There’s no need to compete within a family; no one truly wins an argument.
But Wen Ying had retreated step by step until there was nowhere left to go.
To become the obedient daughter Chen Ru wanted, she’d have to smooth out all her edges. She couldn’t do it in her past life, and she couldn’t do it now.
Everyone has roles in family and society.
Wen Ying’s family role was “daughter,” but beyond that, she was first an individual!
She was willing to meet her parents’ expectations, bring them pride, and repay their upbringing, but not at the cost of losing herself entirely, becoming a compliant puppet.
She wasn’t a display piece in a shop window!
Wen Ying wasn’t hypocritical.
She didn’t expect her parents to sacrifice everything for her either.
Chen Ru was a mother, a wife, but first, she should be “Chen Ru.” Wen Ying wanted her to be “Manager Chen”!
Like Aunt Wu Chunqin in Shanghai, wasn’t that great?
Though Wen Ying never married in her past life, if she became a mother, she wouldn’t push her child to strive relentlessly—people shouldn’t pin hopes on others, even their own kids. Expecting a child to rank first was less practical than aiming to be a billionaire or industry leader herself.
In her past life, Wen Ying loathed the phrase, “Don’t compare clothes or food with classmates, compare studies!”
For families impoverished by illness, fine, but some parents were lazy, never working, always gambling, then shamelessly delaying tuition payments… It was the kids, not the parents, called out by teachers for unpaid fees, with no regard for their dignity.
Compare studies? Without basic material support, study on an empty stomach?
Chen Ru and Wen Dongrong were far better, never letting Wen Ying lack necessities. She didn’t live like a rich kid, but never worried about tuition or living expenses. In this, they were good parents.
But having provided material care, they always wanted more in return. Their “hoping for a phoenix daughter” once pressured Wen Ying immensely.
She understood her mother’s hopes but couldn’t live solely for them.
“Uncle, I’ve promised my mom that if I can’t get into a top university through my own efforts, I’ll take the reduced-score admission route. I won the New Concept Essay Contest’s first prize, qualifying for reduced-score policies at good universities, some requiring only the first-tier scoreline… Such a low bar, if my mom checked our school’s past admission rates, she’d know I’d definitely make it!”
In the provincial key school’s experimental class, failing the first-tier line would make Wen Ying as bad as Wang Shuang!
But Wen Ying wasn’t content with the first-tier line or keen on reduced-score admission. It was just a fallback to ease Chen Ru’s mind.
Her grades were steadily improving.
She had over two years left.
Who said she couldn’t get into a top university?
Or, as she progressed, had Chen Ru raised her expectations, insisting on the top two universities?
Or was it simply that Chen Ru couldn’t accept her growing financial independence and slipping control?
Step back once, twice, and she’d be back at square one, the timid Wen Ying who obeyed her parents in everything. This time, she drew a line and wouldn’t retreat!
Wen Ying was resolute, leaving Deng Shangwei at a loss for how to persuade her.
Since she’d made such a promise, the mother-daughter cold war wasn’t just about grades.
Maybe Chen Ru wanted her to stop running the shop?
Wen Ying barely managed the shop anymore. Yang Xi, whom she hired, was capable, young but street-smart, a former delinquent who could handle any situation. Yao Mei, who once idolized Wen Ying, now admired Yang Xi after working briefly.
Screenwriting… Deng Shangwei still thought, if he had a daughter who could write scripts, he’d give her the stars, not the moon!
Writing for magazines wasn’t shady either.
Wen Ying didn’t write during class or get called out for missing homework, showing she managed her time well.
The only contentious issue was her frequent visits to Tianjiao Film Company.
Li Mengjiao was aiming to be a star, and Wen Ying tagged along.
“What’s your plan? Want to enter the entertainment industry?” Deng Shangwei asked.
Their family couldn’t match Li Mengjiao’s.
Money aside, Li Zhentao’s connections were unmatched by wealth.
But if Wen Ying wanted to be a star, Deng Shangwei felt he’d have to sell a kidney to support her.
A few million in the entertainment industry wouldn’t make a splash.
Tens of millions might give her a shot.
Though it still wouldn’t guarantee safety, it’d at least let her reject “conditional” opportunities.
But tens of millions were so hard to earn!
Just thinking about it exhausted Deng Shangwei.
Thankfully, Wen Ying denied his guess, sparing his kidney, “Of course I don’t want to enter the entertainment industry. I’m not like Li Mengjiao, talented in singing or dancing, and I’m not interested in acting. I follow her around because this industry’s an easy way to make money. Tianjiao invested in a drama for Li Mengjiao, wrapping soon. Uncle, with her current popularity, think the drama could lose money?”
Deng Shangwei, an outsider, thought it unlikely to lose.
He didn’t know the entertainment industry but understood business.
Li Mengjiao was hot right now, making her debut drama a rare commodity.
Whether audiences liked it would be clear after airing, but TV stations would need to pay a high price to buy it!
But whether Tianjiao’s drama made money, what did that have to do with Wen Ying?
Would they share profits with the screenwriter… Deng Shangwei had a bad feeling.
“Uncle, I’ll let you in on a secret. I invested 500,000 in Tianjiao’s drama! I have to be there for promotions. The selling price directly affects my returns!”
Chen Ru and Wen Dongrong didn’t know. Wen Ying, holding it in for a while, was eager to tell Deng Shangwei.
He was stunned, “What? You invested 500,000? Where’d you get 500,000?”
Deng Shangwei knew Wen Ying’s finances well, supplying “Shrimp King” and aware its profits went to starting the company.
Her screenwriting fees bought Wen Dongrong a second-hand car, didn’t they?
That second-hand Fukang, which Deng Shangwei helped purchase, cost over 40,000 with paperwork!
“My screenwriting fees,” Wen Ying said.
An original script sold for 500,000.
Revising Zhang Guangzhen’s script earned 100,000.
After securing Li Mengjiao’s endorsement, Yuan Fenghui gave her a 50,000 bonus.
Plus a 3,000 monthly part-time salary.
The more she thought, the more Tianjiao Film felt like a docile sheep, shedding money with every tug. Wen Ying believed Deng Shangwei, her uncle, would understand the joy of shearing wool.
Wen Ying was thrilled, but Deng Shangwei was dumbfounded.
Screenwriting paid that much?!
“Have you told your parents about this…” he asked cautiously, his unease growing.
“Of course not. Uncle, you’re the first to know. Aren’t you touched?”
Touched?
—I’m too scared to move!
