Mode d’emploi
In one line: tap anywhere to go to the next frame.Everything below is a variation on that.
Turning
- Tap anywhere — forward one frame. There is no "where to tap"; every part of the picture does the same thing.
- Drag down — back one frame. Change your mind halfway and let go, and it returns.
- Drag up — forward one, the same as a tap.
One tap, or one drag released, moves exactly one frame. There is no momentum scrolling here and no bar to drag.
Getting the interface back
Once you start reading, everything leaves and the work is all that is on screen. Two ways to bring it back:
- Pull down a little — less than it takes to turn the page, and the interface returns.
- Tap the band across the top — that band never turns a page, so it does not have to be hit precisely.
The 選集 pill in the middle of that band never leaves. It goes faint while you read, but it is always there — pressing it brings the interface back.
The row along the top
While the interface is up, three things sit across the top:
- ← — leave the work.
- 選集, in the middle — the work's thumbnail, its name, and which chapter of how many. Press it for a grid of every chapter; picking one starts at that chapter's first frame.
- Watch later — puts the work on a list you made yourself, in 最愛收藏. That is not the same as your history: the history is this device noticing where you stopped, and this is you saying you mean to come back.
Sound effects, music and voice, plus auto-advance and its interval, are in Settings.
On a keyboard
- ↓ / Space / PageDown — next frame
- ↑ / PageUp — previous frame
- → — auto-advance; press again to stop
- ← — leave the work and return to the catalogue
- Home / End — first frame / last frame
- F — full screen, Esc — leave the layer you are in
Finding something to read
The catalogue is one list, called 精選, and every control that changes it is above it. The house's own picks lead the order and everything else follows, newest first.
Six doors, in one row, on every screen. Five of them are genres — action, other worlds, thriller, romance, everyday — andone at a time, because that row is where you are and you are in one place. Pressing another moves; pressing the lit one goes back to 精選. The sixth is More tags, and the tags themselves take as many as you like: more tags means more works, not fewer.
More tags and the magnifier open the same thing. A search box with every tag in the catalogue underneath it — because the commonest reason a search box comes up empty is not knowing the word, and the words are right there. It does not raise the keyboard: press the box if you want to type, press a tag if you want a tag. There is nothing to submit. Every keypress re-counts the line under it, the heading over the list becomes “⋯ results”, and on a phone the page behind, blurred while the box is empty, comes back into focus the moment you type. ✕ ends it. It matches a work's name, its genres and its synopsis.
Language is one button, at the top right, and it opens both rows at once. Interface is which language this site is written in; Language is which language a work is performed in, one at a time. Each row says what it is currently set to and opens downward onto its own list — one word covers two things, and putting either of them a level down is how somebody ends up with an English interface and nothing but Chinese works.
Three rows at a time. 精選 draws one row of detailed rows, one of cards and one of covers, and Load more repeats them until the catalogue runs out. The three buttons beside the heading make all three rows one shape; press the lit one again and the mixed rhythm comes back.
Once there is a word, the far end of that line offers to search the whole site — that is the search page, and it asks the other question: where does this word turn up in the catalogue. It answers three kinds of thing at once — works, genres, and the title of every chapter, where pressing one lands on that chapter's first frame. Works are drawn in the same three views the catalogue uses. “← Home” sits at the top of it, and its address carries what you typed, so a search can be bookmarked and sent to somebody.
Every card has a ⋮ in its top corner with four things behind it: save, watch later,share and not interested. The first two leave the menu open, because keeping something and putting it aside are often the same errand. Not interested takes the work out of the catalogue; the card stays where it is and saysHidden · Undo, and later there is a row inSettings saying how many are hidden with a way to show them all again. Share hands the address to your phone's own share sheet, and on a desktop copies the work's full address and tells you it did.
Lists, history and settings
Saved, watch later and your history are all lists, and what separates them is who arranged them and what you meant.Saved is "this is mine"; watch later is "not now, but I mean to"; your history is this device noticing where you stopped. A phone's bar has two doors, 最愛收藏 and 觀看歷史, and both open inside 我的清單 — the directory holding those two, 稍後觀看, and every list you named yourself; pressing back there shows you the rest of them. A desktop's rail names them separately and opens the same drawer on whichever you pressed.
A row is a thumbnail, the work's name and one line saying where you are — and in the history a hairline under it showing how far into the work that is, or the words "finished" once it is. Two controls sit at the end of every row: share the work, and ✕ to take it off this list. Every row in the history picks up on the frame you stopped on.
All of it lives on this device. There are no accounts and no server remembering you — another device is a fresh set, and clearing your browser data clears it. Settings can pack the lot into a file you take with you, and read one back.
Where you stopped in each work is remembered, but only for "continue": pressing a work always starts at frame one.
What this site is, and why it works this way, is on about.