Mondstadt thrummed with life, its hundreds of thousands a restless sea of readers.
Even if half bought Ye Ruo's book, the numbers would stagger the mind.
Merchants, scenting profit, swooped in, snapping up hundreds, thousands of copies.
They'd ferry them to distant lands, chasing wealth in foreign markets.
Success could line their pockets with Mora, a gamble worth the haul.
Boldness reaped rewards—the timid starved in their shadows.
Their hustle stretched Ye Ruo's fame beyond Mondstadt's windswept walls.
Future branches in other nations would land on fertile, eager ground.
Sales exploded, bookstores swamped, staff scrambling to keep pace.
Diluc offered hands from Dawn Winery, a lifeline in the chaos.
Ye Ruo declined, tapping his own web—prestige opened every door.
A recruitment call, flush with Mora and perks, drew throngs of applicants.
Old friends, reliable souls, filled key roles with trusted ease.
Branches sprouted across the city, a network to sate the frenzy.
Ye Ruo marveled at the surge, far fiercer than his earlier works.
Nothing gripped Mondstadters like their own mythic roots laid bare.
Idol Debut and Windhaven had built him a tower of renown.
Like a famed author from his past life, fan loyalty fueled success.
Even a weaker tale rode high on the backs of prior triumphs.
Now, Old Mond: Eyes of the Tower King blazed, a citywide obsession.
Ye Ruo grinned as his fame soared, a swift, intoxicating climb.
This outstripped his past gains, a torrent he couldn't contain.
The system pulsed, blue-tier rewards glinting on the horizon.
White-tier loot—plants, ores, trinkets—already stocked his stores.
What wonders awaited in blue? His pulse quickened at the thought.
Readers tore into the novel, hunger driving their eager hands.
At the Adventurers' Guild, commissions stalled, blades swapped for pages.
Catherine sighed, watching members ditch quests for Ye Ruo's tale.
"Really, a book over work?" she muttered, exasperation lacing her tone.
A tireless adventurer, grinding tasks day and night, remained her dream.
Such a tool—er, member—would lighten her endless load.
She sniffled, synthetic tears welling, though her heart wasn't flesh.
"It's here, it's here!" Irene cheered, sweat-soaked from training.
She slumped against a wall, flipping open Old Mond with glee.
Across Mondstadt, countless mirrored her, lost in the first lines.
The text unfurled, a window to a brutal, frostbitten past.
Three thousand years ago, the Demon God War tore Teyvat asunder.
Gods clashed, their power shattering peaks and dimming the skies.
Mondstadt then was a bleak, ancient wild, unrecognizable today.
Ice and snow choked the land, gales howling through a frozen void.
Vegetation withered, the soil a tomb of frost unfit for life.
Humans starved, shivered, died—misery their only constant.
Corpses littered the snow, swallowed by relentless blizzards.
Pain ruled, a relentless grind of cold and despair.
Readers paused, faces twisting with awe and unease.
Today's Mondstadt bloomed green, kissed by gentle winds.
Windmills spun, wine flowed—life thrived in verdant peace.
They'd heard of the ice age in Barbatos' ballads, a distant echo.
Ye Ruo's words painted it raw—cruelty they couldn't fathom.
Visions of bodies falling in shrieking storms gripped their minds.
Migration offered no reprieve, just a slower burial in white.
The tale pressed on, unveiling titans of that frozen age.
Karlafian, the Tornado Demon, and Andreus, Northwind Sovereign, loomed large.
They vied for supremacy, the sole crown of the Seven at stake.
This was the reign of Old Mond's Frost Kings, their dominion absolute.
Karlafian forged a Royal City, a shield against the bitter cold.
Old Mond rose, a fragile haven for the desperate and frostbitten.
Humans, fleeing the icefields, bent to his rule for survival's sake.
He sculpted their world—rings of stone circling a towering spire.
The central tower, his palace, pierced the sky, a gale-wrought throne.
He stood atop it, basking in the bowed forms below.
Their knees hit the ground, crushed by winds too fierce to defy.
Blind to their dread, he saw only love in their submission.
That delusion seeded tyranny, a scourge to grow unchecked.
Thus, he earned his title: the Lonely King of the Tower.
A ruler deaf to hearts, reigning over a frigid, hollow court.
Mondstadters read on, breath held, lost in Ye Ruo's icy epic.
The system hummed, fame swelling with each turned page.
He'd cracked open Mondstadt's soul, and they couldn't look away.
***
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