Yuan Fenghui was highly skilled at packaging people. A newcomer with modest talent could, under her guidance, rise to a solid eight out of ten, and with Yuan Fenghui’s unmatched confidence when promoting them, that eight could climb even higher.
The portal site representative was very keen on signing Wen Ying. After reviewing the news reports Yuan Fenghui had gathered, their interest peaked: this wasn’t just an ordinary young adult literature writer, she had the potential to drive traffic.
With the portal site interested, Yuan Fenghui finally informed Wen Ying.
Yuan Fenghui mentioned it casually, not revealing how much effort she’d put in. Wen Ying was genuinely stunned, “They’re inviting me to join a blog?”
Wen Ying was more familiar with Weibo.
Personal blogs were the precursor to Weibo.
Once smartphones became widespread and mobile internet grew convenient, personal blogs evolved into Weibo, where people could share their lives anytime. The platform now inviting Wen Ying was the predecessor to the Weibo that dominated other portal sites’ similar products, remaining the top social media platform in China until Wen Ying’s rebirth.
Wen Ying’s silence was misinterpreted by Yuan Fenghui, who thought she had reservations.
“You don’t need to write every day, just post an article every few days. Your book is selling well, don’t waste the online attention. It takes little effort but has a big impact.”
Fans need an outlet to express their admiration for their idols, and the same applies to readers and writers.
If Wen Ying didn’t start a blog, her readers would scatter across online forums, lacking a unifying force, and their loyalty to her would gradually wane.
By starting a blog now, Wen Ying could gather her scattered readers, captivating them with her life updates or glimpses into her inner world, retaining them with her charm. Some readers would become loyal book fans, not just loving one of Wen Ying’s books but Wen Ying herself. This way, her fanbase would grow, transforming her from an ordinary young adult literature writer into a celebrity author.
These words Yuan Fenghui didn’t spell out to Wen Ying, but she indeed wanted to give her a push.
Given Wen Ying’s connection to Tianjiao, her becoming a celebrity author would benefit both Tianjiao and Li Mengjiao.
Yuan Fenghui’s expectations for Wen Ying weren’t about being a literary giant in young adult fiction, such titles were meaningless, neither edible nor drinkable.
A writer’s influence is measured by whether their work gets adapted, how often, and in what forms, from a pragmatic perspective, Yuan Fenghui hoped Wen Ying would become this kind of grounded writer.
Such writers exist in Taiwan, Hong Kong, and the mainland, each wielding immense influence in the Chinese-speaking world.
Yuan Fenghui hadn’t laid it all out yet, wary of putting too much pressure on Wen Ying.
Wen Ying, unaware of Yuan Fenghui’s deeper intentions, was purely surprised, “I really didn’t expect them to invite me.”
The first batch of blog invitees were all celebrities, figures Wen Ying could only look up to in her past life, and now she was suddenly told she was on the list.
Wen Ying thought, no wonder I’m feeling so full of myself, they’re the ones hyping me up.
“So, do you agree or not?”
Yuan Fenghui smiled slyly, tempting Wen Ying like the wolf grandmother luring Little Red Riding Hood, “There’s a signing fee, you know.”
Whenever Yuan Fenghui switched to her Taiwanese accent, Wen Ying got goosebumps.
Of course she’d agree.
Even without a signing fee, Wen Ying wouldn’t refuse, and with one, it was even better.
Wen Ying arranged a meeting time with Yuan Fenghui over the phone, hung up happily, and noticed Xie Qian giving her an inscrutable look.
“Don’t look at me like that, it’s creeping me out.”
Xie Qian held back but couldn’t resist, “Allow me to remind you, it seems you’ve made another decision without informing your parents.”
Oh no.
Wen Ying’s face fell.
“I just got carried away.”
With the blog offer, Wen Ying had indeed gotten ahead of herself, eager to stake her claim.
Xie Qian’s smile, betraying his perfect image, felt to Wen Ying like he was gloating.
Pah, how could she think that of her idol?
Xie Qian definitely wasn’t the type to revel in others’ misfortune.
Wen Ying grovelled, showering Xie Qian with flattery, and after signing several unequal agreements, Xie Qian reluctantly agreed to help her.
No wonder top students are so clever. Xie Qian enlisted his mother, Zou Weijun, to inform Wen Ying’s parents about the matter, framing it as a publicity requirement from the publisher without mentioning Wen Ying had already agreed to the portal site’s invitation. To Chen Ru and Wen Dongrong, writing personal posts online wasn’t a big deal.
Chen Ru cautioned her not to neglect her studies, while Wen Dongrong didn’t even ask.
The couple assumed it was just the publisher needing Wen Ying for promotion, unaware she’d earn a signing fee for joining the blog.
With Xie Qian’s deft maneuvering, Wen Ying smoothly navigated a potential family harmony crisis and secured the signing fee.
The portal site offered Li Mengjiao a signing fee of 800,000 yuan.
Yun Chen’s fee was 600,000 yuan.
Wen Ying’s was 400,000 yuan.
Yuan Fenghui even squeezed Zhang Yangning into the deal, securing 200,000 yuan for him.
Zhang Yangning: This income came out of nowhere.
Wen Ying also found it unexpected. She’d been waiting for the first quarter royalties from Teen Idol to scrape together 2 million yuan for Tianjiao’s second drama, but this windfall let her meet the goal directly.
Wen Ying didn’t mind the 400,000 yuan fee at all. A well-managed blog could yield far more than that, she should be the one paying the portal site for the promotional platform.
This was a huge bargain.
The portal site also felt they’d struck a great deal.
On September 8, the blog officially launched its public beta. Wen Ying opened her personal blog under her real name, with her profile listed as writer, screenwriter.
The portal site went big, launching blogs for many celebrities simultaneously. Wen Ying was the least famous, and though her signing fee was higher than Zhang Yangning’s, her popularity was roughly on par with his, who’d been out of the spotlight for a while, which was already impressive. After all, Zhang Yangning was from the entertainment world, while Wen Ying wasn’t, and writers naturally have less influence than reality show singers.
A few days later, a previously recorded show featuring Li Mengjiao and Yun Chen aired on Hunan Satellite TV.
Filmed before The Princess’s New Clothes premiered, the episode drew extra attention now that Yun Chen had shot to fame, boosted by Li Mengjiao’s popularity.
Halfway through, the host pulled Teen Idol from Li Mengjiao’s bag, and those scenes weren’t cut. Li Mengjiao and Yun Chen played off each other, giving Wen Ying a solid plug.
Wen Ying’s readers: We’re reading the same book as celebrities? Little Fish is killing it.
Li Mengjiao’s fans: Gotta read the same book as Li Mengjiao.
No copy on the shelf yet?
Buy it.
Yun Chen’s female fans: How good is this book if even Yun Chen’s recommending it? Ahhh, who cares, Yun Chen’s so hot, whatever he says is right.
