Chapter 1: The Pinduoduo God Descends
As a failing web novel author, Mo Yu was "working hard" at his keyboard.
The reason "working hard" belongs in quotation marks is because Mo Yu lived up to his name—a man who truly excelled at the art of slacking off (moyu). Give him a pack of cigarettes and a cup of tea, and he could sit there all day, only revising about a hundred words. Of course, he didn't see a problem with this; after all, for a creature like an "author," writer's block was as normal as breathing.
Today, he was persevering as usual. After confirming he was still stuck in a state of "creative blockage," he leisurely walked to the window, lit a cigarette, pulled out his phone, and started gaming. It was a process he called "searching for inspiration," but in reality, it was just slacking.
An hour later, Mo Yu closed his games with a darkened face. He had struck out completely on the Great Lunar pool in Honkai Impact 3rd, the Neuvillette (Hydro Dragon King) pool in Genshin Impact, and the Jingliu pool in Honkai: Star Rail. "Unlucky" didn't even begin to describe it.
But Mo Yu quickly regained his composure. From Shanda to NetEase, Tencent to MiHoYo, and countless other developers, he had long ago realized he possessed the ultimate "Chieftain of Non-Luck" bloodline. Failing a gacha pull was practically an innate talent.
He toyed with the idea of forcing himself to write despite the blockage, but he couldn't quite make up his mind.
Exhaling a smoke ring, Mo Yu gazed out the window at the sky, feeling a slight sense of wandering in his heart.
The profession of a web novel author wasn't bad—the hours and location were free, and once professionalized, the income was decent. However, the downsides were real: years of sedentary work led to occupational hazards, and one's social life and daily routine became increasingly monotonous. Moreover, as the industry grew more competitive, young authors flooded in with fresh inspiration. Many veteran authors whose thinking couldn't keep up with the times were naturally phased out by readers and the market.
Writing a novel isn't hard, but writing for a lifetime—to become a legitimate contemporary novelist—is as difficult as ascending to heaven.
Part of Mo Yu's writer's block stemmed from this professional existential crisis.
He shook his head, suppressing these decadent thoughts, and decided to face the blockage head-on. He sat at the computer, but with his mind a complete blank, his frustration boiled over. He couldn't help but mutter:
"Maybe I should just stop writing and find a job. Being a security guard sounds nice; I can skip a few decades of life's detours and retire early!"
After complaining for a bit, he sighed and stared blankly at the screen. Right then, he suddenly heard a faint, blurry whisper echoing in his ear:
[O Supreme, Most Holy, Most Divine Lord...]
Mo Yu was startled. He looked around frantically but found no source. Then, the swirling whispers became more intense:
[Lord, the darkness has swallowed everything...] [Lord...]
Whisper after whisper swarmed him—some high-pitched, some sobbing, filled with extreme misery and fanatical zeal. Mo Yu felt a piercing pain in his brain, as if billions of needles were stirring inside. At that exact moment, the computer screen suddenly erupted with a brilliant light, swallowing him whole.
Beyond that light, what met Mo Yu's eyes was an indescribable "Sea."
This sea existed between reality and illusion, boundless and ever-changing. In Mo Yu's senses, it appeared as a shimmering silver.
Gazing at this Silver Sea, Mo Yu's mind came to a complete standstill. As he looked, an infinite torrent of information poured into him.
This sea was the Sea of Fantasy, mapped from the collective subconscious of all living things, and the Sea of Spirituality, reflected from all non-living things. It was an idealistic world, the exact opposite of the material world.
Though the Silver Sea was vast, it wasn't empty. Countless bubbles, large and small, floated like islands or kingdoms, glowing with radiance. As Mo Yu's gaze swept over them, he glimpsed sights beyond words.
He saw ancient gods warring on primeval lands; he saw Ultraman battling monsters in modern cities; he saw giant robots clashing passionately in deep space...
But his frozen brain couldn't process what any of this meant.
The Silver Sea was not calm. An unspeakable, treacherous darkness churned in the depths. Every surge of this darkness brought cataclysmic changes, causing bubble after bubble to vanish.
Suddenly, Mo Yu's gaze was drawn in a specific direction.
Inside an unprecedentedly large bubble, a Kingdom of Heaven radiated infinite holy light. A majestic being sat upon the highest throne of Heaven. Midst the loud praises of countless believers, billions of strangely-shaped angels flew out from the bubble, piloting Golden Holy Ships and wielding weapons of light to confront the surging darkness.
Vast information flowed into his mind, letting Mo Yu know instantly that this place was the Old Testament Heaven. It was a fantasy condensed by the lifelong faith of a secret oath-keeper from an ancient cult, reflected into the Silver Sea. It was part of the Semitic Mythos. Such "Heavens" were as numerous as stars in the Silver Sea.
But this knowledge was useless to Mo Yu, who could only passively receive info without processing it.
The conflict lasted for an unknown amount of time, but the treacherous darkness proved superior.
Billions of angels fell, their wings broken; the Mountain of Heaven crumbled in raging flames. Even the majestic being at the summit began to annihilate. Everything was being swallowed by the darkness.
This was the end of a myth, the closing of a fantasy.
Mo Yu watched indifferently with his stalled mind. But just before the majestic figure vanished, it suddenly reached out and pointed toward him, followed by a grand, holy declaration:
"Mortal of the Real World, I declare to the Silver Sea: My Authority and Myth shall be bestowed upon you to solidify your existence. My Glory and Kingdom shall be gifted to you as the foundation of your Ascension. My enemies shall follow you like shadows, becoming the trials for your climb to the Supreme..."
Following the declaration, Mo Yu felt an immeasurable light sweep over him, lifting him higher. His body expanded, becoming more majestic, climbing until he approached an indescribable, mysterious boundary. Finally, with a powerful leap, he transcended that limit...
When Mo Yu regained his senses, he found himself still sitting in front of his computer. Everything that had just happened felt like a dream.
"Does writer's block now include auditory hallucinations and delusions?"
He muttered, rubbing his head. But the information and sensations emerging in his mind revealed the truth. After a long silence, he decided to test it.
He looked at the computer, which had shut down at some point. He reached out, pressed the power button, and spoke in a solemn, majestic tone:
"I decree: this computer is the carrier of the Kingdom of Heaven, manifesting the power of God..."
As the command left his lips, the 36-inch monitor—though still showing a black screen—erupted with a faint white-gold light. The PC case beside it was even more spectacular, glowing with shifting colors as layers of phantom wings fluttered and vanished. Even the cheap thirty-dollar speakers vibrated, echoing a grand, loud melody:
"Holy, Holy, praise my Lord... Holy, Holy, sing to my Lord..."
Even the keyboard and mouse, seasoned with years of cigarette ash and sweat, were brand new and glowing with holy light.
Looking at his "special-effects" computer, Mo Yu realized his 4,000-yuan budget definitely hadn't included these plugins. The truth was clear: what happened was real.
The place called the Silver Sea was a fantasy dimension hidden on the other side of reality. It was a spiritual realm not meant for mortals. But for some reason, Mo Yu had fallen into it, witnessed the struggle between Heaven and Darkness, and received the "deathbed inheritance" of the Old Testament God.
Myth, Authority, Glory, and Kingdom—in a sense, Mo Yu could now claim to be God descended to the mortal realm.
Well, strictly speaking, he knew he was a bit of a "Pinduoduo" (budget/knock-off) version of God. In the Silver Sea, versions of Heaven and God were as numerous as the stars. His current status was just a tiny fragment of the Semitic Mythos.
But so what? A "Pinduoduo God" is still a God! Mo Yu reached out, trying to summon a giant fireball, but after using all his strength, only a tiny spark flickered. He tried to lift something with his mind, and only a piece of paper on the desk twitched slightly.
It wasn't that there were no results; it was just that the results were negligible. A deep breath probably had more "power" than this divine might.
Mo Yu sighed. The information in his head told him why: the Silver Sea was a dimension of spirit and soul, completely incompatible with the material world. The power reduction was astronomical. Being able to make paper twitch was already a miracle of the Divine Authority.
The computer's effects were so brilliant only because it had served as the contact point between the dimensions.
As the computer finished booting, the familiar Windows logo was nowhere to be seen. Instead, countless strangely-shaped little angels appeared. These angels had the heads of infants—but only heads. Behind them were halos of light shaped like wings. They looked like "Will-o'-the-wisps" with baby faces.
These "Head-Angels" used their light-wings as hands, holding instruments and playing them frantically. The "Holy, Holy" praises were coming from them. Mo Yu was confused and couldn't help but say:
"You guys playing Western religious music on Eastern Suona horns... I mean, it's not impossible, but isn't the art style a bit weird?"
The angels seemed to hear him. They hid the suonas behind their backs and scrambled to find other instruments—lutes, zithers, and even Tianjin clappers. They continued their performance with even more effort.
Mo Yu recognized these instruments. He had once collected pictures of traditional instruments for his research, and the items these angels were holding looked exactly like his saved files.
Before he could study them further, the "boot animation" ended. The angels dispersed, and the desktop appeared. The icons were the same, but the wallpaper had changed from the classic blue sky and clouds to a moving scene of a holy Heaven. Occasionally, a little angel would peek from the corner of the screen, gazing at Mo Yu with eyes full of adoration.
Mo Yu was a pragmatic man. He wondered what all this could actually do for him. In the material world, even "God" was just a mortal made of flesh and blood.
He felt a bit discouraged. Being God didn't save him from aging, sickness, or the need to work for a living.
But he didn't give up. He looked at the peeking angels and had an idea: "Can you guys write novels?"
At his command, angels flew out and opened his writing software. They pulled out pens and started typing. A moment later, Mo Yu looked on in horror.
It was worse than the most infamous "trash" novels. The text was a mess of garbled code, symbols, letters, and Chinese characters. It wasn't humanly readable.
"Forget it, let me think."
Mo Yu gave up on the idea of having angels ghostwrite for him. He realized that while his power was weak in reality, it wasn't so in the Silver Sea. If he wanted to do something, he had to focus there.
He looked at the computer. It was his medium. He remembered the bubbles he saw—like Ultraman—and had an epiphany.
The Silver Sea contained all fantasies: novels, anime, games, movies. He was familiar with these.
He clicked on his D-Drive and found a folder titled [Important Materials].
This wasn't "adult" material. It was years of research he had collected—info he thought was interesting or useful for future writing. In a way, it was his foundation as an author.
Inside, he opened a sub-folder titled [BLEACH].
The "Big Three" (Bleach, Naruto, One Piece) were evergreens in the web novel world. Mo Yu had planned to write a fanfic and had meticulously recorded the world-building, settings, and plot summaries.
Looking at these "crystallized thoughts," Mo Yu whispered:
"Using this information as a guide, search the Silver Sea for the World Bubble where Bleach resides!"
Instantly, the computer responded. A vortex appeared on the screen, swallowing the files. A beam of light shot out, piercing the boundary of illusion.
In the Silver Sea, a pillar of divine light appeared, screening billions of bubbles. After a moment, it locked onto one.
Back on the computer, the now-empty Bleach folder contained a primitive video player. Mo Yu clicked it. As the theme song of the Bleach TV anime started, the screen lit up—but the footage was new.
An alarm clock rang. An orange-haired teenager with a 2D-art style yawned and sat up. He began to brush his teeth sluggishly.
Mo Yu was hooked. Based on the art style, this was the protagonist, the "Hybrid King" who had protection engraved in his DNA—Ichigo Kurosaki. The weird thing was, this mundane scene of brushing teeth—usually skipped in anime—was playing out in real-time.
It wasn't an anime; it was a live broadcast.
Mo Yu whispered: "Interesting."
For Ichigo Kurosaki, this was a normal day. Wake up, wash up, change, eat breakfast, greet his sisters and his idiot father, and go to school.
But on this mundane day, something extraordinary happened.
While brushing his teeth, Ichigo suddenly heard a whisper.
Male, female, old, young—countless voices layered together into a supreme, divine revelation. It was an absolute sound that left no room for doubt.
"Interesting..."
Ichigo spun around, looking left and right, and shouted: "Who's there?!"
End of Chapter
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