A lifetime’s reputation ruined by ghostwriting.
Wanting to confront Zhao Dong was just Song Foxiang’s angry outburst. After Song exposed himself, ruining Zhao Dong’s bid, he was demoted. The Song family still feared Zhao might retaliate, so they kept tabs on him.
They found Zhao had no intention of revenge. After losing face at a banquet, he quickly left Chengdu for Shanghai, seemingly to start anew there.
Song Foxiang was safe for now.
Whether it was long-term safety, the Song family didn’t know.
Someone like Song Foxiang was a headache for any family. He’d probably only stop causing trouble when he was in his coffin!
Song desperately wanted to be a judge for the essay competition, but Xiao Ni shut him down with one sentence, leaving him sulky.
Then he thought of letting his daughter, Song Chan, compete.
The *New Concept* essay contest hadn’t elevated Song Chan, but this competition was backed by Chengdu Publishing Group’s resources. Song Foxiang considered cozying up to the judges and asked Xiao Ni who they’d be.
Xiao Ni, unsuspecting, didn’t hold back, “We don’t know the other judges yet, but one’s confirmed, and you know her.”
Song Foxiang’s mind raced through local literati, unsure who it could be.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Xiao Yu! Oh, I mean Wen Ying.”
Xiao Ni’s tone brimmed with pride—she’d discovered this author, now qualified to be a judge!
“…”
Song Foxiang, looking constipated, gave Xiao Ni a curt bow.
Farewell!
Sorry for the disturbance!
Wen Ying as a judge? If Song Chan competed, it’d be a blow to her.
Fine, better let Song Chan study abroad. The world’s bigger out there, and the experience would help her writing.
Unable to be a judge or let Song Chan compete, Song Foxiang wanted to slack off again, but Xiao Ni wouldn’t have it.
For the magazine’s launch and the essay competition, everyone was busy. How could Xiao Ni let Song Foxiang laze?
“Editor Song, you’re not lacking confidence, are you? Think our new magazine can’t pull off a big event or meet Editor-in-Chief Zou’s plan to launch in November?”
Work hard, or leave *Spark*—no freeloaders here!
Song Foxiang: … Damn it, time to drag Zhao Dog down again! If not for him, I’d still be chief editor, not taking orders from a newbie!
Song knew Xiao Ni was using reverse psychology.
Knowing was one thing; admitting he lacked ability was another.
Xiao Ni’s face was still youthful, but gone was the naivety from months ago. After a moment’s eye contact, Song Foxiang grabbed the promotional plan from the desk.
“I never said I couldn’t do it!”
…
Yuan Fenghui proposed shooting promos for TV, and Wen Ying clapped enthusiastically.
When Yuan made Mrs. Wang Tianjiao’s PR manager, Wen Ying didn’t object.
But when Yuan wanted Wen Ying as a promo protagonist… Wen Ying’s objections were overruled.
The idea was creative.
Four protagonists, four promos.
But it meant Wen Ying had to appear on camera.
Truthfully, she wasn’t ready to step into the spotlight. Since her small fame, she’d avoided on-camera interviews. At *The Princess’s New Clothes* ratings celebration, she skipped the interview to be a bystander. Now, Yuan wanted her as a promo star, shifting her from behind the scenes to centre stage.
Wen Ying asked herself: *Am I really ready?*
To readers, authors were like hens laying eggs. Most cared only about the eggs’ taste, not the hen’s appearance. Some, who loved the eggs, might even be disappointed seeing the author!
“What are you afraid of? You’re not ugly!”
Yuan Fenghui didn’t get Wen Ying’s hesitation.
Normally so decisive, yet the idea of being on camera seemed like a death sentence!
Yuan studied Wen Ying, confident in her judgment. Last year, when they met, Wen Ying was a chubby, dark-skinned girl, but Yuan saw her fine features and excellent bone structure.
In just over a year, Wen Ying had transformed.
Her round face wasn’t an issue—good bone structure and defined features would look cute, not bloated, on camera.
Poor bone structure with a round face would look flat as a pancake on screen.
After sizing her up, Yuan said frankly, “You’re no world-class beauty, but by my standards, you’re debut-worthy.”
Long-lasting female stars weren’t always stunning. Those relying solely on looks faded fast.
Audiences were harsh on female stars’ appearances. Once beauty waned without a shift to acting prowess, fans moved on. Male stars had it easier—youthful handsomeness didn’t fade with wrinkles; maintained physiques and a few lines added charm. A 20-year-old male star could pair with a 20-year-old actress, and at 50, still play opposite one, with roles unhindered by age. So, Yuan didn’t chase after perfect beauty when signing female talents—she preferred those with unique traits and “average” looks!
By Yuan’s “average,” they were already far prettier than most in real life!
Wen Ying, who often checked the mirror, knew she wasn’t ugly. Her hesitation wasn’t about looks!
She had a writer’s dream and a bit of a literary snobbery, believing she should win fans with talent, not looks. But as soon as this thought surfaced, Yuan tore it apart.
“Your parents gave you good looks—you should be grateful, not coy. In this society, people judge us holistically: your knowledge, wisdom, appearance, even family. If you hide your looks, lowering your overall score, who’s to blame?”
Society was shallow.
Yuan didn’t care for talk of inner beauty.
Unless you were close, who’d know Wen Ying’s inner beauty?
Humans are visual creatures, drawn to beauty—it’s genetic. Wen Ying wanting fans to love her for talent alone, not looks, was like forcing readers to defy instinct.
Seeing Wen Ying silent, head bowed, Yuan doubled down, “You meet debut standards, but I’m not making you a star—just a promo! Do you think one ad appearance will have readers swooning, flocking to Chengdu to mob you? You’re overthinking. If Xie Qian shot the ad, maybe that’d happen!”
Wen Ying: “… Fine, stop talking. I’ll do it, alright?”
Yuan’s words were like a knife to the chest!
