Chapter 87: "My Son Wang Teng Possesses the Bearing of an Emperor"

Am I well? Shen Xian smiled and said, “You’re doing pretty well yourself—independent, refusing to go with the flow, and keeping your innocence in an industry like show business.”

Zhou Wan looked up at Shen Xian and said, “I know all about the unspoken rules of this industry. If I were willing to follow them, I could have a very, very good life.”

She was telling the truth.

For instance, if she had simply agreed to the conditions set by Young Master Qi, Qi Zhengqing would have poured every resource into her career. But the condition was that Qi Zhengqing wanted to lavish other things on her first.

With her temperament, how could she possibly agree? She had an odd, stubborn nature, prone to fixating on a thought—once she’d made a decision, not even ten oxen could pull her back.

Just like three years ago, when she had resolutely walked into Shen Xian’s room and taken the initiative with him.

She was also someone who fell deeply in love; when her romantic side took over, she became almost unbelievably obedient. Whatever a man asked of her, she would agree—black stockings, tight skirts, whatever it might be, she didn’t resist. Of course, no man had succeeded in testing these limits yet, not even Shen Xian.

Her obedience had a premise—she needed to feel loved and to love in return.

Shen Xian found himself rather admiring her character. He said, “A personality like yours might not be popular in the industry, but men will certainly appreciate it.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her cheek, lowered her head, and finished her noodles. “I don’t know. Actually, I’d like to experience a passionate love affair at least once in my life.”

Shen Xian gave her a strange look.

You’ve never been in love? Then how did Qingqing come to be?

He wanted to ask, but out of courtesy, he held his tongue.

“I’ll do the dishes.” She stood up to clear the table. “You go coax Qingqing to sleep.”

She might have lived a privileged life, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do housework—she knew how to cook and do laundry as well.

“I’ll play with her a while longer. She’s just eaten; she needs to move around a bit,” Shen Xian said, carrying Qingqing to the sofa and starting to tell her a story.

Tonight’s story was about Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

The kitchen door was left open. She pricked up her ears, listening to the story as she busied herself.

Shen Xian’s storytelling was novel and captivating—even she, an adult, wanted to hear more.

Half an hour later, Qingqing yawned.

“It’s past midnight. Time for bed,” Shen Xian said, picking up Qingqing and preparing to hand her over to Zhou Wan.

As she took Qingqing from him, Shen Xian’s hands accidentally brushed against her chest.

A startling softness met his palms—both the backs of his hands touched places they shouldn’t have.

She shuddered, a strange, electric sensation flooding through her.

Her face turned crimson.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Shen Xian said with an embarrassed smile.

She quickly hugged Qingqing and retreated into the bedroom. After gently placing Qingqing on the bed, she covered her face with her hands, her cheeks burning.

Strangely, however, Zhou Wan felt no resistance or aversion in her heart.

“What’s happening to me?” Zhou Wan muttered, ruffling her hair. She then lay down beside Qingqing. “You got to see Daddy today, didn’t you? You must be happy. Good night.”

Shen Xian had always been a night owl—or rather, he was equally adept at staying up late or sleeping in, sometimes even pulling all-nighters.

In the study, he calculated how much more he needed to achieve financial freedom.

Last month’s song royalties had all been deposited.

Wang Tianqi, who had released his songs late last month, had earned a total of over 26.8 million from all his song copyrights. With a fifty-fifty split, Shen Xian’s share was over 13 million.

The royalties from “The Postman” had also arrived—another ten million-plus.

Next month’s settlement would be even higher.

This rate of earning was already staggering, but he was still a long way from buying into Yu’an Media and purchasing a stadium.

“If I rely solely on songwriting, the income structure is too one-dimensional,” Shen Xian muttered to himself, then opened a new document and began preparing to write a novel.

In this world, online literature was roughly equivalent to the level of Earth’s web novels around 2006.

He glanced at the rankings—most books were written in plain language, the plots were rough, and there was a severe sameness to all of them.

Curiously, fiction for female readers was actually more popular and had a larger audience base—especially those domineering CEO romance stories.

Male-oriented web fiction was still treading the line of suggestive content.

He browsed the top books on the charts.

“Young Bin is a good boy...”

“Hou Longtao met a flight attendant on the plane...”

“Teacher Bai, the principal wants to see you in his office...”

“This monk’s name is Dengcao...”

“Brother, don’t...”

Shen Xian almost couldn’t bear to look. Did the top authors simply slaughter the censors? How did these even get approved?

Which kind should he write?

“Should I do ‘Three Stages of Battle Power’?”

“Or the ‘Crooked-Mouth Dragon King’?”

“Or maybe ‘Blue Silver Entwines’?”

After pondering for a long while, he finally typed out the title: “My Son Wang Teng Has the Bearing of an Emperor”!

This was the magnum opus of the Red-Haired Old Monster, the work that launched the “Emperor Stream” and took the entire web by storm. On the night the Sacred Body was fully achieved, Baidu Tieba crashed and the Qidian comment section was overrun!

Many people said, after this book, there was no more true fantasy!

In later years, except for Zhongyuan Wubai, all fantasy novels bore traces of its influence.

Even more impressive, the adaptation rights for film, comics, and games sold for over seventy million!

Earning over a hundred million from this book was just a drop in the bucket.

But in this world, the fantasy genre was pitifully underdeveloped, still stuck at the level where the protagonist falls off a cliff and gains peerless martial arts.

Power scaling was laughable—a sword that could fell an ancient tree would let you rule the world.

But “Covering the Sky” was different. From the opening scene of the bronze coffin drifting through the stars, its scope was grand and majestic. In the later stages, the journey spanned the stars and seas, with a rich plot and no padding. The characterizations were vivid—even the supporting characters were memorable: Duan De, the tomb-robbing scoundrel; the wily Black Emperor; the enigmatic Emperor Without Beginning, whose path to enlightenment was legendary; and the Ruthless Emperor, who waited in the mortal world for her beloved’s return, indifferent to immortality. Each was unique.

This book would sweep through the entire web novel sphere, crushing all competition.

Having made up his mind, Shen Xian typed the opening line into the document—“A bronze coffin drifting among the stars...”

He typed quickly—over five thousand words per hour—and he had an extra advantage: he never suffered from writer’s block.

In just over three hours, he finished twenty thousand words and was ready to submit.

He had no idea if anyone in this world would enjoy this book, so he first targeted the largest domestic Chinese-language site, Gray Melody Literature. They claimed to have a million online authors and over ten million books in their library.

Of course, that was just a claim—no one knew the real numbers.

He found the editors’ emails and sent the first twenty thousand words along with an outline.

He submitted to over a dozen editors in succession—even sent one to KuYue Net.

Naturally, he had no idea that KuYue Net was founded by Lin Zhiyin, cousin to Lin Zhixia.

It was already late at night, and Shen Xian had no expectation of a quick reply, so he reopened his document and continued writing.

A serious author should be able to update twenty chapters a day.

What’s that? You say you can’t do it?

Come, come, here’s the keyboard—let’s see what you’ve got.

...

In the days that followed, Shen Xian and Zhou Wan’s relationship warmed rapidly.

Both were intoxicated by this gentle, cozy feeling, spending the entire day together in the apartment, going nowhere.

Taking advantage of a trip to the bathroom, Zhou Wan sent a message to the Postman: “Hello, Mr. Postman. May I buy a song from you? A friend of mine is getting married, and I’d like to perform a blessing song at her wedding. I’ve already transferred the copyright fee to your Alipay account in advance.”