Only One Person Is Reading This Online, and the Nation Is Waiting for My Updates

"Forty-five minutes left. Will the ground really split open like it does in your book?"

When the message popped up in his author dashboard, Jiang Ye was just about to shut down his computer.

Twenty-four years old, a failed writer, updating eight thousand words a day, earning 0.23 yuan in royalties. His entire novel had just one current reader.

He stared at the familiar reader avatar, at first thinking they were pestering him for an update again. His fingers paused for two seconds before he casually typed:

"Believe it, and it will happen. Don't believe it, and it won't. If you're really scared, head northwest."

Forty-five minutes later, the ground in Linjiang District split open, and a black serpent poked its head out from underground.

The livestream on his phone shook violently. Jiang Ye couldn't make out what the reporter was shouting. All he saw was the final figure on the evacuation list: 140,000. Casualties: zero.

A chill slowly crept across his back.

That night, his author dashboard was classified as a top state secret.

After that, he wrote down a location in his book, and academicians rushed into the mountains overnight. He casually checked in somewhere, and his bone density rose by nineteen percent in three days. He cursed "Get lost" through the screen, and a thunderbolt from the heavens split the main street.

More and more people wanted him to stop writing.

Twelve people came from the tribunal. Only two returned. One hundred and twenty-seven countries forcibly took his book down, and 64,000 people died in the chapters they had deleted with their own hands.

At last, the enemy sent an ultimatum: stop updating as soon as Volume Two ends.

Jiang Ye finished reading it and turned to the next page of his document.

"Why should I stop at Volume Two?"

The cursor kept blinking.

He wouldn't stop for even a single day before the novel was finished.