"Say, Mouse, what do you think about Marvel's nesting-box power scaling?" The mouse had suddenly become far too worldly, so Su Ming changed the subject and tried to pry some juicy information out of him. "It seems the new generation of editors doesn't study storytelling anymore. They just keep endlessly stacking power levels inside one another."
Come to think of it, when Su Ming had transmigrated, TOBA had only just appeared in the comics. Now CAAT had popped up too. These were all things created by editors playing nesting dolls.
It was truly boring. If they kept nesting things endlessly like this, the stories would instead become simpler and lose their narrative appeal.
It was like Holmes solving a case without looking for clues or reasoning things out, but simply arresting every suspect and greeting them with whips and pepper spray.
The case would be solved faster, and more people could understand it, but it would be far less entertaining.
"A crooked path." Mouse's view was much the same as Stan Lee's. He took a somewhat melancholy drag from his cigarette and slowly exhaled. "Back when I debuted, nobody went on about fighting and killing. What mattered was whether the story was fun. Look at my stories—just my family, my dog, and my friend Donald Duck's family. Haven't those stories been told for nearly a hundred years?"
Indeed, in some ways, Mouse's stories resembled sitcoms. He had never even gotten into an argument with anyone on screen, let alone killed anything.
Yet that had not stopped him from becoming the most famous cartoon character in history, without question. Popeye, who had debuted in the same year as him, was instead less popular with children because of all the fighting and propaganda about eating spinach.
Mouse's only true rival was another