One two three four, two two three four, three two three four
In the Ghost Market, the ghosts practicing their dance shouted their slogans in unison.
The viewers in the live stream watched this rehearsal with their mouths slightly agape, looking utterly incredulous.
Can you imagine a group of ghosts standing together, performing a dance that resembles calisthenics?
Can you imagine these ghosts, while dancing, ripping off an arm and waving it at the audience?
One ghost, mid-dance, had its head roll off.
Another ghost, not seeing it, stepped on it.
The ghost head let out a yelp, and the ghost that stepped on it fell to the ground, losing its eyeballs.
This sudden event immediately startled a timid ghost behind them.
That timid ghost yelped.
It leaped onto a dancing partner beside it. By the time it registered what was happening,
it looked down and saw the fierce-looking, burly ghost it was embracing, and instantly closed its eyes.
It was unclear whether it fainted from fright or was pretending to be unconscious.
Seeing this.
Some viewers burst into laughter, while others wore strange expressions.
It seems the daily life in the Underworld is also full of color, hahahahaha.
One must learn to appreciate species diversity~
Where are the big shots? Arrange a chibi Underworld dance!
Holy crap, I feel like the short video section is about to usher in a new trend.
After wandering the Ghost Market for a short while, Jiang Lin closed the live stream and returned to cultivate.
He had a premonition that he was just one step away from the Ghost King realm.
He exchanged points for Yin Qi Pills and entered the cultivation room to practice.
For Jiang Lin now, cultivation depended on how many Yin Qi Pills he had.
With more Yin Qi Pills, his realm would naturally advance.
In the residential area behind the Ghost Market.
Shu Mo Zhai.
The door remained closed, and occasionally sounds of clanging and banging could be heard from within.
Or some motivational chicken soup quotes encouraging effort.
From the outside, it appeared full of drive and positive energy.
However, upon entering Shu Mo Zhai, one would discover an atmosphere of listlessness.
The only ones with full spirit were the burly men.
The authors, on the other hand, were all dejected.
Half-slumped over their desks, with sunken cheeks and deep fatigue in their eyes, they held their pens weakly.
They looked as if they had only one breath left.
Crucially, even in this state, their hands did not stop.
Stroke by stroke, they slowly fell onto the white paper.
Word by word, they emerged, slowly forming sentences and constructing scenes.
Did they not want to rest?
No, they dared not stop writing!
Yang Siming was one of them.
When he first arrived, he was slightly plump and looked rather chubby.
But now, he was as if drained dry, having lost a significant amount of weight.
A dual emaciation of spirit and body.
At first, he heard the burly men say that if they finished their novels on time, they would get an extra meal.
He had looked forward to it.
But gradually, he realized something was amiss.
After being carried into the room repeatedly, Yang Siming learned that meals were served only once every three days.
This meant that the so-called extra meals were also only once every three days.
Even so.
For these ghosts, this was considered living quite well.
This was unimaginable to Yang Siming.
Previously, three meals a day, and now one meal every three days.
Yang Siming felt an urge to cry.
However, this was not the most difficult part.
For writers, the most unbearable thing is writer's block.
Being unable to write.
Sometimes, they clearly had ideas and plots.
But either they couldn't write them down, or what they wrote didn't feel right.
It was truly agonizing.
Yang Siming had initially thought, since these people didn't know what had been written before, he might as well just write something casually.
Or just fill it with filler.
However, after doing so twice, he was warned by the burly men.
Filler? Writing nonsense?
Do you want to be disciplined with a stick?
Although the burly men hadn't read the previous text, based on what Yang Siming had written in the past few days, they could generally tell what kind of story it was.
Moreover, by comparison, they could roughly tell if there was filler or if he was writing randomly.
They were a professional update-chasing team, and their reputation was well-earned.
To casually present something to fool the readers outside would be too unprofessional.
The readers wouldn't fall for it either.
Yang Siming wanted to cry about this.
He rarely experienced writer's block.
But after continuously outputting for several days, he felt he was reaching his limit.
But!
He dared not stop writing!
Glancing stealthily at the burly man holding a spiked club beside him, Yang Siming didn't even dare to have any ulterior thoughts.
Xiao Tianjing was searching for a divine maiden in the human world. He had traveled to many continents and numerous small worlds.
Whether prosperous or desolate, humans were all striving to survive, to struggle.
As time passed, the divine maiden's sacrifice for the Three Realms, allowing countless beings to continue living, became a story. Some believed it, while others were indifferent.
Yang Siming wrote, while also paying attention to the movements at the door.
Today was the seventh day.
When would Lord Wuchang come?
Would Lord Wuchang forget to pick him up? Da Feng Novel Network.
Amidst Yang Siming's anticipation, there was a click.
The door of Shu Mo Zhai was slowly pushed open.
Lord Wuchang!
Yang Siming's eyes lit up, and in an instant, his entire being seemed to radiate with renewed vigor!
He abruptly stood up, tossing the pen in his hand away.
He was about to rush towards the door.
However, in the next second, his forward momentum froze.
At the doorway, two burly men were dragging a reluctant author, who couldn't bear it any longer and had tried to escape, back into the room.
Then, they cruelly forced the author back to their designated spot and took out ropes to tie their legs.
Yang Siming shivered all over.
For some reason, the scene before him was not bloody or violent.
Yet, he inexplicably felt a trace of fear.
Later, Yang Siming realized that perhaps that was a fear of despair.
Without waiting for the burly men to remind him, Yang Siming consciously returned to his seat and picked up the pen he had dropped.
All his anticipation turned into tears in his heart, flowing like a river.
Wuwuwu, when will Lord Wuchang come?
Could it be that he truly forgot about him?
Jiang Lin, of course, had not forgotten.
After completing his work on the ledger, he went to cultivate for a while longer.
He was not in a hurry, and Yang Siming could have more time to write.
Estimating that the time was about right, Jiang Lin emerged from the cultivation room.
He opened the live stream and went to the residential area behind the Ghost Market.
At the entrance of Shu Mo Zhai.
The couplet there looked even newer, as if it had been specially wiped clean.
Upper Couplet: Draw your sword and charge into battle.
Lower Couplet: Let your imagination run wild and charge ahead.
Horizontal Inscription: The Will of the People.
It was said that this couplet was written by the founder of the update-chasing team here.
Where is this? Why does this couplet look so familiar?
It's that author who died before finishing their novel. Today seems to be the seventh day.
In the live stream, many viewers poured in, including many who had watched Yang Siming enter Shu Mo Zhai that day.
Seeing the name Shu Mo Zhai again, they immediately thought of that update-chasing team.
Hahaha, I think I understand what this couplet at the door means!
Mentioning charging into battle and letting your imagination run wild, and the will of the people, holy crap, is this referring to the update-chasing team, the readers, and the authors?
It truly is the will of the people (doge)!