Public perception of authors has long been shaped by ingrained stereotypes.
An author with poor character cannot produce good work.
As for what an author’s or literati’s character should be, classics like On the Lotus and Inscription on a Humble Dwelling have provided answers, deeply embedded in people’s minds.
Take a slick middle-aged person like Song Foxiang—his smidgen of scholarly integrity lets people overlook his flaws, not hindering his romantic conquests.
Against the Current Fish could have delayed publishing for any reason, but using it to demand higher fees? Readers would not accept that.
A money-grubbing author is no author at all.
This is not the future era of rampant social media; traditional media still rules public opinion. Print media holds high credibility among readers. Not just youth literature like Aige, even gossip rags have loyal followings. Paparazzi sometimes fabricate stories for sales, like a Hong Kong superstar dying yearly, forcing him to hold press conferences to prove he is alive.
A superstar can clarify with a conference, but what could a small author like Against the Current Fish do?
Han Qin’s move was not just to annoy Wen Ying and Zou Weijun—she aimed to ruin the pen name Against the Current Fish and cast a shadow over the unpublished Youth Idol.
Aige would never work with Against the Current Fish again, and other similar magazines would hesitate to accept submissions under that name, fearing a repeat of Aige’s fate.
Changing pen names was an option.
But what about Youth Idol?
Its first 180,000 words were serialized in the magazine, already public. Even with a new title, readers would recognize it.
Zou Weijun doubted this was Aige’s editorial team’s idea. A magazine with decent circulation would not be so petty, would it?
But with Han Qin stirring the pot, the magazine’s dissatisfaction with Wen Ying made sense.
Zou Weijun had been monitoring Aige and noticed the termination statement immediately, while Wen Ying, holed up writing, was oblivious to the outside world.
Though Zou Weijun set a July 15 deadline, Wen Ying wanted to finish early for multiple revisions. The story’s core would not change, but details improved with each edit.
Knowing Wen Ying was in seclusion, Zou Weijun did not inform her right away about Aige’s statement. Instead, she tried contacting the magazine again—same as before, either no answer or a hang-up after she introduced herself.
Zou Weijun went straight to her department head.
The leader, reading the termination statement, frowned deeply, “Xiao Zou, is there some misunderstanding?”
They were peers, and poaching was normal. Whichever publisher offered better terms won the author—industry rules.
If you cannot offer top money, at least play the emotional card.
Failing both, how could you blame the author for signing elsewhere?
Authors are human, with normal emotions.
The leader was pleased Zou Weijun snatched Youth Idol from Aige—Xiao Zou’s drive should be aimed outward. Without a channel for her energy, she would turn on her own team.
Competition has winners and losers. Zou Weijun won, Aige lost… but this lack of grace from the magazine irked the leader.
Youth Idol was signed, and the publishing department was banking on it selling big. A million copies was a stretch, but over 100,000 would be a solid win for the year!
Aige’s statement was not just about smearing Against the Current Fish—it aimed to sabotage Youth Idol’s launch!
Zou Weijun laid out the context, and the leader’s frown deepened, tight enough to crush a fly.
“They cannot have the last word!”
Zou Weijun relaxed, relieved the leader was not dodging trouble by scrapping Youth Idol. Since only planning was done and no payment made to Wen Ying, abandoning it would have cost little.
“You are right! They cannot control the narrative. Youth Idol is our key project. Their statement could make readers reject it before it even hits shelves!”
Aige was not the only one who could issue statements.
Aige was backed by Shandong Publishing Group, a regional media giant like Rongcheng Publishing Group.
Zou Weijun wanted the department to give Wen Ying a platform to respond, not let Aige dictate the story.
“Plus, I want to sue Aige on the author’s behalf for defamation!”
The leader nodded gravely, “Sue them, make them pay!”
Just as he had said, Xiao Zou needed an outlet to fight outsiders, better than her battling internally.
Xiao Zou was the type to report colleagues for harassment on a whim. Aige trying to smear her signed author was practically begging her to roll up her sleeves.
Satisfied, Zou Weijun left the leader’s office, magazine in hand.
Since reporting Song Foxiang and Editor Wan, her work at the publishing department had oddly smoothed out.
She had not noticed the leader being so agreeable before.
Her heels clicked as Editor Wan, sporting his balding Mediterranean hairstyle, sidled up obsequiously, “Xiao Zou, trouble? We are colleagues, I can help!”
Seeing his shiny scalp, Zou Weijun stayed wary.
Wan swore he meant no harm, “I just want to make up for last time, honestly, no bad intentions.”
Wan had learned Zou Weijun’s background from Song Foxiang.
Song did not fear Boss Xie, but Wan lacked his confidence.
Wan had been itching to atone for his past blunder, and Aige was a golden opportunity.
“Xiao Zou, I am older, more experienced—not to pull rank, but this is a golden chance! How did your Whispering Secrets blow up? Why not run the same playbook for Youth Idol? Thank Aige for their meltdown—they have built the stage for us to perform!”
Not only did they set the stage, but Aige also played the fool, sacrificing itself for Xiao Zou’s career.
