As I wrote this, there was still an hour left before January ended, but the rankings probably would not change much.
For the first time, I had truly ranked among the top six in the Xianxia category.
For the first time, I had entered the top fifty of the overall rankings, and had remained in the thirties for quite a while.
I knew that for great authors, or newcomers who became gods with a single book, such results were simple. But for me, this was a huge step forward. My monthly votes had risen step by step—from over two hundred votes and somewhere in the teens of the category rankings in the first month, to over five hundred votes, excluding the top ten overall and new books, reaching top six in the category and over sixtieth overall; then to over nine hundred monthly votes; and finally to over thirteen hundred monthly votes, top fifty overall and truly top six in the category.
Along with that came steadily rising subscriptions. This month was the month in which my average subscriptions grew the most. Without counting mobile, rewards, monthly-vote bonuses, and so on, my single-month manuscript fees might approach ten thousand. At this rate, entering the premium ranks in a few more months would not be difficult.
But when a book had said all it needed to say, the pen had to stop. I had written almost everything that could be written; what remained would definitely conclude by the end of this month, perhaps even by the middle of it. I would not write on endlessly just to charge toward premium status. Leaving lingering echoes at the height of splendor was the proper ending.
There was no heaven-sent genius, no stunning rise to fame with a single cry. There was only steadfastness