Qiu Wuji's grand book-writing plan progressed extremely quickly.
After all, she already had ten thousand words to start with... Sect Master Qiu had written another ten thousand while waiting for the distribution channels to be set up.
Old Man Kuzhai's disciples in the literary arts were scattered throughout the mortal world. Many storytellers were outer disciples several generations removed who could claim some tenuous connection to him. Within just three days, Sect Master Qiu's masterpiece began appearing on storytelling stages across the mortal world.
The outcome made Qiu Wuji want to die even more.
Because nobody listened at all.
Previously packed storytelling venues left their audiences drowsy once her story began, and quite a few people left early.
"What the hell is this book? Could it be any more boring?"
"Some high-ranking official or noble must've pulled strings to force this book on them. It's awful to listen to. Dry as dust."
"This person has an excellent command of prose, but what on earth are they writing? A running account of daily events?"
That was the general verdict throughout the mortal world.
After three days, the once-packed storytelling venues were sparsely attended, and the storytellers tearfully appealed to their teachers. "Master, can we switch to another book...?"
Qiu Wuji sat before Old Man Kuzhai, expressionless.
Old Man Kuzhai trembled with apprehension. He kept feeling as though dark clouds filled the sky, fierce winds howled, and thunder lurked unseen, and that at any moment she would fly into a rage and slaughter everyone on the mountain.
Right then, Qiu Wuji only wanted to hug a cushion and curl up in a corner.
So this was what it felt like to flop. It felt awful.
How had Chu Ge and the others survived their days as flops...?
Qiu Wuji sniffled and stood