Lin Xian stared at the screen in shock.
> [You have received points!]
+10 Points – First book uploaded
+20 Points – First book bonus
+20 Points – First viewer
+50 Points – First comment received
> [Total Points: 100]
A hundred points.
He let out a slow breath. It wasn't much, but after seeing his account balance at zero before, it felt like progress.
His eyes drifted to the comment.
> @FloatingCicada: New author? Not bad. Thought this was a Liu Feng fanfic, but your style is interesting. Keep going.
It was a simple message, but Lin Xian felt a strange warmth in his chest.
For years, his writing had been rejected. Every email from publishers had been a "Thank you for your submission, but…"
This was the first time someone had told him to keep going.
"...Tch." He shook his head. "Don't get soft over one comment."
Still, his fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Should he reply?
No.
Instead, he turned to the Inspiration Space.
---
[Inspiration Space Activated – 15 Points Deducted]
The world around him melted. Colors swirled, shapes twisted, and suddenly—
He was standing in his story.
The air smelled of damp earth, mixed with the scent of burning wood. He found himself in a village—a small, isolated place with wooden huts and dirt roads.
And in front of him—
A boy.
The protagonist of his novel.
The blind child with golden eyes.
---
Chapter 2: The Monster's Eyes
The village was silent.
The boy stood in the center, trembling, his newly awakened Spirit Sight making him see the world in ways no one else could. His golden eyes reflected the swirling qi of nature, the hidden energies of life itself.
But the villagers…
They didn't see a miracle.
They saw a monster.
"A demon!" someone shrieked.
"He's cursed!"
"Those eyes… they're unnatural!"
A stone flew through the air. It struck the boy's arm.
He flinched.
Another rock hit his leg.
He staggered.
The crowd had decided. He wasn't one of them anymore.
"Get out!"
"Leave this village!"
The boy ran.
His heart pounded in his chest as he fled, pushing past trees, stumbling over roots, running until he could run no more.
When he stopped, he found himself at the edge of a cliff.
Below, a sea of mist swirled like a great beast waiting to swallow him whole.
But before he could even think, the villagers caught up.
Their eyes were filled with fear and hatred.
They didn't want him gone.
They wanted him dead.
A final stone—larger than the rest—struck his forehead.
His vision blurred.
His body wobbled.
And then—
He fell.
---
Lin Xian watched as the boy plunged into the mist.
The Inspiration Space shifted, guiding him deeper.
Now, the boy was lying at the bottom of a ravine. His body was broken, but he was alive.
And beside him…
A flute.
It was no ordinary flute.
It pulsed with power.
A whisper filled the air, carried by the wind.
> "The Flute of Spirits… only one worthy may wield it."
Lin Xian's fingers twitched. This was good. This was perfect.
He began writing again, describing how the protagonist picked up the flute, how it thrummed with energy, how the spirits answered its song.
But then—
> [System Alert!]
[The Flute of Spirits has been LOCKED.]
> [Error: Item exceeds current author authority.]
> [Unlock Information – Cost: 1000 Points]
[Modify Item – Cost: 2500 Points + Level 3 Author Rank]
Lin Xian froze.
"…What?"
The system had restrictions on the items he could create?
His expression darkened. Why?
Didn't he have full control over his story?
He stared at the 1000-point price tag. He had only 85 points left after using the Inspiration Space again.
There was no way he could afford it.
"…Damn it." He clenched his jaw.
If he left the flute as it was, the story would break. But he couldn't afford to make it as powerful as he originally planned.
His only option—downgrade it.
> [Modifying Item…]
[New Description: The flute now controls only low-level spirits. Its power will grow alongside the protagonist.]
Lin Xian sighed.
It wasn't ideal. But it was workable.
---
Exiting the Inspiration Space, he cracked his knuckles.
It was time to upload Chapter 2.
Would his first reader come back?
Would others find his book?
For the first time in a long while, Lin Xian felt a familiar thrill.
The thrill of writing.