Chapter 174 Chapter 173 Hunting the Minotaur (Part 2)
Big Beard encountered so many people chasing after him for the first time. University students and citizens rarely stood on the same side, wielding knives, swords, and wooden sticks as they climbed over the walls after him.
Fortunately, Big Beard was well-prepared. He had a stable outside, only fifty meters away from the printing factory. He pushed down several angry readers who came to intercept him, leaped onto his horse, and vigorously lashed the horse’s rear with several whips.
“Clap, clap, clap!”
The gray horse galloped toward the crowd, and the mob scattered in front of the rushing horse. Big Beard charged onto the stone bridge.
However, that was as far as he could go.
Big Beard saw an old man raise a magic wand toward him, the tip of the wand suddenly glowing.
The air around him became thick, and the gray horse slowed down as the mob surged toward Big Beard.
What the hell was that bastard Irvin writing? How did he provoke even a wizard!
This was the third time Big Beard had witnessed magic in his life.
Gripping the horse’s reins with one hand, he held his belt with the other, and someone grabbed his arm, pulling him off the horse.
Big Beard got up from the ground and, with a burst of brute strength, drew his protective sword and swung it into the air, causing the crowd to back away. In desperation, he jumped directly into the cold river, swimming quickly in the dirty water under everyone’s gaze.
Next, Big Beard encountered the second extraordinary being.
A burly man clad in armor stood on the riverbank, directly throwing a fishing net, accurately hitting Big Beard twenty meters away, and yanked it hard.
Big Beard was easily hauled ashore like a small bird.
As soon as he was on land, the angry crowd surrounded him, shouting:
“Where is the White Haired One?”
“Why did you print these books?!”
“What a load of crap about dragon riders!”
The crowd was agitated, and they could not help but unleash their emotions on Big Beard with fists and kicks.
Big Beard trembled with cold in the net, skillfully curling up his body, enduring the punches and kicks while shouting, “I know who the author is!”
“I know who it is!”
“I’ll take you to see him!”
“Stop hitting me, I beg you, stop hitting me!”
The beating lasted for more than ten minutes, not because the readers had vented their anger but because the old mage and several extraordinary beings squeezed through the crowd to put an end to the fight.
If not for that, Big Beard would have become a Big Beard brand meat paste to make the readers stop.
The old mage shouted, “Who gave him clothes?”
No one took off their clothes.
“If he freezes to death, no one will find the White Haired One.”
Half the circle of people immediately took off their coats, and they hurriedly went up to strip Big Beard of his wet clothes before helping him put on new ones.
Just as he finished getting dressed, a hand wrapped in an iron gauntlet grabbed his collar:
“Where is the White Haired One?”
…
…
Irvin Green distanced himself from worldly disputes.
The day before the release of “JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure,” he left Adolf and rented a small house in the countryside, far from the forest and close to a lake.
It was already late winter.
The sky was filled with lead-gray clouds, and a cold drizzle fell.
Irvin Green gazed at the distant blurry Adolf, feeling a wave of melancholy. Not only was there no joy after his revenge, but he also felt a faint sadness.
Even though the village illiterate courier told him that his book was selling well, it didn’t make him much happier.
Yes, he had avenged himself, and so what? Ms. Ji still embraced others and was someone else’s concubine. Although he had achieved literary success, he still felt like a failure.
Suddenly, a multitude of emotions surged over him. He felt very much like the classic avenger figure in literature—after successfully taking revenge, the avenger is often left feeling empty and regretful.
His departure from Adolf should have been to avoid recalling that sad love.
Irvin Green told himself so.
It wasn’t that he was afraid of encountering the enraged Ms. Ji.
At this moment, carts pulled by horses began to appear on the dirt road beside the distant forest, crammed with people, followed by a throng creating a racket, breaking the rare tranquility.
Irvin Green turned his head, curiously observing the group.
“It’s him! It’s definitely him!”
From afar, a familiar Big Beard pointed at Irvin Green, who could hardly recognize him due to his bruised face.
Suddenly, those next to Big Beard revealed ferocious expressions.
Irvin Green sensed trouble; these people did not come with good intentions. He turned to leave.
Big Beard cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Mr. Irvin! They are all your fans!”
Irvin Green stopped and looked uncertainly at the crowd.
Leis gritted his teeth, glaring angrily, raised his sword for defense, and shouted:
“White Haired One! We are all your fans!!!”
Other quick-thinking university students echoed:
“We are your fans!”
One of the students, too excited to see his “idol,” swung his sword with too much force, causing it to slip from his grip and stab into the ground.
The rest of the crowd joined in shouting:
“Author, we are your fans!”
Irvin Green was deeply moved, reflecting on how he had been anonymous for so many years, faced rejection countless times, and finally, with hard work, managed to captivate a large group of readers eager to meet him.
Look at that porter, his forehead bursting with veins, running so fast that he lost his shoes. Although the horse-drawn cart hadn’t stopped yet, people jumped down, flushed red, and rushed toward Irvin Green.
What enthusiastic readers!
Irvin Green’s eyes filled with tears as he opened his arms to welcome the onrushing crowd of fans.
“I love you all.”
Leis was the fastest runner; he jumped up and kicked Irvin Green down, shouting, “Write your mother’s **!”
“Give me back my elven princess!”
“My warrior sister!”
“Change the ending!”
The enthusiastic crowd surrounded Irvin Green, expressing their “love” through intimate contact, affirming his writing ability.
With a surge of inspiration, Irvin Green wrote exceptional scenes of the cuckold plot, captivating readers, or else he wouldn’t have enraged so many to this extent.
The readers were merciful; they didn’t resort to physical violence but pushed and shoved, shouting and complaining.
Irvin Green finally understood that these readers were there to seek retribution.
This group of lowbrow readers was beyond redemption, not only addicted to crass novels but also intolerant of his elegant literature.
A wave of anger surged within him as he adjusted his round glasses, shouting:
“You ignorant masses! If you can’t understand my work, you only deserve to read that vulgar and superficial content. I clearly wrote with sincerity—ugh.”
As the saying goes, don’t hit the face; a kind reader punched him in the stomach, making him curl up like a shrimp, unable to speak for a moment.
The readers enthusiastically surrounded him.
Half an hour later, the readers tied Irvin Green up and hoisted him onto their shoulders, parading him in the streets.
A banner read, “The Fate of the Author Who Fed Us Shit,” as Irvin Green repeatedly said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was wrong.”
“I will never write ** plots again.”
“I promise, I will definitely write a happy ending.”
Seeing the author’s good attitude toward correcting his mistakes, the readers found a small black room to confine Irvin Green in, taking turns to guard him and insisting he rewrite his work.
Unfortunately, after many drafts, Irvin Green was unsatisfied with all of them. He bit down on a pencil tip and was finally forced to accept a fact.
There was no real White Haired One, no real outline from the true author, and his revisions. Irvin Green simply couldn’t write normally.
But he didn’t dare say it.
“What the hell is this?”
Leis tossed aside the draft Irvin Green wrote, “It’s completely tasteless.”
Other readers who reviewed the text shouted, “It doesn’t sound like it was written by a single person.”
Although their education wasn’t high, one cannot fool readers with words.
Irvin Green’s legs trembled as he mustered the courage to admit it.
At that moment, Big Beard’s exhausted voice came from the side: “My printing factory was burned again… Irvin Green, you’ve ruined me.”
Big Beard was tied to a post, facing the smoking printing factory, serving as punishment for colluding with the author to produce trash.
Irvin Green swallowed nervously, his legs trembling, saying:
“Well… writing requires inspiration; without the muse, one can’t produce good work.”
“What’s a muse?”
“A refined term for inspiration.”
“I don’t care about any ‘-s.’” Leis slammed a hand on the table. “You have to revise the text, or you’ll never leave this black room for the rest of your life!”
Irvin Green sniffed and continued to bury his head in writing.
In this torment, he couldn’t help but begin to regret.
He also started to fear facing Ms. Ji, realizing that the primary reason for his departure from Adolf was not wanting to see her angry; she had high hopes for and trusted him so much.
Outside.
A black carriage stopped in front of the small black room, and the door opened. Ms. Ji, wearing a black veiled hat, chatted amiably with the old mage, who held considerable prestige in this “hunting the Minotaur author” operation.
“So this is what happened.”
“Yes, it was all a misunderstanding; Mr. Irvin Green just took the wrong path for a moment.”
“Everyone, you can open the door. The real White Haired One is not Mr. Irvin Green.”
Ms. Ji stepped down from the carriage and saw the cowering Irvin Green in the small black room, who didn’t dare look her in the eye.
Ms. Ji pursed her lips tightly, looking quite sad. She shook her head slightly and said:
“Mr. Irvin Green, you can go to the window and explain to everyone, tell them who the true author is. I’ve already spoken to them; they will let you go.”
Irvin Green lowered his head, covering his face, a drop of guilt-laden tear trickling through his fingers.
Leis asked, “What’s going on?”
The others present also looked over.
“Mr. Irvin Green was merely a ghostwriter; usually, it was the White Haired One who wrote the outlines and was responsible for revisions,” Ms. Ji explained. “Unexpectedly, Mr. Irvin Green actually collaborated with the piracy publisher, leaking the original manuscript. The original wasn’t finished, and in order to rush a legitimate release, Irvin Green filled in the ending.”
Irvin Green didn’t notice that Ms. Ji had mixed in some falsehoods.
“Is that true?”
Everyone turned to Irvin Green.
Irvin Green couldn’t help but sob, “Yes, I’m sorry, Ms. Ji, I let you down.”
Ms. Ji remained silent, softly saying, “Go to the window and announce this.”
Then, she looked at Leis and said, “After learning this, the White Haired One intends to write the conclusion overnight. The official book will likely come out in a few days. Please help me shout it out later to tell everyone.”
Leis felt that Ms. Ji had a charming power about her; he nodded vigorously and said, “Okay.”
Irvin Green approached the window and announced loudly to the crowd below.
Leis found it truly farcical; remembering what he had been fed yesterday and thinking of the calm old stick, he mused, “It’s much better to buy the legitimate version.”
No one saw that behind the black veil, Ms. Ji’s mouth slightly curved upwards.
Leis suddenly felt an impulse; he couldn’t wait to share his realization: “Read the original, don’t read pirated versions, that way you can avoid being fed shit.” He went ahead and did just that. Strangely, after hearing his insight, others also felt an urge to spread this wisdom.
Once Irvin Green finished his announcement, the crowd became excited, eager to take down the fake White Haired One.
However, Ms. Ji had previously agreed with the old mage, and combined with her enveloping aura of mystery, she successfully placed Irvin Green back onto her carriage.
Irvin Green remained silent on the way; when getting off the carriage, Ms. Ji personally handed him a bag of money and said, “This is your unpaid salary.”
Irvin Green took the bag, raised his head, tears shimmering in his eyes, looking at Ms. Ji he said, “Ms. Ji, will you give me another chance?”
Ms. Ji’s face turned cold as she replied, “Mr. Irvin, please do not mistake someone else’s kindness for weakness; from now on, we shall no longer be acquainted.”
The carriage door slammed shut in front of Irvin Green, and the black carriage rolled away on the damp road.
Irvin Green watched the black carriage disappear around the corner, feeling heartbroken and unable to suppress heavy sobs over the money bag.
He finally accepted reality.
From then on, Irvin Green was often criticized by peers, accused of causing too much commotion, leading readers to develop an emergency response syndrome; they would immediately denounce any signs of infidelity in a protagonist’s partner. This reduced the creative space for writers and indirectly resulted in a scarcity of stories with vibrant plots in subsequent novels.
However, Irvin Green also benefited from misfortune. Some big names quietly wrote him anonymous letters, asking him to write more cuckold-themed works. Irvin Green discovered that writing in this genre came naturally to him, so he earned some money and lived a relatively decent life, although his works circulated underground alongside other ** works.
But those were all tales for later.
At night, in the Dream Palace.
Ji Ma sat at the conference table, enjoying the joy brought by the continuous influx of pain energy, shaking her tail with delight. What pleased her even more was that the information bar of her personal system kept scrolling with notifications:
“Congratulations on further mastering the powers of the Pain Succubus.”
At the center of the conference table was Adolf in the dream, a growing rumor in yellow mist spread among the attendees, the essence of which was “Watch pirated versions, eat shit, watch legitimate versions, eat candy.”
Ji Ma’s mouth curled into a villainous smile: “Hehehe.”
I’m really amazing; I can have power and money.
Ji Ma narcissistically supported her cheeks, smiling like a simpleton in spring.
She believed that the legitimate book would sell well, and the money earned along with the upcoming casino dividends would soon yield a thousand gold coins.
——————
A four-thousand-word chapter, seeking next month’s monthly votes.
