There are so many books in the bookstore, yet you chose *Teen Idol*.
There are so many dramas on TV, yet you’re hooked on *The Princess’s New Clothes*.
You love the book, and you’re enjoying the drama, but at first, you didn’t realise the book’s author is also the drama’s screenwriter. When this fact dawns on you, the surprise feels like fate, like destiny!
Two loves combined, “1+1” is definitely greater than 2!
It’s a bit like a crush, where the deepening feelings mostly come from your own imagination, and you’re already moved to tears before the other person even knows.
It all started with a male reader who doesn’t watch dramas. He got hooked on *Teen Idol* when it was blowing up on Tianya. He usually doesn’t watch TV, but his sister hogged the remote, so he watched two episodes with her and noticed the screenwriter was “Wen Ying”—poor Zhang Guangzhen, whose name was listed first, was completely overlooked by this reader.
This male reader compiled his findings into a forum post, which quickly racked up countless replies, leading readers to flood Wen Ying’s blog with comments seeking confirmation.
Though they knew Wen Ying’s real name, readers preferred calling her “Little Fish,” which felt more intimate.
Older readers were pretty chill, not too aggressive, but new readers, converted from Li Mengjiao and Yun Chen’s fans or drama viewers, were a different story.
These new readers discovered a treasure and dug in eagerly, growing happier with each find. Soon, they unearthed the defamation lawsuit over *Teen Idol*.
Wen Ying wasn’t always online to respond to readers’ questions, so the post kept brewing. As more people commented, the discussion shifted from gleefully unmasking Wen Ying’s identity to focusing on the lawsuit’s progress.
“Upstream Fish” won the defamation lawsuit, with the court ruling that *Aige* magazine must publish an apology in its October issue, and Han Qin must apologise too.
The October issue hadn’t hit shelves yet, so no apology from the magazine, which was understandable.
But had Han Qin apologised?
Her ugly behavior during the anonymous forum smear campaign was still fresh in everyone’s minds. “Upstream Fish” had used the ID “Little Fish Herself” to urge restraint, but Han Qin, the editor-in-chief, didn’t budge, her arrogance palpable even through the screen.
Spreading rumors is easy, but clearing your name is exhausting. To protect her reputation, Little Fish took up legal weapons.
Now that the lawsuit was won and the verdict published, why hadn’t Editor Han apologised?
Someone in the thread explained that after a first-instance ruling, the magazine and Han Qin could appeal. If they didn’t accept the verdict, they wouldn’t need to apologise.
“No way!”
“Talk about thick-skinned!”
“Admitting fault would at least show some integrity.”
“Has Han Qin apologised? When will Han Qin apologise?”
Zou Weijun and Wen Ying hadn’t even hired a PR team, yet the topic gained traction. Luckily, this was the blog era, not Weibo, or #HanQinApologize would likely have trended.
Readers blasted Han Qin for staying silent like a coward, unaware that Han Qin was in a bind, unable to speak out.
*Teen Idol*’s second reprint was Zou Weijun’s achievement but also Han Qin’s failure.
Her superiors repeatedly asked Han Qin why she let “Upstream Fish” slip away. Unable to handle the pressure, her boss threw her under the bus.
The answer was obvious: Han Qin’s arrogance at work.
By now, Han Qin couldn’t undo her mistake. She just wanted to hold her ground and not let Little Fish win the lawsuit.
Back when Han Qin was editor-in-chief, even without Xiong, she could hire lawyers like Du Li.
That was because Zhao Dong wanted to stir trouble for Wen Ying and helped arrange it. But after the first ruling, with Han Qin demoted from editor-in-chief, Zhao Dong washed his hands of her.
A prominent overseas businessman associating with a mere proofreader? That’d be beneath him!
It wasn’t just Zhao Dong being snobbish. Without her editor-in-chief title, Han Qin’s years of networking crumbled. When she tried to hire Xiong again, he’d already been burned by her and avoided her.
Little Fish didn’t just sue Han Qin but also the magazine. As Han Qin scrambled like a headless fly, the magazine stepped in, hiring a renowned local lawyer to defend them.
In this case, the magazine’s contracted author who bribed Little Fish was a key witness. If the witness faltered, the entire evidence chain would collapse.
The author became critical.
The lawyer asked Han Qin about the situation, and she replied flatly, “She’s an author the magazine heavily supports. She knows what to say in court.”
Was this a promise of benefits to the author?
The lawyer thought it wasn’t enough.
Verbal promises might not convince the author.
If it were foolproof, Ni Sisi wouldn’t have sued Han Qin and the magazine.
“Don’t let this witness become another Ni Sisi.”
The lawyer wouldn’t coach Han Qin to bribe a witness for perjury, but Han Qin caught the subtext.
She still had some savings, money she’d have to spend to buy peace.
On the court date, a steady autumn rain fell.
Little Fish and Zheng Zhihe met the witness Han Qin had brought.
This female author, older than Wen Ying, was married with kids and a literature enthusiast. Before *Aige* launched, she wrote for other magazines. Her pen name was familiar to some readers, but her work didn’t leave a strong impression.
In terms of success, she wasn’t on Wen Ying’s level—not for lack of skill but because her talent wasn’t exceptional, and she lacked the luck to break out, gradually fading into mediocrity.
Yet the magazine, and the broader literary world, relied on such mid- and lower-tier authors. Little Fish felt this author was diligent and earnest in her writing. They became friends, exchanging gifts.
