“Little Uncle, you can’t dodge this. You need to explain yourself clearly.”
Song Shao mercilessly called out Song Foxiang’s evasion, “You can’t just act without considering the consequences. There were plenty of ways to get Little Chan abroad. Why choose this one? You caused a scene at the banquet, and while Zhao Dong suffered a heavy blow, you’ve damaged yourself too. Hurting the enemy a thousand costs you eight hundred. With Chan abroad, what about your job? Little Uncle, these are the questions my dad wants me to ask.”
When this news reached the Song family, Song Shao was as stunned as the elders.
Yet, despite the shock, Song Shao had to admit this was exactly the kind of thing his uncle Song Foxiang would do.
The man was always an untamed breeze, from youth to now, rarely doing anything reliable. The magazine job? Song Foxiang didn’t want it in his younger days. A poet and writer, he felt such rigid roles stifled him. It was only because the Song family warned him that without stable income, he’d lose custody of Song Chan to his ex-wife that he grudgingly took the job.
Thanks to his early fame, he started as deputy editor-in-chief.
A few years later, he outlasted the retiring chief editor and naturally took the top spot.
In the blink of an eye, Song Foxiang had been chief editor for years, with little ambition to innovate. The magazine’s circulation was lukewarm, but he was passably competent.
As long as the magazine didn’t fold, Song Foxiang could have comfortably retired as editor-in-chief.
That was the Song family’s sole expectation for him. At his age, even the wildest breeze should settle.
But Song Foxiang never failed to “deliver”!
Storming the banquet at Verbal at Jinjiang Hotel, with countless eyes watching, admitting to ghostwriting for Zhao Dong… anyone with sense could see the timing was too perfect, right before Zhao Dong’s critical bid.
Zhao Dong’s chance at the bid collapsed, and Song Foxiang’s reputation took a hit too.
There were subtler ways to expose Zhao Dong, like quietly sending evidence to authorities, achieving the same result.
But Song Foxiang chose the most dramatic method, turning the banquet upside down, forcing the hosts to scramble to suppress the news.
To say he did it just to vent anger was an insult to everyone’s intelligence.
First, Zhao Dong had crafted a flawless new image in China. How did Song Foxiang, a magazine editor, get hold of his dirt from across the Pacific?
Second, the timing of his outburst was impeccable. Someone at the banquet must have tipped him off!
Whoever stood to gain most was likely the mastermind.
But digging deeper was pointless. With Zhao Dong out, the Rongcheng government swiftly signed with a major group, finalising the Happy Valley project. Zhao Dong’s brief, flashy moment seemed to catalyse the deal.
The process didn’t matter; what mattered was that Song Foxiang’s reckless behaviour couldn’t be condoned!
Song Foxiang ghostwriting!
He couldn’t stay on as magazine editor-in-chief.
Let inexperienced
Song Foxiang had already considered this.
Magazine editor-in-chief? Who cares!
Song Chan won the New Concept Essay Contest first prize, secured the exchange programme, and her future abroad—university applications included—was all set. By getting beaten and losing his job, Song Foxiang had paved a bright future for his daughter. As a father, he could hold his head high.
But facing his nephew Song Shao, he couldn’t boldly,state
He was proud of his scheme.
But Song Chan wouldn’t approve.
Song Foxiang played the rogue, “Zhao Dong treated me like that, how could I not take revenge? I’d fall ill holding it in! Little Shao, we’re family. Do you want to see me depressed and bedridden?”
He turned the tables, “And where did I fail to plan ahead? I secured Chan’s exchange programme first, then went after Zhao Dong. Tell your dad that!”
Song Shao, “…”
There’s some logic to his nonsense?
Unable to reason with him, Song Shao left him to talk to Song Chan alone.
Song Chan didn’t want to go abroad, but Song Shao persuaded her, “Whatever the reason, it’s done now. If you give up, your dad’s beating was for nothing. If you go and get into a good university abroad, his efforts will mean something.”
Song Foxiang was unreliable, but his plans for Song Chan’s future weren’t bad.
Whatever deals were involved, Song Foxiang got what he wanted.
As for his job… he didn’t care, so why should others worry?
Song Chan accepted it in tears.
Song Foxiang faced a barrage of family criticism, but they all urged her to go abroad.
Not just to go, but to excel!
Then Jiang Xuekun called him in.
Song Foxiang was straightforward, not putting Jiang in a tough spot, “No one’s firing you.”
Jiang’s expression was stern, “Your ghostwriting caused a bad impact. You can’t stay editor-in-chief, but we’re reassigning you.”
Song Foxiang was thrilled, “I’d like to go to Literature Press. With my credentials, a junior editor role should be fine, right?”
Taking down Zhao Dong, securing his daughter’s future, and working with Xiao Zou—what a triple win!
Dream on, pretty boy!
Jiang Xuekun was speechless, “You’ll be a junior editor, but not at Literature Press. You’re going to the newly founded *Spark* magazine!”
Song Foxiang wasn’t incompetent, just lazy.
Jiang Xuekun, aiming to make use of him, assigned him to contribute to the new magazine.
Song Foxiang’s face fell.
Not Literature Press?
“Mr. Jiang, could you reconsider—”
“No.”
Jiang Xuekun shut him down, and Song Foxiang’s eyes were wistful.
His friend Editor Wan visited, envious, “Old Song, after all that mess, you’re not sacked? Mr. Jiang’s too kind to you, and you’re still unhappy about *Spark*? You don’t know your luck!”
Wan wanted to go, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave his *Hush, Little Secrets* series to work under Xiao Zou.
Song Foxiang thought it over and accepted the demotion. It wasn’t much different from Literature Press; he’d still deal with Xiao Zou.
Wen Ying and Xie Qian never expected this turn of events.
Xie Qian: …Feels like I lifted a rock only to drop it on my own foot!
