the book’s goddess

Chapter 2: Qiu Wuji

Chu Ge’s rented apartment was clearly a long way from the luxurious café in the city center. For a web novelist who rarely left home, living in the suburbs versus downtown made little difference—except that the rent was much cheaper.

After casually eating a bowl of fried noodles, he returned home. By then, dusk had fallen, and the small living room was dim.

It was a two-bedroom apartment with a living room. Neither bedroom had its lights on, yet one of them echoed with rapid clacking sounds—the sharp rhythm of typing fingers drifting out of the dark room and into the equally dim living room. Though someone was clearly there, the apartment felt even more empty and lifeless.

That was Chu Ge’s fellow writer roommate, who split the rent with him.

The roommate had an unusually old-fashioned name: Zhang Qiren. When Chu Ge had posted a roommate-seeking ad on a writers’ forum, he had deliberately wanted another writer, hoping they could motivate each other. Zhang Qiren happened to be looking for a place as well. The two hit it off immediately and had been living together for nearly half a year.

They later discovered that “mutual encouragement” was complete bullshit.

“Eaten yet?” Chu Ge asked casually.

A reply came from inside the room. “Threw something together earlier. Inspiration suddenly exploded like a busted bladder—eh? You’re back this early. Blind date blew up?”

“It blew up,” Chu Ge replied. “Just like your inspiration.”

He pushed open his bedroom door, about to enter.

The keyboard clatter next door finally stopped. A thin man with glasses appeared in the doorway, eyeing Chu Ge’s blind-date outfit with audible clicks of his tongue. “Brother Chu actually has a bit of a Daniel Wu vibe, you know. How many points did she give?”

Chu Ge snapped back, “Zero.”

Give zero rather than a full score—standard procedure.

Zhang Qiren quickly put on an I get it expression, full of regret. “Didn’t even leave a photo for your brother to admire…”

Chu Ge said nothing, thinking that if he really had taken a photo, Zhang Qiren would probably accuse him of pulling a random picture from the internet. How could a blind date possibly be that beautiful?

Zhang Qiren asked, “So what was it this time? Household registration? Money? A house?”

Chu Ge glanced at him and suddenly laughed. “Because we’re unemployed drifters.”

Zhang Qiren’s grin stiffened slightly, his voice suddenly rising. “Those frogs at the bottom of a well don’t know s**t! Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west—don’t bully the young—uh, wait, do you still count as young?”

Chu Ge ignored the last question. “So work hard. Swim to the west bank sooner.”

Zhang Qiren nodded. “Oh right, Brother Chu—my new book goes paid tomorrow. Remember to give me a chapter shout-out.”

“Didn’t forget.”

“Thanks… I—I’m kinda panicking.” He rubbed his hands unconsciously, lowering his voice. “The recent data… feels pretty cold.”

In truth, Zhang Qiren’s numbers had been bad for a while. Chu Ge thought so too, but all he could do was repeat the same encouragement yet again.

“Don’t chicken out. This stuff’s mysterious. Some books look popular but barely get subscriptions; others seem niche but have hardcore readers. Whether it lives or dies comes down to this cut—no point stressing over it.”

Zhang Qiren forced a smile. “True. Screw it. Live or die, that’s that. If it blows up—clubs and models. If it doesn’t… I’ll be the model!”

Chu Ge: “……”

“Ever considered that maybe you’re not popular because you’re too sleazy?”

“As if you aren’t. Who was it that wrote twin sisters in their last book—”

“That’s why I’m not popular either.”

“So are you still writing sisters?”

“Yes.”

“……A man of our kind.”

With things on his mind, Zhang Qiren didn’t chat much more. They each returned to their rooms. Chu Ge made a cup of tea, sat down at his desk, opened his document—and aside from bathroom breaks, didn’t move again.

This was daily life for Chu Ge and Zhang Qiren.

If not for the blind date giving Chu Ge a bit of real-world conversation material, they usually didn’t even talk this much. Though they lived together, they were more accustomed to communicating online.

A common scene was the two of them sitting side by side at a fast-food place downstairs, eating while holding their phones and trash-talking each other in an author group chat—more familiar with each other’s avatars than with each other’s faces.

Chu Ge seriously wondered if he’d lose the ability to speak at this rate… The nonsense he’d rambled at Gu Ruoyan earlier was probably partly due to no longer being used to normal conversation.

Damn it—why was he thinking about her again?

His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he drifted off. Maybe he could add a character like her into the novel—a rational, intellectual office lady… But he was writing xianxia. That kind of character would probably map to a mid-to-high-level sect member, then get conquered and pushed down by the protagonist… Hmm.

That was troublesome, because there was already an established female lead with some similarities—the sect master of the protagonist’s sect, one of the strongest cultivators in the world, on the brink of ascension, and the most beautiful woman under heaven.

And she was the main target of the next arc.

That’s right—Chu Ge wrote harem novels, with a modest reputation in the circle.

As a harem novelist, he knew the key was giving each female character a distinct personality. This sect master was aloof, proud, elegant, and domineering. She was actually quite different from Gu Ruoyan. But if he added another white-collar-style sect character, the overlap would be too obvious, making it hard to distinguish them.

Better not overthink it. Focus on writing the sect master properly—she was the first heroine.

The novel had only recently gone paid, with just two or three hundred chapters so far. The plot hadn’t fully unfolded yet. At this stage, the protagonist, Chu Tiange, was still a minor nobody. Due to an accident, he had gained the sect master’s favor and been promoted directly from a menial outer servant to an inner disciple, with the sect master personally guiding him from time to time. This was the beginning of his rise.

At this point, the protagonist still regarded the sect master as a teacher and respected her deeply. As for the sect master, she merely saw him as a promising talent worth nurturing.

As for how that filial respect would later mutate, and how the sect master would eventually develop a taste for younger men—that required long-term plotting. But groundwork could already be laid.

For instance, subtly depicting the sect master’s inner thoughts—her occasional loneliness, her reflections on what her long cultivation life lacked, whether her failure to ascend was due to something missing… and so on.

Why would a ten-thousand-year-old ascetic monster develop romantic feelings? That logic had to come first.

Chu Ge was genuinely invested.

“Qiu Wuji pushed open the window and gazed at the moon. Moonlight flowed like water, softly bathing the mortal world and illuminating her flawless profile—hazy and dreamlike. She stood there lost in thought for a long time, faintly wondering whether, after ascension, she would step into the moon itself. If so, would it simply mean moving from one lonely place to another…”

Qiu Wuji.

Her name was drawn from a poem by Xin Qiji: ‘Across a thousand miles of Chu skies lies clear autumn, where waters flow with heaven, endless as autumn itself.’ It echoed perfectly with the protagonist Chu Tiange’s name—carefully crafted.

If Chu Tiange was a projection of Chu Ge himself, then Qiu Wuji embodied all of Chu Ge’s ideals and fantasies about his perfect woman. He had poured deep emotion into her.

That was why he’d told Gu Ruoyan, “Sometimes it’s less, but this month it’s over ten thousand.” His previous books had flopped, but this one was performing better and better. Characters written with genuine feeling naturally earned reader recognition.

“For reasons unknown, Qiu Wuji suddenly found Chu Tiange’s smiling face flashing through her mind. That sunny smile was so rare in the cutthroat world of cultivation—it could even lighten one’s mood…”

Chu Ge’s fingers flew across the keyboard. The more he wrote, the more immersed he became, as if he could truly see a peerless immortal beauty standing by the window, gazing at the moon—lost and alone.

So immersed that he seemed to feel a chill wind from the open window, seeping in from behind, sending a shiver down his spine.

…Wait. That wasn’t right.

The window was in front of him. Why was his back cold?

Frowning, Chu Ge turned his head.

A flash of cold light.

A dark-blue longsword rested against his throat, its bone-chilling frost seemingly capable of freezing even his soul.

Chu Ge stared wide-eyed. Behind him stood a woman in ancient robes, sword raised, phoenix-like eyes filled with killing intent as she glared at his document.

The air seemed to freeze for several seconds—or perhaps only an instant. Before Chu Ge’s mind could process anything, he heard her say, word by word:

“If you dare write that I fall in love with that disciple, I will shatter this world if I must—just to take your miserable life!”

Chu Ge was completely dumbfounded.

“Wait—who… who are you?”

The woman’s gaze shifted from the document to the blue sword tip.

“Qiu Wuji.”

Chu Ge: “???”