Zou Weijun clearly had no intention of discussing workplace difficulties in detail with Wen Ying and Xie Qian.
Ms. Zou had her pride.
She could adopt Wen Ying’s suggestion to boost book sales, but she wouldn’t rely on Wen Ying to solve every problem. The same applied to her son Xie Qian, she knew he was bright, but he should have his own life, not always expending energy resolving her crises.
With Zou Weijun’s firm stance, Wen Ying and Xie Qian didn’t press further.
Zou Weijun changed the subject, turning the tables to ask Wen Ying, “Xie Qian mentioned you’re serialising a novel in a magazine, now on its fourth issue, how’s the reader feedback?”
Wen Ying had given Zou Weijun advice, and Zou Weijun was also following Wen Ying’s writing career.
In March, the provincial key school’s first-year students took the arts and sciences streaming exam, Wen Ying chose science but nearly got sent to a regular class, only staying in Class 16 thanks to Xie Qian’s last-minute cramming and highlighting key points for her.
For days, Xie Qian gave her a look of exasperation, scaring Wen Ying into focusing solely on studies, tuning out everything else.
She even neglected Shrimp King’s business.
Shrimp King was managed by Yang Xi and Deng Yaomei.
The former was cunning, the latter honest, their complementary dynamic reassured Wen Ying.
Shrimp King wouldn’t collapse anytime soon.
For decisions Yang Xi couldn’t make, they could consult Geng Xiao, Qin Jiao promised to manage Shrimp King after the college entrance exam, Wang Shuang was devoted to Li Mengjiao’s debut drama, spending all her spare time with the crew, leaving her unable to help Shrimp King. Between Geng Xiao and Tang Yifeng, Geng Xiao was more mature and thorough, so Wen Ying entrusted Shrimp King to him temporarily.
Wen Ying herself, ignoring Shrimp King and never visiting the drama set, studied diligently under Xie Qian’s supervision.
The only way to relax amid the sea of schoolwork was writing.
For over a month, Wen Ying focused solely on studying and writing.
With her energy concentrated, her grades visibly improved, and her writing progressed noticeably.
The editor at Aige, Little Ni, said Wen Ying’s recent submissions were high quality.
A novel’s quality might fool the writer, but not the readers.
After three issues, with the groundwork laid, the plot of Young Idol hit its stride, gradually gaining attention.
When the first issue came out, readers only glanced at it casually.
By the second issue, readers noticed the author of Young Idol, “Upstream Fish,” a plain, unflashy pen name, much like the initial impression of the book.
Yet, somehow, its simple narrative kept readers hooked.
Young Idol wasn’t about passionate romance, it chronicled the growth of several teenagers, its multi-threaded storytelling differed from typical youth novels, leaving many readers unaccustomed.
But by the third issue, Little Ni felt Wen Ying’s manuscript was so good that she published 40,000 words at once, bringing Young Idol to 80,000 words total, sparking a small climax.
It wasn’t ordinary or plain at all!
It was a hidden gem of a feel-good story.
Its realistic settings initially masked its appeal.
At 80,000 words, the layered feel-good moments exploded.
Revisiting the first two issues, the descriptions and characters came alive.
So, after Aige’s March issue, with Young Idol’s third instalment, Little Ni told Wen Ying her fanbase had suddenly grown.
Readers expressed love bluntly, voting for their favourites, Aige’s youth magazine included a survey with each issue.
If readers mailed back the survey, they could win small gifts from the magazine.
This made it clear which articles were popular.
Initially, Young Idol had few votes, but after the March issue, they surged!
Readers were eager for the next plot, hoping Aige would allocate more space to Young Idol, some even wrote letters to the magazine, urging “Upstream Fish” to update faster, unaware that once their enthusiasm was clear, the magazine held the upper hand, the more readers loved a serial, the less space it got, a novel’s word count is finite, too many words per issue would end it quickly, reducing the incentive to buy new issues.
So, as Young Idol’s popularity soared, Little Ni decided the April issue would give it only 20,000 words.
If not for the risk of losing readability, Little Ni might’ve cut it to 10,000 words, readers’ positive feedback benefited Wen Ying, starting with the April issue, Aige raised her pay!
For the first 80,000 words, Wen Ying earned 130 yuan per thousand words, netting nearly 7,000 yuan after tax.
From the fourth issue, her rate rose from 130 to 180 yuan per thousand words!
A 30-yuan increase per thousand.
Writing a script for Tianjiao Film, Wen Ying earned 500,000 yuan pre-tax, a 30-yuan rise might seem trivial, but she was thrilled.
The script’s pay included personal connections, it might not be worth 500,000, and that price covered “after-sales” work, as she’d need to be involved during filming.
But Aige’s pay raise was purely merit-based, Little Ni didn’t know her, no one at Aige did, as a newcomer, getting a raise was huge validation!
When Zou Weijun brought up the topic, Wen Ying’s face lit up, summing it up in one line, “I got a pay raise.”
Zou Weijun smiled instantly.
A pay raise?
That must mean good results.
The magazine wanted to keep Wen Ying by raising her pay.
Realising belatedly, Wen Ying said, “Auntie Zou, how did you know it’s on the fourth issue, have you been following my novel?”
Zou Weijun wiped her mouth, nodding with a smile, “Xie Qian recommended it, you have your work, I have mine.”
Wen Ying’s work was writing, Zou Weijun’s was discovering good works.
Xie Qian, exposed by his mum, stayed calm.
He had some selfish motives.
But if Wen Ying’s novel was poor, no matter how much he recommended it, his mum wouldn’t read it.
