Author’s Note on Publication

At midnight tomorrow, this story will go on sale, and as soon as it does, the paid chapters will be released. Tomorrow is bound to be the most anticipated, and the most anxious, twenty-four hours of my thirty years of life. For tomorrow may well decide the road my life will take over the next thirty years.

Right now, before me lie two paths: success on the right, a broad and open highway; failure on the left, a narrow little bridge. And the power to determine which road I take is in your hands—the more than thirty-five thousand readers who have added this book to their shelves.

Every subscription from you is a vote.

I hope, truly hope, that when I wake tomorrow I will see a number that will let me from then on devote myself wholly to writing. So I sincerely ask those who are able to support the authorized edition. Without readers’ real support in action, how can a writer keep going?

As for the subscription fee, it is two fen per thousand characters for premium readers and three fen per thousand characters for standard readers—what does that mean? Even if I update ten thousand characters a day, what you would need to pay is only two or three mao.

And what does two or three mao amount to?

Maybe it would fall to the ground and no one would even bother to pick it up. Hand it to the police? Please, that belongs to a very, very distant age.

At first glance, one is in one’s prime; in the blink of an eye, yesterday’s flowers.

In 2009 I got married; in 2010 my daughter was born; in 2011 my son arrived. In just three short years, the responsibilities of family and the pressure of making a living fell upon this poor, thin, and rather plain me like two mountains that could not be shirked, pressing down so heavily that even breathing felt difficult.

Being a man is hard; being a man who must struggle every day for survival is even harder. But when one is alive, there are some things one can only face by gritting one’s teeth and pushing ahead, because there is no other choice before you.

Those easy, idle days of drifting along, of taking each day as it comes, are gone forever. I miss them, yet I will never regret their passing—because responsibility is what makes one mature, and pressure is what makes one resilient.

These years since I started a family have taught me many things and brought me much understanding.

I know that I am not some grand master whose book title draws hordes of true believers, not some towering figure surrounded by legions of die-hard fans. I am merely a small-time writer who, after failing, chooses to hide in a deserted corner, wipe away his tears, and quietly start over from the beginning.

Looking back, I have been drifting through this world of writing on and off for five years, but all along I was basically just muddling through, understanding nothing, writing so-called articles that were a complete mess, and posting them carelessly, all born of impulse. It took three years of intermittent struggle before I signed my first contract, and four years before my first paid publication, and even then without any strong promotion. As for earnings, I could not even make back the cost of mailing the contract.

Well, some hardships are so painful to recall that even I might weep over them. So, with tears in my eyes, I thank all the brothers and sisters who have supported this book and supported me; I thank every loyal and true friend in the author group; I thank my beautiful editor, Winter Melon; I thank Chief Editor Mister Nonsense; and I must also solemnly thank the reading platform. For several years, I have stumbled about here in ignorance, fallen and risen again here, and before I knew it, this place had become a habit I depended on.

In short, without you, there would be no me today.

I have nothing to repay you with but my utmost effort and constant updates.

Here, as the father of two children, I once again beg all my fellow readers: if you like it, please subscribe to the authorized edition. It is only a few cents each time—truly not much—but your subscriptions, little by little, can determine whether a humble writer’s family has enough to live on.

Finally, I earnestly ask everyone for monthly votes. The April voting battlefield is destined to be a divine war, with smoke everywhere and flames of battle across the land; the carnage can only be imagined. With my thin arms and short legs, I cannot help feeling a little unsteady. But as the saying goes, if a soldier does not want to be a general, he is not a good soldier—so if a writer does not want to compete for monthly votes, then...

Therefore, whatever happens, I must fight for them.

But I am short and slight, thin-skinned and weak at the foundation, with nothing to rely on. The only thing I can depend on is you—my dear readers and fellow book lovers.

I bow in deepest gratitude.