282: Chapter 282 Revenge Spending

Morning light from outside the window filtered through the dust-covered glass, striking Wen Xun's pale face at an angle.

The glaring notarized letter on the screen

stripped away every bit of his self-righteous literary pride, leaving only a flustered mess in the corner.

Wen Xun felt his vision blur.

The words he had previously dismissed as mere capitalistic schemes now transformed into countless youths just like Sun Shaoping.

They stood upon that vast, desolate, yet vibrant loess land,

issuing a deafening, unyielding cry at him—this clown who presumed himself the gatekeeper of literature.

"How can this be... Is there really someone who doesn't do it for the money..."

A raspy sound squeezed out of Wen Xun's throat.

His fingertips had grown so stiff that he lost control over objects;

the mouse fell with a thud onto the bridge of his foot, yet he forgot even the instinct to pull his foot back.

His so-called literary integrity, of which he was so proud, was faced with that notarized letter—stamped with a bright red seal and carrying heavy sincerity.

It was crushed into insignificant dust and scattered by the wind.

He had once thought he saw through the truth of the world, believing everyone was struggling in the mud for money,

but he never calculated that there would actually be someone in this world willing to incinerate themselves for a tiny spark.

He couldn't even muster the strength to be jealous.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the internet.

Those readers who had wavered or even followed the crowd in criticizing Jian Shen last night because of Wen Xun's post

were now experiencing a tsunami in the depths of their souls.

If last night's suspicion was a stress response from being "tired of being played,"

then the current feedback was a near-frenzied emotional outburst driven by a desire for atonement.

In the backend of the New Tide APP's comment section, data poured down like a waterfall, and the server's alarm lights flashed madly.

"I'm sorry! Teacher Jian Shen! I'm such a jerk! I actually liked that 'pig-farming theory' post last night; I really want to slap myself!"

"Issuing a notarization at two in the morning—they were prepared all along. New Tide's move is on a whole different level!"

"Donating 30% of the profits directly? They already charge low fees and still want to support us ordinary people in writing books? I'm a grown man, and I started crying while reading this on the subway. Teacher Jian Shen, you're too 'foolish,' so foolish it hurts."

"The Spark Section... that's a beautiful name. Teacher Jian Shen truly wants to give those of us in the mud a hand up."

This venting of emotion quickly translated into terrifying purchasing power.

The readers who were previously calculating whether 'one cent per thousand words' was worth it were now topping up their accounts like crazy in an act of revenge spending.

"One cent per thousand words is an insult to Teacher Jian Shen! I topped up a thousand; the rest is all tips. Not for anything else, just for that phrase 'Light of the Spark'!"

"Me too! I'm using all the copyright awareness I'll ever have in my life on Teacher Jian Shen! Anyone who reads pirated versions has no conscience!"

Inside the data monitoring room at the New Tide backend.

Old Zhang watched the subscription totals, which had completely spiraled out of control and were jumping geometrically, feeling entirely numb.

This wasn't doing business; this was clearly readers across the entire internet using cold, hard cash

to worship a deity who had just been born in their hearts—covered in mud yet incomparably holy.

...

The capital, the Xu Family courtyard.

In the early morning courtyard, the dew had not yet dissipated, and the air carried a refreshing chill.

Xu Zhengqing leaned back in a rattan chair, the morning light outlining his gaunt figure.

He repeatedly studied those few lines of text.

The light from the screen reflected in his clouded pupils like an unquenchable fire.

Xu Changge, who was about to go to the study to organize documents, couldn't help but stop when he saw his grandfather like this.

"Grandfather?"

Xu Zhengqing slowly looked up and handed the phone to his grandson, letting out a long sigh.

Xu Changge took the phone. When he finished reading the notarized letter released in the early morning,

especially when he saw the plans for the "Spark" section, his usually calm and elegant face instantly stiffened.

When he had clumsily topped up and given tips last night, his heart still held a bit of the condescending appreciation of an aristocratic scion.

But now, he felt that his self-righteous loftiness

appeared so narrow and vulgar in the face of Jian Shen's compassion of "cutting one's own flesh to feed the eagles."

"Carrying the Dao through literature, entering the fray in person."

Xu Zhengqing slowly stood up and straightened the hem of his traditional jacket.

Then, under Xu Changge's shocked gaze, this elder of the literary world solemnly cupped his hands in a respectful salute toward the southern direction of Jiang City.

"With this act, Jian Shen is a unrivaled national scholar."

Xu Changge felt a jolt throughout his body. He lowered his head deeply, his once straight back bending at this moment.

It was shame.

"Grandfather, I... I was too arrogant before," Xu Changge's voice was somewhat raspy.

"I always thought literature was an art of the clouds, yet I forgot it was meant to grow from the soil."

Xu Zhengqing looked at his grandson, a hint of gratification appearing in his eyes.

...

Meanwhile, the storm on the internet had shifted from "emotion" to "settling scores."

Extreme guilt often transforms into extreme anger.

The readers, realizing they had been misled and nearly ruined this great feat, began to gather spontaneously on various platforms.

The term "Internet Inspection Squad" became a hit across the web in just one hour.

"Brothers, have we found the source of that 'pig-farming theory' from last night? We can't let the guy who threw this mud get away!"

"Traced him through the network! [Image][Image] It was first posted on the Dragon's Sky forum. The ID is 'Wen Gu Zhi Xin,' and he has sub-accounts on Tieba and Microblogging platform!"

"Damn, this guy is actually from the Yun City Writers Association? A piece of trash like this is fit to talk about literature? Everyone, charge him!"

"Everyone stay calm, don't engage in personal attacks, but we must make him apologize publicly! We need to let him know that he can't afford the price of being a rumor-monger!"

The anger of the internet's readers was like an unstoppable torrent, following the network cables straight toward that foul-smelling rental room in Yun City.

At this moment, inside the rental room.

Wen Xun watched the private message notifications jumping madly on the screen.

Looking at the comments that had already begun to doxing his real-life identity, he was scared out of his wits.

He wanted to press the red close button, but his fingernails only made a harsh scratching sound on the wooden desktop.

Cold sweat dripped from his temples into the gaps of the keyboard.

He found his fingers seemed frozen, unable to aim at that tiny icon no matter what.

"I... I was just expressing a personal opinion... You bunch of cyber-bullies are the ones..."

Wen Xun huddled in his chair, hearing what seemed to be footsteps outside the door, his entire body shaking into a ball.

He finally realized that he hadn't just offended an author; he had enraged the millions upon millions

of ordinary souls on this land who yearned for dignity and to be seen.

...