049 The Questions of the American People

The release of "The Lord of the Rings" could best be described as making barely a ripple. Self-published novels, unless promoted by a well-known author, rarely receive much publicity or marketing. Of course, there are exceptions—public figures of genuine talent sometimes break through. Li Daniu had no reputation to speak of, and the Moon Press had never believed in his abilities. Thus, after Li Daniu funded the publication himself, Moon Press merely used its distribution channels to place "The Lord of the Rings" in a few major bookstores across the United States.

Though the first print run was a hundred thousand sets, divided among nearly a thousand bookstores nationwide, each store received only a handful of copies. Furthermore, bookstores are generally reluctant to stock self-published books, since unlike other titles, these cannot be returned to the publisher for a refund if unsold. This is an unwritten rule in the self-publishing world; otherwise, not even a dozen sets would tempt a store to waste money on such a gamble.

At first, "The Lord of the Rings" was simply discovered by chance—someone browsing in a bookstore picked it up, idly leafed through the pages, and found themselves utterly engrossed. Readers tend to cluster together, and those who enjoy books usually have friends with similar tastes. Thus, word-of-mouth recommendations began to circulate in small circles.

When it comes to recommendations, it is impossible to ignore the role of the internet. In this digital age, everyone’s life is intertwined with the web—whether sharing a photo of a home-cooked dinner or posting snapshots from a trip, it has become second nature. Soon, people began promoting the book on several well-known online communities frequented by avid readers.

This was about the time Li Daniu noticed someone attacking him on Eyesbook. After that, he was busy negotiating publication with Sunshine Press, acquiring a film company in Hollywood, and then returning to Tuvalu to shoot a movie. As a result, he missed the viral wave of online recommendations for "The Lord of the Rings."

The renowned acerbic critic, Renault, was the spark that set off the recommendation frenzy.

Ever since gaining fame for his sharp-tongued reviews and scathing commentary on various public figures, Renault’s life had undergone a dramatic transformation. He went from being a reclusive homebody to an online celebrity with nearly two million followers on Eyesbook. The change was not just spiritual, but material as well. Companies eager to promote their products sought him out for advertising, and American variety shows and reality programs frequently invited him for guest appearances. With increased income came an upgraded lifestyle.

It is easy to grow accustomed to luxury, but hard to return to frugality. Having tasted the perks of fame, Renault became even more caustic—no longer content to merely comment on things he saw in the media, he began to actively seek out new targets for his barbs. Fame brought connections, and these new acquaintances were happy to feed him bits of lesser-known news, giving him fresh fodder for his critiques.

The news that Li Daniu had self-published a novel called "The Lord of the Rings" came to Renault via Moon Press. He was delighted—what better opportunity for a scathing review? Here was a king, and not just any king but the monarch of the world’s least developed nation, who was neglecting the work of reforming his country in favor of penning a novel—and self-publishing it at that. The situation practically begged for mockery.

When Renault heard that the chief editor at Moon Press had declared the novel unremarkable, his anticipation only grew. Now he had not only a target, but one that would be hard-pressed to defend itself. Without waiting for his own copy to arrive, Renault eagerly posted a critical status update.

And then, disaster struck.

When "The Lord of the Rings" finally arrived, Renault could not wait to dig in. At first, he read with the casual intent of gathering material for mockery. But as he progressed, his reading slowed, until finally he found himself turning back to the beginning for a second, more careful reading.

After finishing the book, Renault’s first reaction was that he had been set up—not by the friend who tipped him off, but by the editor at Moon Press. How could anyone so egregiously misjudge a novel of this caliber?

Renault was no fool; he knew his fame rested on his reputation for incisive, reasoned criticism. If he relied solely on biting remarks without solid arguments, he could never have achieved his current status. Since becoming an online celebrity, he had always gathered all the facts before posting his critiques, which was why so many people followed him.

Still, most people, when suddenly granted fame, status, and wealth, cannot help but let it go to their heads. That was exactly what happened to Renault. In the most arrogant phase of his life, he received news about "The Lord of the Rings" and, without much thought, launched into his critique. Only after reading the book did he break out in a cold sweat.

Netizens would not understand that he had been misled—perhaps even the person who laid the trap had not expected anyone to stumble into it. All they would see was that Renault had made a mistake—a serious one. Losing followers would be the least of his worries; more severely, it could lead people to question all his previous commentary. For an online celebrity, lacking the support of netizens is more devastating than a politician losing voters, because their entire platform depends on their audience.

Having read the book, Renault knew it was only a matter of time before "The Lord of the Rings" became a sensation, and when that happened, his actions would be unforgivable. So he began his path to redemption, publicly, on his Eyesbook account.

By chance, Renault noticed a message tagging him. The verified user’s name was Tarek—the same as the author—and upon clicking, he discovered the user was the King of Tuvalu himself.

He could not have asked for a better opportunity. There is no remedy more effective than apologizing directly to the original author. Renault began frantically tagging Tarek in his posts.

During this time, however, Li Daniu was preoccupied with his film project and paid no attention to online developments. Not looking meant not seeing, and not seeing meant not replying. Unbeknownst to him, this silence only increased Renault’s anxiety.

Only an apology accepted by the wronged party is meaningful. Renault, intent on salvaging his reputation, sought forgiveness from Li Daniu in the face of the indisputable quality of "The Lord of the Rings," but days passed without any response.

Renault could not imagine Li Daniu was simply busy. He had researched Tuvalu—such a tiny country! Besides, for a king to find time to write an epic fantasy novel, and of such quality that the languages of its races felt utterly authentic, must have taken years. It was inconceivable that he was merely occupied.

What’s more, when Renault first criticized the book, Li Daniu had quickly tagged him in response.

The more Renault thought about it, the more he suspected his simple apology had not been accepted. On reflection, it was understandable. Who would be pleased to see their painstaking work trashed by someone who had not even read it? And this was not just any author, but a king—monarchs are used to having the last word. How could forgiveness come so easily?

After much deliberation, Renault resolved to make amends by advertising "The Lord of the Rings" for free. He knew that self-published books seldom got much publicity, and Li Daniu was virtually unknown in America. According to reports from authoritative websites, a week after its release, the book had sold just over a hundred copies.

Praising his own resourcefulness, Renault launched an all-out promotional campaign. He recommended the book relentlessly on his Eyesbook account and persuaded several fellow influencers to do the same on their platforms.

In the internet age, the power of influencers cannot be underestimated.

Renault’s own following approached two million, and with the reach of other online celebrities, the promotion directly touched over five million people.

A hundred thousand sets of "The Lord of the Rings" amounted to nothing in the face of five million potential readers. Even if only one in twenty of them were interested, there would not be enough copies to go around.

The allure of "The Lord of the Rings" proved irresistible to almost anyone who picked it up, and Americans, above all, love reading on paper. Thus, in the novel’s second week on shelves, all one hundred thousand sets sold out.

This result propelled "The Lord of the Rings" to the top of the weekly bestseller list.

Avid readers, upon seeing an unfamiliar title at the top of the charts, would naturally be curious to know what kind of work could claim the crown. But just then, the initial print run had sold out, and the second batch from Sunshine Press had not yet reached stores.

To their astonishment, Americans found the weekly bestseller completely unavailable in any bookstore.

What was going on? Had the sales-tracking websites played a prank on the entire country? Did the book even exist?

But it was not April Fool’s Day.

Curiosity was rampant, especially after some media outlets picked up the story. In the twenty-first century, people have a habit of turning to the internet with their questions.

A search for "The Lord of the Rings" yielded results that made Americans even more incredulous. All the search results, apart from the keywords "weekly chart" and "out of stock," were overwhelmingly positive.

In the age of the internet, nothing is immune to negative reviews—this is a universally acknowledged truth. Yet "The Lord of the Rings," with one hundred thousand sets sold, had not a single negative comment online. Was the hype too elaborate to be genuine?

It was only natural for netizens to suspect a publicity stunt—such things are all too common these days.

But before they could reach any conclusions, someone discovered that there had, in fact, been a negative review: from none other than Renault, the famous sharp-tongued critic. Yet upon visiting Renault’s Eyesbook page, they found that his opinion had reversed with dizzying speed.

Was Renault a shill?

Few believed that, for Renault had sworn up and down on his Eyesbook account that he was no one’s stooge.

So, the question remained: was the book truly as good as everyone said?

And if it was, why had the publisher failed to restock it in time?