Wen Dongrong was riding high, but Old Li was down in the dumps.
When Wen Dongrong secured the Party School slot, Old Li knew his promotion was a done deal. Old Li, who’d have to keep working under him as he went from peer to boss, took ages to adjust to Wen Dongrong’s showboating.
If Old Li really wanted to avoid him, he could’ve ignored his calls, but he still picked up.
After enduring countless slights, it was finally Old Li’s turn to gloat: Wen Dongrong had bragged about further studies but failed the exam!
Old Li wanted to roar with laughter.
Heaven had finally opened its eyes!
A talented kid was the kid’s own doing—what did it have to do with you, Wen?
And look, Wen failed the exam.
Hahaha!
Old Li called Wen Dongrong several times that day, asking when he’d return to work, preaching that failure is the mother of success, and tearing into him mercilessly.
For once, Wen Dongrong had no comeback, and Old Li reveled for days.
This “concern” continued until Wen Dongrong got news of the Rongcheng transfer. When Old Li called again, Wen Dongrong’s voice was deliberately heavy, “Old Li, I miss everyone too, eager to get back to the office, but… alas, man plans, and heaven decides!”
In that moment, Old Li’s heart clenched.
What did he mean, not returning to work? Was something gravely wrong with his health? That tone sounded so ominous!
They bickered, sure, but Old Li wanted to outdo Wen Dongrong, not see him struck with a terminal illness. He wasn’t entirely wrong—Wen Dongrong was indeed “sick” with terminal Versailles syndrome, incurable!
Old Li’s worry didn’t soften Wen Dongrong’s blow. When he casually mentioned the transfer, Old Li felt the world’s malice.
*Click.*
Old Li slammed down the phone, lips trembling with rage.
“Wen’s not human… truly not human…”
His chest ached. That night, he got blackout drunk, head pounding, cursing Wen Dongrong at home.
His wife told him to quiet down, and Old Li, aggrieved, held her hand, tearfully listing Wen Dongrong’s sins.
She comforted him, “You don’t like him, and now he’s leaving—you should be happy! Isn’t your unit promoting someone else? Without Wen, don’t you have a shot? That’s great news!”
Old Li, half-drunk, thought it over.
She had a point.
No Wen Dongrong, no more boastful nonsense.
No Wen Dongrong, a chance for him at work.
All good news!
Yet, deep down, Old Li felt a pang of loss.
Wen Dongrong was rushing to a bigger stage, while he’d stay put. Wouldn’t the gap between them only widen?
Sure, Wen was annoying, but his blatant flaws made him more genuine than others at work.
*Ugh, I must’ve drunk fake liquor to miss Wen Dongrong!*
Wen Dongrong, too, felt smug after Old Li hung up, but a hint of reluctance crept in.
As the saying goes, people climb higher, water flows lower. As long as you’re not in a coffin, you shouldn’t stop chasing a better life. Wen Dongrong craved a bigger platform… but did moving forward mean leaving the past behind entirely?
Without Old Li, who’d he brag to?
What then?
Drag Old Li along to the new job?!
*That’d be letting Old Li win without trying!*
If Wen Ying knew her dad’s mindset, she’d mock him mercilessly: *Arranging a job for Old Li? Typical cluelessness—Dad doesn’t even know if he’ll stand firm in his new role!*
In a blink, it was December 15, the deadline for the first cycle of the *Spark Cup* short-story competition.
*Spark*’s first issue launched on November 15, so readers likely got it after that. Factoring in writing and mailing time, the first cycle was tight, seemingly a disadvantage. Xiao Ni figured real pros would take more time, not rushing the first cycle… but she was too young!
By December 15, over 10,000 short-story submissions had arrived!
Yes, the first cycle’s timeline was tight.
But precisely because time was short, most submissions wouldn’t be top-tier, making quality ones stand out more. Smart writers played the timing game, submitting early. If selected, it was a bonus; if not, just a form and stamp lost—low risk, high reward!
Some, fearing they’d miss the deadline, even used registered mail.
All competition planners gathered, led by Xiao Ni, with Wen Ying and others following.
“So many in the first cycle,” Xiao Ni said.
The office door opened, revealing stacks of submissions.
From the first submission, Xiao Ni had them registered, and the magazine cleared a large office to store them, preventing losses.
Over 10,000 short-story entries, neatly stacked in bins, created a striking visual when Xiao Ni opened the door.
Wen Ying, seeing the piles, felt deep satisfaction.
The competition was her idea, but its execution relied on everyone’s efforts.
Writing was her dream. In this second life, not only could she chase her own, but others had a path to theirs too. No wonder old Wen loved showing off—spiritual fulfillment sometimes trumped financial gain!
The core team was eclectic: a publishing house editor-in-chief, a housewife, a top film agent, a student like her, a drama screenwriter, magazine editors, and a promo video star.
Yet this motley crew pulled off a legit competition, gathering to review the first phase’s results!
Even Wen Ying was moved, and Mrs. Wang, the amateur who just wanted to connect with Xie Qian’s mom, was speechless.
*This is the competition I sponsored? Started to network with Xie Qian’s mom, and it turned into this huge deal!*
Song Foxiang, lingering at the back, peeked in. A former magazine editor-in-chief, he’d never seen so many submissions in a year at his old job. No wonder—it was the competition’s massive momentum.
“Over 10,000 in the first cycle? Four cycles could hit 50,000!” Song Foxiang muttered.
The New Concept Essay Contest got about that many submissions!
Could *Spark* really outdo *Sprout*?
