in the circle—a true veteran who rarely crashed.
So on a certain forum, he was a famed “toxicity assessor,” judging if new authors’ works were hidden gems or toxic trash.
His ID was “Mingming Rushu,” topped with a green verification badge from forum bigwigs—his credibility was rock-solid.
That midnight, as usual, he scrolled new book lists across sites, hunting for a divine-grade gem.
But in this barren era, good books were rare.
Like winning five million on a street lottery—both gems and jackpots were pure luck.
Li Xiaoming wasn’t rushed.
Nearing middle age, his fiery spirit had mellowed to lukewarm water. He could wait.
Besides… how easy could divine-grade books be to find?
If they grew everywhere, wouldn’t the industry have exploded already?
With an older man’s steady pace, he scrolled the new book rankings. Interesting titles got clicked; slightly promising ones were bookmarked for later review.
New releases were scarce. Despite a recent niche boom, web novels remained a small world.
“Ah…” Li Xiaoming sighed.
He’d nearly finished today’s list—likely nothing worthwhile left. Should he quit?
His middle finger habitually scrolled the mouse wheel down.
Right then, an outrageously flashy title flashed before him: “The Divine Book.”
Li Xiaoming’s eyelid twitched.
Such an arrogant name? “The Divine Book”? It’d make people laugh their heads off.
He shook his head, dismissive.
He’d seen plenty of attention-seekers. After all, it was the internet age.
Though it was 2008, visionaries ahead of their time were never scarce. Some had already glimpsed this vast online ecosystem.
Internet, internet—what mattered most?
Information.
Countless data streams from every source, interconnecting—that tangled web was the internet.
Progress birthed this fast channel. Its instant reach offered profits no traditional marketing could match.
Offline, humans traded goods.
Online, humans traded information.
Geniuses predicted an incoming data explosion.
Soon, a flood of information would drown everything.
Only by grabbing attention in that deluge could one profit.
How to stand out?
Simple: sensationalism.
Like a pointy-chinned eccentric on Weibo, or a flamboyant eel-playing streamer…
In 2008, this was rare. The true horror would show its fangs a decade later.
Compared to that, a book named “The Divine Book” was child’s play.
Still… it rubbed him wrong.
Li Xiaoming rubbed his left index finger.
Understanding didn’t mean accepting.
After a pause, he sighed and clicked “The Divine Book”’s details page.
Forget the name. As an elder said: “A cat’s color doesn’t matter—if it catches mice, it’s good.”
With such a bold title, let’s see if newcomer “Baiyu Su” could back it up.
He skimmed the cover and synopsis, giving a barely visible nod—passable, not brilliant, but the writing felt seasoned, not newbie-ish.
Naturally. A newbie wouldn’t dare such arrogance.
Li Xiaoming chuckled wryly and opened Chapter 1.
Chapter 1 - The Fallen Genius
…
(omitted 3500 words to avoid padding complaints)
He read on.
His brow furrowed deeper with every line.
The text was short—just fifty thousand words. Li Xiaoming finished fast, his forehead knotted tight.
He exited the reader, staring at the bare details page. His expression twisted.
Like swallowing bitter melon, then chugging vitamin C lemon tea.
Sour. Uncomfortable.
“Hiss—what is this book? Gives me chills!” he muttered.
Honestly, it was painfully simple—plot and structure utterly brainless. By quality alone, it belonged at the bottom.
He hadn’t seen such plain, ordinary work in ages.
Yet… it screamed future hit.
The plot was simple but perfectly paced. The author nailed rhythm and highlights like a pro. The structure was dumb yet crystal clear—effortless for readers.
Most crucially, the writing—that mix of passion, grandeur, and delicate literary flair…
Holy crap. Was a serious literature master dipping into web novels?
Li Xiaoming’s face paled.
The circle’s environment was already shaky. Now a dragon crossing the river… trouble ahead?
But commercially? Undeniably high value. Not recommending it betrayed his ethics.
His face flushed red, then white. After long hesitation, he decided.
He logged into the forum, created a post, and typed in bold: “The Divine Book—a guaranteed hit commercial masterpiece.”
Then pinned it with admin privileges.
[Sorry, admins really can do whatever they want.jpg]
Li Xiaoming exhaled deeply, tension easing.
He didn’t know if he was right. One step at a time.
Wait and see the flowers bloom.
[To be continued]
