Ji Mo had spent three years following a tomb-raiding fanfic. It was terribly written.
The characters were wildly out of character, the logic made no sense, typos were everywhere, and not a single one of the plot threads planted across sixty chapters was ever resolved.
She spent three years cursing it in the comments, until the author finally blocked her.
Then she transmigrated into the story.
She became a nameless background character: the shopkeeper who ran a general store diagonally across from Wu Shan Ju.
All she wanted was to sell flashlights in peace.
But the story was just too awful.
The author had mistyped “Silent Zhang” as “Silent Screen,” so the Zhang family of Changbai Mountain ended up with two heads.
The author had turned Xie Yuchen into a frail, delicate flower, and now the head of the Xie family needed someone to help him walk every day.
There was an alley in the west of the city that no one could ever get through, because the author had never written anything about what lay beyond it.
Ji Mo put up with it.
She held on until the seventh time she saw Fatty looking like he wanted to say something but couldn't. He was a character whose scenes the author had cut.
She put down the flashlight and rolled up her sleeves.
“Fine.”
“I'll fix it.”
Come on, author, you are very creative. I like your sentence the best if the sky falls. Make today's money first.
It's very creative. The author's imagination is very good. It's the opposite of the kind of tomb-robber fan fiction, and the writing style is not bad either.
Come on, author, you are very creative. I like your sentence the best if the sky falls. Make today's money first.
It's very creative. The author's imagination is very good. It's the opposite of the kind of tomb-robber fan fiction, and the writing style is not bad either.