Old Li’s indignation brought Wen Dongrong particular delight.
Wen Dongrong wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he knew that outshining Old Li to secure the training opportunity owed something to Wen Ying’s influence.
Because Wen Ying had made a name for herself, Wen Dongrong repeatedly gained attention at work. With his own solid abilities, a few extra moments in the spotlight naturally made him stand out.
Returning the favour, Wen Dongrong began paying attention to media reviews of the essay competition.
Several media outlets, as if in agreement, fixated on the “200,000 yuan prize,” expressing concern that the organiser was setting a bad precedent, that innovation was fine, but writing shouldn’t be just for money—what utter nonsense!
These days, a small street stall could earn a decent sum, and big business tycoons had billions in wealth. Yet, no one suggested rounding up the tycoons and confiscating their fortunes.
So, of the 365 trades, every one could produce a champion, but writers weren’t allowed to be wealthy?
Did a rich writer somehow mean they couldn’t produce good work, as if a writer’s poverty was a sacred rule, and breaking it was like desecrating someone’s ancestral grave?
“Cultural prosperity reflects societal progress. These people know nothing!”
Wen Dongrong not only cursed to himself but was itching to write an article to spar with those media critics.
Before he could act, a more zealous critic emerged, taking on several opponents at once, verbally thrashing the commentators fixated on the “200,000 yuan prize.” The back-and-forth made the essay competition a daily feature in the newspapers.
This bold warrior, neither hiding nor changing their name, was none other than Song the Great Writer.
After seeing his daughter Song Chan off on her flight abroad, Song Foxiang felt an emptiness in his heart.
Often, parents think children can’t live without them, but in truth, parents rely on their children psychologically. Children studying abroad are like birds freed from a cage, brimming with joy, while Song Foxiang found everything lacklustre.
He wanted to be a salted fish and lie low, but Little Ni was watching him.
Little Ni was puzzled. How could someone who was once an editor-in-chief now settle for being a junior editor?
Leaving aside the drop in workplace status, the income was a huge step down. It seemed Song the Editor wasn’t short of money!
Spurred by the young colleague’s remark, Song Foxiang snapped to attention.
Of course he was short of money. Though someone was covering Song Chan’s study abroad expenses, they wouldn’t provide her with a high-quality lifestyle. For her to live comfortably overseas, Song Foxiang had to dig into his own pockets.
Thinking of this, Song Foxiang could no longer play the salted fish.
The old salted fish straightened up, lashing out at anyone, displaying remarkable combativeness.
“Old Song, is this your career’s second spring?”
His old friend, Editor Wan, spoke with a hint of envy.
Editor Wan thought to himself: I’ve long known *Spark* magazine had great potential. I wanted to join but couldn’t let go of the hit series *Hush, Little Secret*. Old Song, demoted as he was, got lucky!
Song Foxiang scoffed, “Second spring? This is just the old trick we used before. Those media fools are clueless, offering free publicity for the essay competition. Of course, I’ll make the most of it!”
He was referring to the early promotion of *Teen Idol*. Criticism breeds attention.
Those who once bashed the book, writing reviews for meagre fees, ended up making it a bestseller. In the first three months, it sold over 500,000 copies, earning Wen Ying over two million yuan in royalties!
This time, too, with all the criticism, once the promotional video aired, Little Ni said *Teen Idol* was set for another reprint.
Riding the wave of the essay competition, *Teen Idol* could easily sell over a million copies!
Thinking of this, Song Foxiang felt a twinge of unease and explained to his friend, “I’m not sticking my neck out for anyone in particular. It’s for work!”
Editor Wan glanced at him. “You think people will buy that? Someone called me yesterday, asking if you’re related to Against-the-Flow Fish. They said every time Fish is caught in a media storm, you react fiercely. They reckon Fish will leap the dragon’s gate sooner or later. Your behaviour fits a nickname they’ve got for you… oh, what was it? Right, Prime Minister Song.”
Editor Wan struggled to stifle his laughter, his bald head gleaming. Song Foxiang was furious.
So, Wen Ying was the dragon poised to leap the gate, and he was the turtle prime minister guarding the dragon palace?
Song Foxiang was unhappy with his friend’s snide nickname, unaware that Wen Dongrong, reading the papers over the past two days, was equally annoyed with him.
“What kind of person is this? No relation at all, yet so quick and eager to jump in. For a few article fees? You critics get excited over nothing!”
As Wen Dongrong grumbled, his phone rang.
It was Deng Shangwei calling.
Wen Dongrong assumed Deng Shangwei was off to the countryside for another charity mission, but Deng had something else to say.
“Brother-in-law, I saw Little Ying’s eldest aunt… You’d better come see for yourself. I can’t explain it in a few words.”
…
By the time Wen Dongrong arrived, it was afternoon. Entering November, the weather was cool, with steady autumn rain. Wen Dongrong wore a jacket.
Deng Shangwei hadn’t waited in place, as Zhu Meiqun kept moving around, and he followed at a leisurely pace.
When Wen Dongrong arrived, Deng Shangwei sighed in relief.
“I saw her out of the blue and thought I’d mistaken her. Doesn’t Little Ying’s eldest aunt have a proper job?”
Zhu Meiqun wasn’t highly educated but wasn’t illiterate either. She’d been a skilled factory worker for over a decade.
Today wasn’t the weekend, so Zhu Meiqun should have been at work. Even if she wasn’t, she shouldn’t be selling roasted sweet potatoes on the streets of Rongcheng!
Indeed, across the street, Zhu Meiqun stood by a tricycle with a sweet potato roasting oven, selecting potatoes for customers.
In the drizzly weather, the aroma of roasted sweet potatoes wafted half a street away when she opened the oven lid. The weather was perfect for a hot snack, so her business was brisk, with several customers crowding around. Zhu Meiqun, busy selecting potatoes and giving change, was a bit flustered.
Wen Dongrong thought to himself, her movements are clumsy. She’s clearly new to this.
“Brother-in-law, aren’t you going to ask her?”
Deng Shangwei was relieved to have someone in charge arrive.
But Wen Dongrong stayed put. “No need to ask.”
Ask what, on a public street? That was his sister-in-law, not a subordinate who’d made a mistake.
If he had to ask, he wouldn’t ask Zhu Meiqun.
Was his brother’s family short of money, or had something gone wrong with her job?
Why hadn’t they told him?
He might have given up on his sister Wen Hongyan’s family, hurt by their actions, but he never said he’d abandon the rest of the Wen family!
If they were truly in trouble, could he just stand by and do nothing?
On the way back, Wen Dongrong was quiet, his joy from outdoing Old Li and his colleagues for the Party School opportunity fading.
When they parted at the neighbourhood entrance, Deng Shangwei didn’t pry, only saying to call if Wen Dongrong needed help.
“Alright, I’ll look into it. If I need your help, I won’t hesitate.”
In the past, Wen Dongrong would never have said this, never asking Deng Shangwei for anything.
But now, it felt natural.
The Wen family were relatives, and Deng Shangwei was family too. After years as brothers-in-law, Wen Dongrong had only recently begun to see Deng Shangwei as one of his own.
