the book’s goddess

Chapter 6: Dreams and Reality

Chasing a dream comes at a cost.

No one can keep failing forever, scraping by on a few hundred or a thousand yuan of full attendance bonuses every month for their entire life.

Zhang Qiren had been struggling at the bottom of the w*******l industry for nearly two years. Every year, he would write a book, and every year, it would flop—each one barely scraping double-digit subscriptions. The book he was about to launch would be his third.

Third time’s the charm—or so they say.

Whether it was the pressure of life or the weight of his family’s expectations, no one can hold out forever.

For the past two years, Zhang Qiren had been delivering takeout to make ends meet while writing books to chase his dream. A few months ago, after a massive argument with his family, he quit his delivery job, burned all his bridges, and moved out. He found Chu Ge through a writer’s shared housing ad, determined to devote himself fully to his new book.

But now, he had no income.

After a few months, the savings he’d accumulated while delivering takeout were nearly gone. If this book flopped, no matter how unwilling he was, Zhang Qiren would have no choice but to abandon his dream and follow his family’s wishes—go get a factory job.

This wasn’t about what kind of story he was writing. That didn’t matter. Zhang Qiren wasn’t good at writing romance. What he excelled at were creative ideas and humor, which suited a no-romance style much better. Whether or not a book succeeded depended on both skill and luck.

Chu Ge had been in this industry longer and had seen countless enthusiastic young writers vanish into obscurity, or worse, transform into bitter trolls who spent their days nitpicking and tearing down every novel on every platform.

All of those criticisms came from the same source: the heartbreak of shattered dreams.

To outsiders, they might look like “unemployed slackers,” but how many people truly understood the brutal elimination process behind the scenes?

Chu Ge’s situation wasn’t much better than Zhang Qiren’s. He used to work a nine-to-five office job, but he found that kind of life dull and unfulfilling. So, he decided to pursue his dream of becoming a writer. He got lucky—his first book earned just enough for him to scrape by. Around the same time, he had a falling out with his boss, so he quit his job to write full-time. Since then, though, he’d had two or three flops in a row, and his savings were almost gone. The success of his current book was crucial.

The only advantage Chu Ge had over Zhang Qiren was that his family was supportive—or, to put it another way, they didn’t really care about him.

Chu Ge’s parents supposedly worked for some kind of classified government agency. He didn’t even know what they did for a living. They were rarely home, and he only heard from them occasionally through phone calls. He was slightly closer to his mom, but he hadn’t heard his dad’s voice in over a year. They hadn’t always been like this; it was only in recent years that things had changed for some reason.

The only thing his parents seemed concerned about was his marriage. They had little to say about anything else. His mom was oddly proud of his writing career, going around bragging, “My son is an author!”—which made Chu Ge want to bury his face in his hands out of embarrassment.

Yes, the same “Auntie Wu” who had told Gu Ruoyan during that awkward matchmaking session that “he’s a writer” was none other than Chu Ge’s mom. Who knows how she and Gu Ruoyan even knew each other…

As for why he moved out of his family home despite no one being there, it was because he was sick of the judgmental looks from the neighbors. Every time he went out, he’d run into some well-meaning elder or neighbor who’d say, “Little Chu, I know the manager of a leather factory. Want me to introduce you?”

Chu Ge would just smile and reply, “No need. Save it for your sister-in-law.”

The moment he turned around, though, he could almost feel the whispers behind his back: “That Chu family son is useless. Almost thirty and still lazing around at home.”

So, he moved out, out of sight and out of mind.

This kind of awkwardness was just part of the industry, and Chu Ge was more than used to it, just as he was used to Gu Ruoyan’s attitude during their matchmaking session.

No matter whether his family was supportive or indifferent, Chu Ge, as a man nearing thirty, couldn’t bring himself to ask for money from his parents. He stubbornly told them he was doing fine financially… but if this book flopped, he really had no idea how he’d make ends meet.

Two struggling men sat at a barbecue stall, drinking beer and eating skewers. Zhang Qiren even offered some advice for revising Chu Ge’s story:

“Your book… It does have some harem elements at the start, but none of the relationships are confirmed yet. It’s all gradual development, probably because of your personality. That actually leaves you an escape route. You could totally pivot to a ‘choose-your-own-ending’ style. Leave it open-ended so readers don’t know whether the protagonist picks someone or no one in the end…”

Chu Ge was silent for a moment before replying, “If you said this in our group chat, you’d get beaten up.”

Zhang Qiren laughed. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it yourself. Why else would you suddenly say you need to reorganize your outline?”

Chu Ge truly hadn’t thought about it before. His usual mindset didn’t lean in that direction, and it was hard for him to consider such an approach. But now, Zhang Qiren’s suggestion felt like a revelation.

His idea not only avoided the issue of leaving any love interests unresolved—since none of them would be resolved—it could also appeal to both harem fans and single-heroine fans. The book might even perform better this way. Sure, he’d get complaints after it was finished, but by then, the money would already be in his pocket. Who cares about a few angry comments?

Another benefit was that he wouldn’t have to cut Qiu Wuji’s scenes as much as he’d worried. Her storyline could proceed as originally planned, with her relationship to the protagonist changed to a normal sect master-disciple dynamic. Skip the romantic tension altogether, and let the readers speculate all they wanted.

It was a win-win solution.

Chu Ge raised his glass and said sincerely, “Qiren, if you don’t make it big, there’s no justice in this world. Your insight and understanding are way better than most.”

Zhang Qiren’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve always thought there’s no justice in me not making it big.”

He paused, his gaze growing distant and a bit complicated.

Chu Ge followed his line of sight and saw a young girl, about seventeen or eighteen years old, dressed in black. She walked quietly past the barbecue stall and headed into their apartment complex.

As she passed, the smell of alcohol lingered in the air.

Chu Ge recognized her.

She lived on the same floor as them, in the apartment across the hall.

These days, neighbors rarely interacted. Even though they’d lived on the same floor for so long, they’d never spoken. Whenever they ran into each other in the elevator, they’d just look down at their phones without a word. Naturally, he didn’t know her name.

Writers often kept odd hours, and so did she. Chu Ge frequently ran into her late at night, and every time, she reeked of alcohol.

Sometimes, she even had small injuries on her forehead…

Most people’s first assumption would be that she was a hostess, or maybe a delinquent. Either way, the impression wasn’t great.

“She used to be a game streamer,” Zhang Qiren said quietly. “I stumbled across her channel once. She didn’t talk much, just focused on playing, so her popularity was low. Probably couldn’t make a living from it.”

Chu Ge said, “Another struggler in the industry, like us?”

Zhang Qiren sipped his beer without responding.

Streaming and writing web novels had a lot in common. It was easy to empathize.

Everyone was struggling. Who could look down on whom?

Suddenly, Chu Ge asked, “Do you like her?”

Zhang Qiren’s hand tightened around his glass. After a moment, he replied casually, “She’s pretty. Of course, I’m a bit tempted. Isn’t that normal? Haven’t you ever been tempted?”

To be honest, Chu Ge had been tempted. He’d even fantasized about running into her as a hostess in some club. It was just the kind of idle thoughts men had. Nothing serious, just daydreaming—like back in high school, when he’d daydreamed about his literature teacher from the class next door.

In reality, though, they didn’t even have the money to go to a club.

Zhang Qiren quickly added, “But like her? No way. Someone in that line of work? Come on… We can’t even support ourselves. Even if we knew where she worked, we wouldn’t have the money to go support her. What’s the point of talking about liking or not liking?”

Chu Ge drained his glass in one gulp. “Keep at it. You’ll make it big someday.”