Chapter 25#

“This is too much!”

Han Youpeng, awakened from his sleep by a phone call, was absolutely furious.

No matter how nicely things were said at the press conference, how righteously it was framed, it all boiled down to one thing: Country M was wary of China’s rapid development. Seeing that business couldn’t continue as usual, they simply dropped all pretense of civility and tore off their masks.

“So what do we do now?” His wife, equally aware of the magnitude of this impact, asked anxiously. “The country is in a developmental stage right now, and the demand for chips increases every year. Given Country M’s despotic nature, I’m afraid chip prices will skyrocket several times over before long.”

When that happened, production costs across all domestic industries would rise accordingly.

Who knew how many would lose their jobs and how many families would have their futures affected?

“They’re panicking,” Han Youpeng said gravely. He turned on the bedside lamp and began getting dressed. “I should have seen this coming. Country M’s politicians aren’t stupid—they wouldn’t just sit around waiting for our achievements to be developed. Though they often bicker internally and make a laughing stock of themselves to the world, when it comes to dealing with us, their interests are completely aligned.”

He stood up and turned to comfort his wife: “You go back to sleep. I’m heading to the research institute.”

Was their country just a lump of clay to be kneaded at will? This was the 21st century China, not the helpless Qing Dynasty of “estimating our resources to please foreign nations”!

That night, countless people lay awake unable to sleep.

When Qiao Jing woke up, he learned the news from 008.

“Ah,” he fell silent for a moment. “Well, I suppose I already had a premonition.”

Because of his parents’ work, he’d heard many classified secrets at the family dinner table since childhood.

One could only say that the games between nations were a hundred times more cruel and sinister than ordinary people imagined.

Precisely because of this, Qiao Jing treasured the current peace even more.

“But I’m just a novelist. Even if I’m worried, there’s not much I can do,” he sighed. “People like us just need to do our jobs well.”

Qiao Jing was telling the truth, but that didn’t prevent the internet from erupting in heated discussions.

When news of Country M’s press conference reached home, even at the late hour when most people were asleep, Weibo exploded.

By seven in the morning, half the trending page was dominated by related topics.

There was no helping it. A small chip affected so many industries.

One could even exaggerate and say the entire modern information society was built upon its foundation.

—Country M’s move was indeed ruthless, essentially choking off China’s economic lifeline.

However, China’s annual chip imports were enormous—large enough to make a group of capitalists bleed. On one hand, they pressed the government for sanctions against China. On the other hand, they desperately prayed that China would back down soon, because if this dragged on, they couldn’t afford it either!

Both sides knew this was a war where you lose a thousand to damage the enemy a thousand, a test of who could hold out longest.

“Producing 1nm chips with current human technology is as fantastical as a fairy tale,” Han Youpeng had been extremely busy all day, taking countless calls in the morning alone and attending two internal meetings.

For a man in his seventies, this workload was exhausting. Even his voice had become hoarse. But after taking a sip of hot water to soothe his throat, he continued in his raspy voice: “I can say with certainty that even Country M can’t achieve this. It would be a breakthrough revolutionary enough to overturn the foundation of current human physics.”

This was precisely why he’d been researching the theories in “Song of Earth” but kept hitting dead ends.

Though reluctant to admit it, Han Youpeng had to accept that in his lifetime, even in his students’ lifetimes, it would be difficult to witness this great achievement come to fruition.

“But I’m already fortunate enough,” the scholar, having lived for decades, soon smiled with acceptance. “To glimpse even a glimmer of the brilliant light of a future era—how many scientists dream of this?”

Every generation of scientists has its mission. After adjusting his mindset, Han Youpeng quickly threw himself into his work—

To develop domestically-produced chips that could meet most production demands on the market and resist Country M’s sanctions.

But what surprised Han Youpeng was that after deeply analyzing the principles of 1nm chips, though he only vaguely understood the surface details, when he turned back to study 4nm and 7nm format chips, many problems that had plagued him for years suddenly resolved themselves.

Could this be the deeper meaning behind what Yan Heqing wrote in that book?

Qiao Jing: No, I just thought the book title “2080, Lithography Machine” was straightforward enough.

At this moment, Qiao Jing was sitting in the passenger seat of Jing Xinglan’s car, supporting his chin, his expression gloomy as they drove toward Central Park.

“Why the long face?” Jing Xinglan glanced at him curiously.

Should he be happy?

Just thinking about going to a place where celebrities gathered and the social elite mingled made Qiao Jing’s scalp crawl. He was usually reluctant to go out shopping, let alone attend some web novel gala.

To avoid getting out of the car, he even considered just revealing his identity to Jing Xinglan.

“Actually, I…” Qiao Jing opened his mouth but hadn’t finished speaking when Jing Xinglan suddenly slammed on the brakes.

With a screech of tires, despite Jing Xinglan’s quick reaction, they still collided with the car in front.

Qiao Jing’s reflexes were sharp. He grabbed the handle above the window, breaking into a cold sweat.

“You okay?” Jing Xinglan immediately turned to check on him.

“…I’m fine.”

The man’s expression darkened. He unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the car, walking briskly to the driver’s side of the vehicle in front. “You suddenly reverse while waiting at a red light—how did you get your license?”

It was a nanny car. True to Jing Xinglan’s assumption, inside sat a celebrity still adjusting his hair in the mirror.

They were close to Central Park now. The commotion in the middle of the street quickly attracted nearby reporters’ attention.

The celebrity’s assistant realized trouble was brewing. Not waiting for the driver to respond, he quickly pulled out a stack of cash from his wallet and shoved it into Jing Xinglan’s arms.

“My apologies, we’re in a hurry.”

Jing Xinglan’s lips curled mockingly as he let the red bills flutter down from mid-air.

He didn’t even spare the money a glance, instead counter-asking: “Serious? This is your way of handling things?”

“I said we’re in a hurry. Are you done?” The man in the back seat, with his perfectly applied makeup, took off his sunglasses and stared at Jing Xinglan impatiently.

He was a contracted idol under OM Company, having debuted nearly seven years ago. His fame in the entertainment circle was only mediocre—not outstanding but not obscure either. As he aged, he’d tried transitioning by filming web dramas, but none made a splash. One could say he was in an awkward position.

Jing Xinglan had always been low-key. After quitting modeling, he rarely appeared in public. Many non-first-tier celebrities had only heard his name, never seen his face.

So the male celebrity didn’t recognize who he was.

But after seeing the man’s expensive suit and handsome features, he paused slightly. A barely perceptible jealousy flashed in his eyes as he apparently mistook Jing Xinglan for someone in the same industry: “Which company are you with?”

Jing Xinglan replied coldly: “Xinglan Entertainment.”

The male celebrity drew out an “Oh,” quickly running through the dozen or so well-known artists signed to Xinglan Entertainment in his mind. None matched. He figured Jing Xinglan must be some obscure nobody in the entertainment circle.

So he must have gotten these clothes by sucking up to some rich woman.

Suddenly, his confidence returned.

The male celebrity slightly raised his chin, speaking arrogantly: “Though we’re from different companies, you must have heard my name. At the very least, calling me ‘senior’ should be the most basic courtesy, right?”

“Haven’t heard of you,” Jing Xinglan said bluntly.

He discovered that using Qiao Jing’s way of speaking with certain people had surprisingly good results.

“You!” The male celebrity’s eyes widened, his expression becoming dangerous. Fortunately, his assistant stopped him from having a meltdown right there: “Chang Lin, we’re almost at the venue!”

He reluctantly restrained himself, shooting Jing Xinglan a cold snort: “Bad luck. Let’s go.”

But Jing Xinglan watched him unmoved: “Chang Lin, is it? I’ll remember.”

“You’d better remember,” Chang Lin sneered. “Because you’ll never reach my level in this lifetime, understand?”

Jing Xinglan watched the nanny car drive off into the distance, then turned back to the driver’s seat.

Qiao Jing held his phone nervously, clearly frightened by the tense atmosphere between the two. He asked quietly: “You okay? Should I call the police?”

“I’m fine,” and for some reason, seeing Qiao Jing made Jing Xinglan’s mood improve immediately. “But there’s still the matter of the car. The paint on this one can’t be fixed domestically, so any damage is a hassle. I’ll drive it to the roadside and have someone handle it. You might need to walk the rest of the way.”

Qiao Jing nodded.

Central Park wasn’t far from here—less than a station away. It would only take about ten minutes to walk.

Besides, he’d been worried the whole way. With Jing Xinglan constantly by his side, if he ran into his actual editor at the venue, the lie would be exposed. Now that the man was voluntarily separating from him, it was perfect for him to slip away.

—That’s right, even now, Qiao Jing still had no intention of attending the ceremony.

His plan was to take a photo at the entrance to Central Park and call it done. If Jing Xinglan asked later, he’d say there were too many people and he couldn’t find a seat.

Sensing the host’s thoughts, the black cat head in Qiao Jing’s backpack poked out, its expression complicated.

“008 said: “You really are… unwavering, aren’t you?”

Qiao Jing kept walking forward without turning his head, taking it as a compliment.

He even thought this was an excellent plan and silently gave himself a thumbs up for his cleverness.

Arriving at the gate of Central Park, as expected, the street had been cordoned off. Hundreds of black-uniformed security personnel stood at the entrance maintaining order. A red carpet stretching a hundred meters extended all the way to the stage by the lake, with countless reporters crowded on both sides of the carpet, frantically photographing the female celebrities showing off their glamorous attire.

Under the barrage of camera flashes, Qiao Jing’s complexion noticeably paled.

He was grateful once again for his firm decision back then not to become a celebrity.

…Or else he might be the one walking down the red carpet now, maintaining a straight posture and a fake smile.

“Staff, please show your credentials and use this passage!” a security guard with a megaphone shouted to the crowd.

Qiao Jing glanced over without much attention.

But just as he was pulling out his phone to take a photo, a surprised voice came from behind: “Qiao Jing?”

His body stiffened, and a hand had already landed on his shoulder.

After turning around to see Qiao Jing’s face, the person’s eyes widened slightly, speaking in a complex tone: “So it really is you.”

“How did you get here?” Wang Cheng asked.

Qiao Jing looked up at him, his expression flat.

“Just passing through.”

“Is that so,” Wang Cheng clearly didn’t believe it. He looked at Qiao Jing and suddenly sighed. “Looks like you’ve been doing okay recently. Still writing?”

Qiao Jing didn’t answer.

Wang Cheng’s expression became somewhat embarrassed. Finally, he proactively looked away toward the staff entrance, saying: “Since you’re here anyway, why don’t we go in together? But you’d better not let Director Yao see you. He’s been in a bad mood lately…”

Qiao Jing refused: “I’m not—”

But Wang Cheng had already pulled him in front of the security personnel, shown his credentials, and brought Qiao Jing along with the crowd.

Qiao Jing: “…”

He gave up.

“Starlight Network’s seating is this way,” Wang Cheng pointed it out. “Though I guess you probably don’t want to sit over there. That’s the author’s section. Everyone’s been wanting to see you—if you still plan to keep writing, you could chat with them.”

Qiao Jing’s face remained expressionless as he thought: Yeah, each of them was shouting in the group chat about wanting to code two thousand words a day. In the end, they all got together and went to the suburbs for fishing and camping, caught pigeons together, and binged on alcohol. Finally, every single one of them went on hiatus, and readers got so angry they ordered wholesale blade orders.

Chat with these people? Was it to discuss creative ways to ask for leaves or how to put their work on indefinite hiatus?

But compared to staying awkwardly with Wang Cheng any longer, Qiao Jing chose to take a step toward the author’s section.

The first person to notice Qiao Jing wasn’t Yuan Chengdao or the others.

It was Sa Yi.

Sa Yi, who had been half-heartedly humoring the person beside him, suddenly caught sight of that familiar silhouette in his peripheral vision. His eyes widened instantly. Though he didn’t this time directly stand up from his seat like last time, his breathing quickened and his fists clenched suddenly—

“You… how are you here?”

In that instant, Sa Yi’s mind raced. The question that was about to blurt out was transformed into a sarcastic remark instead.

Qiao Jing gave him an indifferent glance without saying anything.

Sa Yi’s face darkened instantly.

Just then, Yuan Chengdao, sitting not far away, finally noticed the commotion on this side.

When he saw Qiao Jing, it’s no exaggeration to say his eyes “whooshed” bright.

Yuan Chengdao suddenly stood up, waving frantically: “Big master! Come, come, come sit here!”

Qiao Jing stood in place for several seconds. Under Sa Yi’s gaze that seemed to burn right through him, he slowly walked over.

“You guys…”

The moment Qiao Jing sat down, before he could even speak, Yuan Chengdao laughed heartily and threw his arm around his neck, winking at the other authors who’d never met Qiao Jing: “Guess who this master is?”

Because Qiao Jing never made public appearances, aside from the few people in their private group, basically none of the authors present had seen him.

And he was dressed very casually today—a white hoodie with jeans—looking less like an invited author and more like a volunteer university student here to earn credits.

But hearing Yuan Chengdao call him “Big Master”… surely he wasn’t a nobody?

One author curiously asked: “Is he an author from another website?”

Yuan Chengdao’s face fell. He hadn’t expected someone to ask such a heart-piercing question right off the bat.

But surprisingly, Qiao Jing nodded.

“Big Master, did you really sign with another website?” Yuan Chengdao was stunned and quickly asked. “Which one? I’ll call the brothers to support you right now!”

Qiao Jing shook his head: “Just writing for fun.”

“…Oh, never mind then.” Yuan Chengdao regretfully put his phone away.

Authors like them, being top-tier writers, basically didn’t need money. Especially Qiao Jing, who once stood at the pinnacle of the web novel industry.

The money he earned in a day could match an ordinary person’s yearly salary.

“Relaxing a bit is good anyway. Being constantly nagged by readers for updates is a feeling that’s both love and hate,” Yuan Chengdao sighed wistfully.

Back in the day, he too was a writing machine that could pump out three thousand words a day while hooked up to an IV.

Now? Three hundred words a day was considered diligent!

“Oh right, Big Master, do you know about that newly famous author?” Yuan Chengdao asked enthusiastically. “Goes by the pen name Yan Heqing. Ever heard of him?”

Qiao Jing’s eyes went blank. He quickly pressed down on the 008 in his backpack, which was laughing so hard it was rolling around.

“…Heard a bit.”

Yuan Chengdao stared at the wriggling backpack suspiciously for several seconds before reluctantly looking away and continuing: “That guy is incredible. Though I don’t know if he’s a newcomer or not, his results are scary enough even for an alternate account. And you know what?”

Qiao Jing really didn’t want to answer.

But seeing Yuan Chengdao’s expectant gaze, he reluctantly squeezed out two words: “What?”

Yuan Chengdao coughed and leaned close to his ear, lowering his voice mysteriously: “I heard that guy Yan Heqing…”

“—He’s not even human!”

Qiao Jing: “…”

Why is he scolding himself?

Yuan Chengdao hadn’t noticed Qiao Jing’s strange expression and continued sharing the gossip he’d heard from who knows where: “I read that ‘Song of Earth’ too, and honestly, it doesn’t read like a newcomer’s work. Those foreshadows, the way foreshadowing is laid out… tsk tsk, it’s crazy.”

“Most importantly,” his tone grew serious at the crucial point, “there’s so much specialized knowledge involved. We’re all writers, Big Master, you should know that creating this kind of work requires at least several years of research and preparation!”

Qiao Jing agreed: “Indeed.”

If not for 008’s database and virtual space functions, he would’ve needed to wait another five or six years to write “Song of Earth,” and even then might not have achieved the current level.

“But that doesn’t mean Yan Heqing isn’t human, right?” another author chimed in with a laugh from the side.

Yuan Chengdao shook his head repeatedly: “You don’t understand. Some time ago, my second uncle’s sister’s sister-in-law’s nephew asked me about it. He knew I write at Starlight Network and asked if I knew Yan Heqing’s identity.”

He continued dramatically: “My relative is actually with the national security bureau! Specializes in catching spies!”

Everyone gasped.

“Does that mean Yan Heqing is actually…?”

“No, no, I’m not saying he’s a spy,” Yuan Chengdao said wisely. “It’s just that he definitely knows some inside information. Haven’t you seen military enthusiasts debating about the stuff he wrote in forums?”

Seeing Yuan Chengdao getting more and more animated, Qiao Jing had to interject: “The ceremony’s about to start. Let’s head back to our seats.”

Yuan Chengdao’s speech had already attracted a crowd. Qiao Jing was suffocating.

He feared crowds.

“Alright.” Yuan Chengdao reluctantly closed his mouth.

Seeing there was no more gossip to hear, the other authors also returned to their seats.

As the crowd dispersed, Sa Yi, who had been watching them, finally saw Qiao Jing again. His heart pounded, and he remembered the words Yao Jing had specifically come to tell him earlier.

“The website has already taken care of things for you. Later, you just need to go up and accept your award and say a few acceptance words,” Yao Jing had said, his brow still furrowed.

Clearly, this ceremony was different from the previous internal award ceremony at Starlight Network. Right up until the ceremony began, he still harbored doubts, always feeling like something unexpected might happen.

But Yao Jing didn’t plan to tell Sa Yi, only saying: “Don’t embarrass the website. You know what I mean?”

What could Sa Yi say?

Of course, he could only bow his head in agreement.

Though reluctant to admit it, it was true that his current reader base was entirely thanks to Yao Jing and Wang Cheng’s push. If the website buried him… Sa Yi honestly didn’t have the courage to just terminate his contract like Qiao Jing did.

He both envied the quality of Jinghua Shuiyue’s writing and Qiao Jing’s carefree attitude. As a fellow author, no one understood better than Sa Yi himself that he probably could never write works like Qiao Jing’s.

This was more despair-inducing than anything else.

As violent emotions tugged at his heart, the only thing that let Sa Yi feel somewhat superior was that Qiao Jing had abandoned the pen name Jinghua Shuiyue. The web novel industry moved fast. He thought, in another two years, Jinghua Shuiyue would vanish from the internet entirely.

What good was writing well? Traffic was king!

He was the one who would laugh last.

Celebrities took their seats one by one. Some wanted to chat with Yao Jing, but Yao Jing was preoccupied with something on his mind.

“Excuse me.”

Yao Jing’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted.

He looked at Jing Xinglan, who had only just arrived, and gave him a smile that didn’t reach his eyes: “Well, well, President Jing must be quite busy.”

“Not as much as Director Yao,” Jing Xinglan replied flatly, sitting down beside him without looking sideways.

It wasn’t clear if it was intentional or not, but the organizers had arranged their seats next to each other. Yao Jing recalled his public apology on Weibo and felt like he’d swallowed a fly whole—both aggrieved and disgusted.

He really couldn’t accept it, so shortly after Jing Xinglan sat down, he took the initiative: “I heard that Xinglan Entertainment recently contacted Liuliuwang about purchasing the copyright to Yan Heqing’s book?”

Jing Xinglan didn’t believe Yao Jing wasn’t aware that the copyright to “Song of Earth” had been claimed by the state.

Bringing this up now was just Yao Jing trying to make him uncomfortable.

He smiled indifferently: “Our Xinglan Entertainment has always respected creators’ wishes. Yan Heqing is an excellent author, and ‘Song of Earth’ is an outstanding work. I’m sure the state will make better arrangements for the adaptation. Don’t you agree, Director Yao?”

Everyone could recite formal platitudes.

Yao Jing’s face twitched violently.

“Director Jing makes a good point,” he finally let his expression go cold completely, dropping the act. “But OM Company has already spent twenty million buying the copyright to ‘Legend of Qilin’ and plans to make three seasons, with the first wrapping up next year. While I don’t know what Director Jing has planned, I do hope Xinglan Entertainment will have equally excellent S-tier scripts in production next year.”

Jing Xinglan responded perfunctorily without really engaging.

As a special guest and one of the biggest bosses at the ceremony, his seat was arranged front and center by the staff. This position gave him a clear view of the stage, but Yao Jing noticed Jing Xinglan kept turning around frequently, as if looking for someone.

In fact, Jing Xinglan was indeed looking for someone.

He scanned the audience several times but didn’t spot Qiao Jing. Eventually, he lowered his head and sent a message on his phone: “Where are you?”

Qiao Jing didn’t reply.

Jing Xinglan’s frown was barely perceptible. He stared at the message box with some reluctance before finally silently putting his phone away.

“Sorry, sorry, couldn’t find a seat earlier. I’m late,” another voice came from behind the two, breaking the tense atmosphere between Jing Xinglan and Yao Jing.

Liu Huayi walked over wearing a garish white suit with oil in his hair and shiny leather shoes, sporting a smile all the way.

Following behind him was a young man wearing black-framed glasses, who looked somewhat strained in composure seeing a table full of billionaires. Probably a subordinate who came with him.

Upon seeing Yao Jing, Liu Huayi cheerfully extended his hand: “Director Yao, long time no see! You’re looking great today!”

Yao Jing’s mouth twitched. Internally, he cursed this nouveau riche, but maintained a smile on the surface and shook hands with him.

“Indeed, you look spirited too, Director Liu.”

The handshake was brief. Liu Huayi looked down at the seat number on his invitation, his gaze first landing on the empty seat next to Jing Xinglan, then pausing when he saw Jing Xinglan’s face: “Who is this…?”

“Jing Xinglan,” Jing Xinglan introduced himself. “CEO of Xinglan Entertainment.”

Liu Huayi’s eyes lit up and he gushed: “So you’re Director Jing! I’ve heard so much about you!”

When shaking hands with Jing Xinglan, his manner was considerably warmer than with Yao Jing.

Jing Xinglan raised an eyebrow. This was his first formal meeting with Liu Huayi, but out of goodwill toward Yan Heqing, he was courteous: “Director Liu, please sit. The ceremony’s about to start.”

Liu Huayi grinned and sat down.

Before his butt was even settled, he twisted around to the man beside him: “Don’t forget—go mingle over in the author’s section later and try to poach a few people over, yeah?”

The authors present today were all well-known figures, and most were from Starlight Network. Liu Huayi saying this in front of Yao Jing was basically brazenly poaching talent.

Bie Ge faced Yao Jing’s suddenly sinister gaze and spoke up despite his nerves: “Got it, boss.”

Gods fight, mortals suffer—that was the saying, and it applied perfectly to office workers like him. But he still followed his boss’s instructions. Before the ceremony officially started, he took a small notebook and casually strolled over to the author’s section.

The long table displayed a row of familiar names of web novel celebrities. Even if Bie Ge wasn’t a Starlight Network employee, he’d heard of these people.

But he just glanced over quickly and moved on.

Because Bie Ge knew these major authors would never abandon Starlight Network for their small site, even with the addition of a heavyweight like Yan Heqing.

What he was looking for should be mid-tier authors—ones with some fame but not top-tier.

After all, better to be a chicken’s head than a phoenix’s tail. Bie Ge thought hopefully—maybe he could sweet-talk some fresh recruits into… well, convincing them to come over.

As he walked, Bie Ge suddenly stopped.

He spotted a black-haired young man sitting alone at the edge of the long table. There wasn’t even a name placard in front of him, as if the staff had forgotten about him. But Bie Ge recognized the person sitting next to him—

One of Starlight Network’s famous author celebrities, whose results came second only to the legendary Jinghua Shuiyue, and who had achieved enlightenment through wuxia novels—Yuan Chengdao.

Probably feeling pressured sitting with such a famous author, the black-haired young man had been keeping his head half-lowered. He only occasionally nodded slightly when Yuan Chengdao paused in speaking, his lips pressed thin, his posture somewhat stiff.

Bie Ge gripped his notebook tightly, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.

Little pitiful thing, you’re the one!