January 20, Thursday.
Cui Geng ate his Slackin’ takeout while listening to everyone’s casual chat.
“Sigh, readers cursed me again yesterday for ending on a cliffhanger.”
“What’s the big deal? Isn’t getting cursed for cliffhangers completely normal?”
“Exactly, cliffhangers are such a minor issue.”
“Huh? Is everyone so used to this?”
“Obviously! Even when you watch TV series or anime, don’t they leave you with suspense in the final minutes? Readers might curse you for cliffhangers with their words, but their actions are honest—they rush back to read as soon as the next chapter is updated. It’s great for increasing reader stickiness.”
“If you don’t use cliffhangers, readers will put the book down after finishing the chapter, and subscription rates for the next chapter will drop!”
“So, authors who don’t use cliffhangers aren’t good authors!”
Listening to the discussion, many nodded in agreement, while some authors smiled faintly without commenting.
Cui Geng looked at the calendar. He had arrived in Jingzhou last Thursday, so exactly one week had passed.
At first, everyone was unfamiliar with each other, so the topics of conversation were rather superficial.
Now, most people had gotten to know each other, and some authors who had become close talked freely about anything.
Naturally, there was plenty of exchange about writing techniques.
Cui Geng took out his phone and checked the comment section of his novel.
“It’s terrifying—the Procrastination King has been updating five chapters daily this week. At first, I suspected he was kidnapped, but now there’s no need to suspect—he’s been kidnapped!”
“It feels like the quality has diluted a bit, but it’s still enjoyable!”
“Procrastination King, hang in there! Keep it up for another week, and this recommendation ticket in my hand is yours!”
Cui Geng read these comments with mixed feelings.
It had to be said that releasing multiple chapters worked…
Once the update volume increased, the follow-up subscriptions, average subscriptions, and various votes all improved considerably compared to before.
From last week until now, Cui Geng had been averaging between eight thousand to ten thousand words daily, which was unimaginable for his former self.
Moreover, the increase in word count was mainly due to extended working hours rather than deliberate padding, so the quality of updates was still guaranteed.
Of course, there were some extreme cases who not only wrote during daytime working hours but also returned to their hotel at night to write another chapter on their laptops and organize their outlines—they were simply inhuman.
Cui Geng certainly wouldn’t do this. He honestly wrote for the full eight hours each day, averaging just over a thousand words per hour. This speed wasn’t particularly fast, but for him, it was quite substantial.
Once he developed the habit, Cui Geng enjoyed this state.
It had to be admitted that under certain specific conditions, writing could be addictive.
However, Cui Geng was now facing a small problem.
While eating his Slackin’ takeout meal, he voiced his concern at the table: “Everyone, I feel like my plot is progressing too quickly and I’m running out of story. What should I do?”
Everyone looked at him in unison, then said in one voice: “Just drop it.”
Cui Geng: “…”
When it came to such matters, these unscrupulous authors immediately became frivolous.
Encouraging someone with better results than yourself to drop their book was a daily occurrence in author groups.
Of course, this wasn’t entirely the group’s fault. Mainly, there were too many authors who used “writer’s block” as an excuse to show off.
So, when faced with what seemed like showing off, most people would preemptively end the topic with the three words “Just drop it.”
Cui Geng was speechless. He did have this problem, mainly because the outline for his current book hadn’t been well-planned from the beginning.
The book was performing decently, and the plot wasn’t falling apart, but the initial framework was too small.
Originally, Cui Geng had only planned to write two to three thousand words a day, which should have allowed the story to develop steadily for quite a while. But with his recent updates of eight to ten thousand words, he suddenly realized that the main plot couldn’t sustain itself.
He estimated that by around one million words, the book would need to conclude.
What should he do?
Of course, for an author accustomed to rushed endings, a poor conclusion wasn’t frightening. After dropping many books, he was already quite skilled at it and could cut without even looking down.
The issue was, after dropping this one, what should he write next?
Cui Geng had absolutely no idea.
After finishing lunch, Zhu Xing’an said, “Everyone has one hour to upload what you’ve written this morning and take a short break.”
“According to today’s schedule, we’ll be touring Jingzhou this afternoon, moving around a bit, changing our thinking, and gathering some material while we’re at it.”
“Please be quick; we’ll gather in the hotel lobby in one hour.”
…
…
In the car, Pei Qian was drowsy and nodding off.
He had finally finished the closed-book exam.
These past few days, he had been buried in review, barely paying attention to company matters.
But fortunately, his cramming had some effect. Pei Qian estimated that he must have scored at least 70 points.
If he had just barely passed by paying for grades, it would probably be a mere 60 points, but scoring 70 through his efforts was something to be quite proud of!
Pei Qian felt that his recent studying hadn’t been in vain, and he hoped to score just a bit higher than Old Ma.
“There are still three open-book exams ahead, which shouldn’t be as taxing.”
“I can also start paying more attention to company matters.”
“Strange, I feel like I’ve forgotten something.”
Pei Qian tried for two seconds to recall what it was but quickly gave up.
Having just finished an exam, his brain was in relaxation mode, making it difficult to remember things.
Moreover, with so many business ventures now, Pei Qian felt a bit overwhelmed and couldn’t keep track of everything.
He yawned and decided to go home for a nap first.
Little Sun drove very steadily, but Pei Qian found it uncomfortable to sleep with the seatbelt on, so he took out his phone, opened the Endpoint Chinese Web APP, and started reading novels.
Pei Qian had a wide range of interests—anime, TV shows, games, movies, novels, etc. He enjoyed them all, though he wasn’t deeply versed in any of them.
After all, it was purely for entertainment, so there was no point in becoming an expert—it was just for fun.
Previously, Pei Qian had always read novels on Unlimited Chinese Web because it offered a comprehensive variety of novel categories and innovative themes.
As for Endpoint Chinese Web…
On one hand, the novels on Endpoint Chinese Web were previously too terrible for Pei Qian to read; on the other hand, he instinctively didn’t want to support his businesses.
However, recently, he had gradually started reading novels on the Endpoint Chinese Web.
Ultimately, it was for work.
Pei Qian felt he should pay some attention to Endpoint Chinese Web’s status since it was now profitable.
Earlier, Ma Yiqun had wanted to hand over a portion of the profits, which Pei Qian promptly refused, but until now, Pei Qian hadn’t inquired about how Ma Yiqun had spent this money.
Partly because he was too busy and forgot, and partly because asking too frequently wouldn’t fit Boss Pei’s character.
Pei Qian believed that by closely monitoring Endpoint Chinese Web’s APP, he could keep a good grasp of the website’s direction.
Undeniably, Endpoint Chinese Web had recently produced some quality content, with several books that Pei Qian found readable.
It was 2011, and the overall popular trend was still the “Don’t Underestimate the Poor Youth” hot-blooded fantasy formula. The charts were dominated by fantasy and immortal cultivation themes, with many master authors about to establish their legendary status in the next two years.
Of course, with the website name changed, the specific books were different from those in Pei Qian’s memory.
But whether they were the same or not, Pei Qian read them all the same, because even for books he had read before, he had long forgotten their contents.
Endpoint Chinese Web’s library basically followed Unlimited Chinese Web’s footsteps, with most fantasy novels essentially being knockoffs of those few wildly popular books on Unlimited Chinese Web.
Pei Qian read quite casually, following themes that interested him on the homepage for a while, then quietly deleting books when he got bored. Most books, he never caught up to the latest chapters.
But today, when he refreshed his bookshelf, Pei Qian was suddenly taken aback.
Several books he had bookmarked had all been neatly updated a single chapter exactly two hours ago, around 12:30 PM.
Pei Qian frowned, vaguely feeling something was strange.
What could make so many authors update a single chapter at the same time?
A large-scale mutual support activity?
He hurriedly clicked on a random book to check its latest single chapter update.
“Dear readers, there will only be two chapters today because the website is organizing a group activity this afternoon—a temporary release from prison to tour around Jingzhou and gather some material. We’ll continue with extra chapters tomorrow!!”
Below the chapter, there were already many reader comments.
“Approved! Your update volume has indeed been large recently. Don’t exhaust yourself, take a good rest, and just update seventy or eighty chapters tomorrow.”
“So you were kidnapped! And so many authors at once!”
“Hahaha, ‘temporary release from prison’ is quite fitting!”
“Some author mentioned joining a study workshop before, and I thought it was just an ordinary lecture. I even said then, ‘What’s the use of a workshop? Hurry up and update!’ But now I see this isn’t a workshop at all—it’s an official isolation chamber! Well done!”
“These past few days, even some notorious procrastinators have been steadily updating four chapters. I strongly request that this workshop continue permanently!”
“May I ask if the workshop can add more people? I know of a chronic one-chapter-per-day beast who desperately needs to go to the workshop for some re-education!”
“Honestly, I think this workshop is great in every way, but I just don’t understand why authors have all started using cliffhangers recently? Is the cliffhanger technique part of the professional training you receive at the workshop???”
Reading the readers’ comments, Pei Qian was baffled.
At the same time, he had a vague feeling that something wasn’t right.
Through these reader comments, Pei Qian quickly confirmed one thing: Ma Yiqun had indeed spent that money on mid-tier authors, bringing them to Jingzhou for a writing workshop that had improved their creative efficiency!
As for how exactly that efficiency was improved…
It was likely not in line with the Tenda spirit!
Pei Qian was speechless. This Ma Yiqun had pulled off such a stunt right under his nose!
From what he could see, these mid-tier authors were getting better and better. Not only had their update volume increased, but through constant interaction, many ideas were being sparked, and both their storylines and writing techniques had improved!
If one of these authors emerged as a master writer and became an overnight sensation, how much traffic would that bring to Endpoint Chinese Web?
It had to be understood that in the cultural industry, content was paramount—without content, everything else was meaningless.
For many consumers, the reason for downloading a live streaming platform’s client was often just for one favorite streamer; the reason for becoming a loyal user of a novel website was often just for one favorite book.
In this world, piracy had almost disappeared. If someone truly wanted to read a good book, they could only go to the designated website. The situation where authors pour their heart and soul into their work only to have pirate websites reap all the benefits didn’t exist.
Therefore, Pei Qian sensed the danger behind this.
He called Ma Yiqun, asked for the specific address of this Endpoint Chinese Web Author Workshop, and then said to Little Sun: “Turn around, let’s make a trip to the outskirts first.”