If you were an unknown grassroots writer struggling on the poverty line just to keep yourself fed, you would dare to write about anything.
Master Jin Yong had already been placed on a pedestal at the time, and his works had gained widespread public recognition. Yet within literary circles, Jin Yong's work was still regarded as niche, dismissed as pulp fiction fit only for street stalls. To put it bluntly, the literary elites felt that Jin Yong merely wrote fast-paced gratification fiction for the lower classes, devoid of any nutritional value or literary merit.
In a word, those at the top felt he was just a stinking writer of martial arts novels.
Chapter 122