Chapter 41: Worthy of the Damn Literature Club

Some doors, once opened, ain't shutting just 'cause you say so.

Su Nai slumped over the table like a dead fish, her flushed cheeks pressed against the cool surface, but it couldn't cool the frantic thump-thump in her chest.

She was done for—ever since that damn curiosity crept in, she'd been wrecked. She started lingering in those forbidden corners, marveling at how wild the world could be, even picking up a few foreign phrases for saying "nope."

No question about it—she'd turned into a bad girl.

Jiang Qin coughed, acting like nothing was up, and switched gears. "One more thing, Su Nai. Can you whip me up a little auto-reply program?"

"Auto-reply?" Su Nai peeked up a bit.

"Yeah, like bots with fake IDs dropping generic ass-kissing comments under every post. Stuff like, 'Wow, so damn good, I'm tearing up,' or 'Holy crap, pure genius!'—you get it, something to stroke the poster's ego."

Su Nai nudged her glasses. "I can snag one off the web, tweak the code, and see if it works."

Jiang Qin knew she had it in the bag but still threw in a heavy, "Work first, videos later."

"Wuu…"

Su Nai flopped back down, misery pouring out like a freaking river.

Jiang Qin quit messing with her. He'd sworn off love—dogs wouldn't touch it—so pushing her buttons too hard might blow up in his face.

"Junior, I'm out."

"Thanks, Senior. Please get outta here quick…"

Jiang Qin smirked. This kid's seen every damn position in the book and still plays shy? He shoved his library card in his pocket and bailed from the library.

The website was up, but it was a hollow shell—like a fresh essay sheet, all neat and grid-like, but blank as hell.

To keep people hooked, you need enough content to chew on for a while.

Jiang Qin figured he'd hit up Linda's Literature Club and get them to churn out some made-up stories he'd cooked up.

The Literature Club was tied to the Literature Department, over at East Campus. No car, so Jiang Qin hoofed it the whole way. Good thing it was recruitment season—every club was buzzing with prep for newbies, so he didn't waste the trip. He walked in and saw a bunch of folks slapping together promo boards.

"Make 'Club Recruitment' bolder—red, make it pop."

"Hey, you over there, why're you just sitting on your ass? Can't see everyone's busting theirs?"

Jiang Qin strolled in, hands behind his back, barking orders like he ran the joint. A slacking second-year dude glanced at him, couldn't figure out who he was, and quietly stashed his phone to get to work.

Finally, someone snapped. "Who the hell are you? New Literature Department TA? You're way too young!"

Jiang Qin flashed a cocky grin. "Just your average freshman," he said, earning a barrage of very colorful "greetings" in return.

But once he explained why he was there, someone hauled over the club's big shots.

First up: President Yao Yanling, third-year, Chinese Language and Literature major.

Then Vice President Dong Wenhao, second-year, Broadcasting and Hosting major.

"Life stories, five bucks per thousand words—can we write whatever?"

Jiang Qin mulled it over. "I want first-person narrative stuff. Can be crazy, but not ridiculous."

Dong Wenhao lit up. "Like fake memoir vibe—bullshit dressed up as real?"

"Senior, you're damn good at nailing it! Yeah, that's the gist. Think 'Me and My Three Girlfriends: Time Management Pro,' 'The Secret I'd Die Before Spilling,' 'What's It Like Dating a School Beauty,' or 'That Finance Class 3 Guy's Hot as Hell'—stuff that stirs the pot."

"Kinda like those shady men's clinic pamphlets? 'Three Years Apart, Wife's Suddenly Pregnant' type of deal?"

Jiang Qin blinked, impressed. "President Dong's even cracked open those literary masterpieces? I knew I picked the right crew!"

Yao Yanling jumped in. "You running a magazine?"

"Nah, a website."

"Can it serialize original novels?"

Jiang Qin froze at Yao Yanling's question.

Novel serialization wasn't on his radar, but if he wanted users sticking around, chasing updates could work.

Problem is, long novels jack up the fees, and if they're trash, no one's reading.

"Serialization's cool, but it's gotta pass my vibe check first. I'm not shelling out for garbage."

Yao Yanling grinned, all confidence. "I've got an original novel—writing's top-tier, no doubt. But five bucks per thousand? Nah, I want at least ten."

Jiang Qin shook his head. "I don't give a damn about fancy writing—I want it to hook people."

"Good writing does hook people. Agree to ten bucks per thousand, and I'll send you a chunk to check out."

"What about the collab?"

Dong Wenhao leaned in. "I'll take the collab. We've got 67 members on the roster—supply won't be a problem. But I've got a condition."

Jiang Qin leaned back. "Hit me."

"Six bucks per thousand. I'll wrangle the writers, keep the quality tight. Yanling can handle her serial. Deal?"

Jiang Qin gave Dong Wenhao a second look. This guy's sharper than Yao Yanling—got a nose for the game.

Sure, a serialized novel could milk more cash with length, but roping in 67 people to rake it in together beats solo hustling any day. Dong Wenhao snagged the supply gig fast—he smelled profit.

Guess I'm not the only one at Linda scheming for a buck.

Yao Yanling, though? She was drunk on literature, not cash. Her ten-buck ask was more about flexing.

Look, my words are worth ten—yours are stuck at five.

If she's got real talent, she'll make it big. But if her head's too high and her luck's too thin, she'll just end up lost in her own bubble.

"Six bucks per thousand's fine, but the base pay stays five," Jiang Qin said, all casual-like.

Dong Wenhao blinked, lost. "If it's six per thousand, why's the pay still five?"

Jiang Qin flashed a toothy grin. "Can't let Senior bust his ass for free, right? That extra buck's your cut. Just hassle you to keep the quality locked down tight."

"…"

Dong Wenhao's breath hitched, and his crossed legs dropped flat.

He'd angled for six to skim a buck off each piece, but Jiang Qin called his bluff out loud. What was supposed to stay hush-hush was now front and center. The cash was his, fair and square, but "quality control" went from a throwaway line to a real damn job.

In short, he'd gone from middleman to grunt in one move.

"I'm the vice president—fighting for the team's benefits is my gig. I shouldn't take a cut. Looks bad."

Jiang Qin glanced at Yao Yanling. "No one works for free and starves. What's your take, Senior Yanling?"

Yao Yanling nodded. "Wenhao, if you're screening content for everyone, a cut's fair."

"Well… then I'll humbly accept." Dong Wenhao caved, looking pained.

Jiang Qin sucked his teeth. 'Humbly accept,' huh? So damn fancy. No wonder it's the freaking Literature Club—even begging for cash sounds all high-class and poetic.