Chapter 16: Online Chatting

Chapter 16: Online Chat

After leaving Su Xin’s home, Anzhi let out a wistful sigh. The image of Qianqian’s pitiful little face lingered in his mind, stirring a complex mix of emotions. Suddenly having such a precious little one felt wonderful. Yet, due to special circumstances, they could only part for the evening, helpless in the face of her reluctant expression—a feeling that was truly heartbreaking.

Once outside the residential complex, Anzhi hailed a taxi back to the Jiu’an Grand Hotel. In his room, he opened his laptop and sent the manuscript to Kuku via Qiuqiu.

Kuku’s avatar, which had been gray, immediately lit up upon receiving the file. The editor was again lurking in stealth mode; as the document arrived, an automatic message popped up for Anzhi: “I am dead, burn some paper if you need me.”

Anzhi chuckled softly. Such an ancient phrase, yet it was just beginning to catch on in this world. He felt a pang of nostalgia. He wondered when terms like “gg,” “mm,” “dinosaur,” or “I服了you” would appear. Well… “I服了you” probably never would—there was no “A Chinese Odyssey” here.

The file for Dragon Clan III: The Black Moon Tide began downloading, and Kuku quickly responded with a string of exclamation marks: “You’re finally online!!!!!!!!!”

Anzhi typed back, “Yeah, logging in to burn some paper for you.”

Kuku replied with a wry face emoticon. Amused, Anzhi typed again, “One ‘囧’ isn’t expressive enough. Let me teach you an emoticon.”

“What?” Kuku asked.

“囧rz!” Anzhi replied.

Kuku paused, confused: “What’s that?”

“Figure it out yourself,” Anzhi said.

After a while, Kuku messaged back: “I get it! Brother B, you’re a genius!”

“Don’t call me Brother B!” Anzhi retorted.

Kuku asked, “囧rz, boss B, why are you so opposed to being called Brother B?”

Then she added, “And Teacher B…”

“Call me whatever you want—just don’t call me Teacher B or Brother B. Otherwise, don’t blame me for withdrawing your manuscript.”

“囧rz, alright…” Kuku conceded.

“orz,” Anzhi replied.

“!!!!!!!” Kuku responded immediately.

“orz!” she added.

A “ding!” interrupted their emoticon exchange—the notification sound for a successful file transfer. Qiuqiu’s speed and stability were far superior to the music copyright sites.

Kuku then messaged: “Manuscript accepted! Goodbye, Master B, I’m off to savor your novel!”

The chat window went quiet.

During his three years of travel, Anzhi seldom used chat software except to communicate with editors. After all, the current phones weren’t yet equipped to handle such applications conveniently, so using Qiuqiu on the road was hardly ideal.

That brief emoticon exchange, however, sparked a sudden interest. Anzhi began exploring the software’s various functions. The internet industry here was still in its infancy, so no chat program could rival the well-evolved tools of his previous life.

Still, he didn’t disdain this world’s chat software. Everyone had to start somewhere. Even QQ back then underwent countless updates. When he first encountered the rather crude early version of QQ, he was just as excited as these new users.

He remembered how he’d agonize over nicknames and craft personalized signatures, searching the unknown digital realm for like-minded friends. Of course, some also fell in love online. But he hadn’t mastered that skill.

Lost in thought, Anzhi’s mind drifted. Even if Dragon Clan ended here, he had no intention of writing more sequels.

What should he write next?

He had started The Little Prince, though it was short. Even after finishing it and some fairy tales, he’d still have energy for other projects.

He recalled that in his previous life’s early internet era, many authors and works flourished across genres. During those three years, he had only brought out one novel, The Legend of Wukong.

There was also a novel from Taiwan, hailed as the pioneering work of online fiction, which told a story of internet romance and contributed many memorable lines. It was eventually adapted into films and television series.

What could be more captivating than internet romance during this early age of chat software?

And since it was short, it wouldn’t interfere with writing The Little Prince or other fairy tales.

That was it—First Intimate Contact.

Anzhi solidified his decision, opened a new document titled “First Intimate Contact,” then set it aside for the moment.

He returned to typing The Little Prince.

First Intimate Contact would surely ride the tide of the times and spark a sensation, but the work with the potential for broader, deeper impact was The Little Prince.

Besides, he had already written part of it; better to finish it all at once.

Once the fairy tale was complete, he would check on the release schedule for Dragon Clan III, then decide whether to submit First Intimate Contact alongside The Little Prince.

“Click-clack... click-clack...” The only sound in the room was Anzhi’s rapid typing. The expensive laptop endured the relentless assault of his fingertips, the keys dancing rhythmically at an astonishing speed.

Yet he remained unsatisfied. With a better input method, he could type even faster.

He kept going until the moon hung high. Deep into the night, the Qiuqiu icon in the lower right corner of the screen flickered and switched to Kuku’s avatar, prompting him to pause.

He switched screens to see Kuku’s message: “Erii Uesugi?”

“Yeah,” he replied.

“What’s her relationship with Nono?” Kuku asked.

“Want me to spoil the plot?” Anzhi teased.

Kuku sent an ellipsis, then said, “Never mind.”

The editor said no more, presumably returning to reading.

Having written enough for the night, Anzhi stopped, took a shower, and upon returning, saw another message from Kuku: “Your third part is so long!”

Without sitting down, Anzhi bent over the keyboard and replied, “You can split it into several parts.”

“Okay, once I finish reading. I’ll talk then.”

After a moment, Kuku sent another message: “Erii Uesugi is so cute!”

Anzhi didn’t reply. Answering that now would surely lead to reckoning someday in the future.

He closed the laptop and lay back on the bed to rest.

Tomorrow, he still had to check on renovations, look at furniture, record a demo of “Sea” with Su Xin, finalize bookstore arrangements—so many tasks awaited.

And most importantly… he had to see Qianqian, take care of Qianqian…

Thanks to Xia Zhi Xuanlan and Yu Wen Chunfengyi for their generous support.

(End of chapter)