Chapter 75: By the Banks of the Han River
Shiquan County.
In Riverside Park.
Li Miao skirted around a group of playing children and walked to a sweet osmanthus tree in the park’s southwestern corner.
He pulled a crumpled tissue from his pocket and wiped the dust from the stone table. Then he fished a newspaper out of his laptop bag and spread it over the stone bench.
He set his laptop on the table and pressed the power button. Only then did he allow his gaze to drift aimlessly over the gently flowing Han River before him.
The river’s surface was calm, occasionally disturbed by waterbirds skimming across. In the distance, children’s shouts occasionally reached his ears, while nearby, someone would sometimes run over to snap photos of the water.
The scene was tranquil and peaceful.
Having found such a secluded spot in the park, he felt a touch of pride.
He genuinely liked this sort of life.
Before long, the laptop had booted up.
He deftly connected to his mobile hotspot and logged into the Qidian backend.
His story’s followers had increased by less than a hundred since yesterday; there were no new tips or monthly passes.
Li Miao scratched his head in frustration.
This book hadn’t even hit a hundred thousand words, and was only just getting its first recommendation.
It was a maddening serialization.
In a whole day, less than a hundred new followers.
He knew what that meant.
A flop.
“All this work these past weeks, all for nothing,” he muttered with a sigh.
Up in the sky, clusters of white clouds shielded the sun.
A warm breeze drifted along the riverbank.
The weather was lovely today.
But Li Miao couldn’t find it in him to feel happy.
Two years ago, after graduating from university, he’d turned down his family’s offer to use their connections—and money—to secure him a government job. Instead, he’d chosen to become a full-time web novelist, a decision met with no small amount of resistance.
Back then, though, his novels were performing well; he was earning twenty or thirty thousand yuan a month. So despite his family’s objections, he felt little burden in his heart.
He’d even moved to this small county town, hundreds of kilometers from home, where his online girlfriend lived, dreaming that one day he’d become a Qidian superstar, earn a million a year, marry a beautiful, wealthy woman, and finally be able to hold his head high before his parents and their friends.
But…
His online girlfriend of over half a year turned out to be a burly, six-foot-tall man with thick body hair.
The guy had created a female account and flirted with him just to spur him to update more often.
Still, it wasn’t so bad; after a meal of grilled fish and five bottles of beer, they became good buddies.
Now, they often enjoyed tea and fishing together.
What pained him most was his writing.
Due to policy reasons, several of his previously successful novels had all been deleted.
His forte—supernatural horror—had become a prime target for regulation.
He stubbornly wrote two more books, both deleted before even making it to paid release.
He’d chatted with his editor, who said he was gifted at building a chilling atmosphere, but unfortunately, such subjects were now forbidden.
On the editor’s advice, he tried switching genres, dabbling in suspense, fantasy, modern cultivation, even light urban novels.
All told, he’d written nearly three million words in a year.
His best-performing book still hadn’t hit a thousand preorders.
If not for the royalties he’d saved from earlier years, his life would be even more dire.
…
“Do I really have to go home?” Li Miao stared blankly at the river’s surface.
His parents were honest, hard-working farmers. Some years ago, their land had been taken for railway construction, and they’d used the compensation to call in favors and secure him a government job.
Now, his parents had given in: as long as he came home, they didn’t care what he did.
He knew his parents were getting older, and sooner or later, he’d have to return to their side.
But he was so unwilling.
The higher he’d once thought he stood, the harder he’d fallen.
He could already imagine becoming the village’s cautionary tale for other children.
“After wandering so long, I suppose it really is time to go back.” He sighed.
Thinking of the strands of white in his mother’s hair during their last video call, he felt a pang in his chest.
He already regretted leaving his elderly parents alone at home just to chase his own stubborn hopes.
When parents are alive, don’t travel far.
Even the protagonists of his novels understood this; yet when it came to himself, he’d shown so little responsibility.
“I’ll say goodbye to Old Wang tomorrow,” Li Miao decided. “At least I have the ten thousand I’ve managed to save these past few years—enough for a down payment. Then I’ll find a proper job and do my duty by my parents from now on.”
He gazed up at the clouds, imagining the life to come.
A nine-to-nine job, colleagues whose relationships with him were neither good nor bad.
Marrying a woman he didn’t dislike.
Having two or three children.
When they grew up, perhaps he’d show them his novels.
He’d talk with them about dreams and reality.
But he just couldn’t let go.
He glanced at the river, where a waterbird flew off clutching a fish. Suddenly, he laughed and shook his head. “Just being born human is a stroke of luck. Why ask for more?”
He fished a lottery ticket from his pocket.
“If I win five million, I’ll open a shop when I go home and keep writing novels,” he thought, almost unconsciously.
He checked the winning numbers.
Not a single match.
“Luck of the damned, as always,” Li Miao muttered, dejected.
He was about to close the page and use the excuse of being devastated by his ex-girlfriend’s death in a car accident to drop his new book, when he suddenly remembered another matter for today.
He glanced at the computer’s lower right corner. 8:58.
“At nine the results will be out. Maybe I’ll take a look?” Li Miao thought.
The Rabbitland government had made fifty slots available, raffled off to ordinary citizens.
Major online platforms had all opened entry points, with results announced daily at 9 a.m.
Most of the previous winners had chosen to sell their tickets.
It was said the resale price had topped a billion yuan.
Some, though, had used them themselves—the most famous being Chen Ji.
This guy not only gained twenty years’ worth of martial arts skills overnight, becoming a master, but also received a fortune by selling the corpse of a small dinosaur he’d acquired.
He’d become an idol to millions, profiled by numerous media outlets.
Even his con-artist father had been whitewashed as “a man who resorted to desperate measures only for his son’s better upbringing.”
After Chen Ji donated all the proceeds from the dinosaur sale, the authorities hadn’t stopped his father’s redemption story. In fact, they’d even helped push it along.
Lost in his thoughts, Li Miao opened the familiar webpage.
This was the “official website” the government had set up for the Fantasy Park.
Winning numbers would be announced here.
The site had been live for just over two weeks, and already boasted over a billion registered users.
If not for the requirement that every account be tied to a national ID, there’d probably be even more.
The homepage displayed a countdown.
One minute and twenty-odd seconds to go.
The countdown was filled with scrolling messages.
“Please, just let me win once.”
“Buying tickets at any price—money’s no object.”
“I want to win!!!!”
“I want to win, I want to win!”
…
Li Miao smiled, unconvinced.
Like many, he suspected that something so important was unlikely to be left to pure chance.
How could ordinary people possibly stand a chance?
Besides, as someone who’d never won more than ten yuan in the lottery, luck seemed further from him than ever.
Still, a sliver of hope lingered in his heart.
What if?
Lost in thought, he watched as the countdown ticked to zero.
Li Miao’s heart involuntarily leapt.