Petty-minded, making himself sick with anger.
Or perhaps too concerned with saving face, pretending to be ill to dodge public pressure?
Maybe even feigning sickness to play the victim, condemning the public’s overzealous reaction.
Which reason was it, or perhaps a mix of them all?
Old Fu, with all his years, could guess any motive, but he refused to play along or indulge the other side. So, he simply sent a fruit basket.
Sick, are you?
Rest up, then.
A fruit basket was generous enough. Old Fu, older than the other by a few years, couldn’t be expected to travel to the hospital himself!
But Yuan Fenghui, on a business trip, made a detour to the hospital. Following Old Fu’s lead, she brought a fruit basket and introduced herself outside the ward. The veteran writer refused to see her. Yuan Fenghui, unfazed, handed the basket to his family, asking them to pass on her regards: “Thank you for your attention to our competition. Without you, we wouldn’t have such a buzz. Please take care of yourself. The competition lasts six months, and we hope for your speedy recovery~”
He wrote a few critical articles, failing to suppress the competition or Wen Ying, instead boosting their fame. A selfless hero like him, sacrificing his reputation, must recover quickly to keep shining!
The veteran’s family nearly broke down on the spot.
What kind of person was this, with such a sharp tongue!
Old Fu and Yuan Fenghui’s fruit baskets stripped the mountain bare of bamboo shoots.
Yuan Fenghui didn’t care what the family thought.
When that stubborn old man named and shamed Wen Ying, did he consider the pressure it put on her or the hurt to her family? Clearly not.
Can’t handle a bit of mockery?
Heh.
Better build some mental resilience in that hospital bed. Unless he stays there until death, he’ll face the public again someday. This wasn’t something a hospital stay could dodge. Even after the competition, as long as Wen Ying remained active in literature, every time the old man surfaced, people would recall this saga. Actions leave lasting marks.
How long would Wen Ying stay in the literary world? Yuan Fenghui believed it would be a very long time. Wen Ying, a smart and lovely young woman, had many paths to success, some easier than writing. Yet she chose writing, showing her true passion.
With talent and persistence, she’d go far on this path.
That old stubborn fool in the hospital picked the wrong target.
He thought Wen Ying was a soft persimmon, but he grabbed a hedgehog. Wen Ying’s spines weren’t her own. Her success was tied to Rongcheng Publishing Group’s promotion and Yuan Fenghui’s hype. Her interests were theirs too. How could they let her be ruined by public opinion?
Yuan Fenghui’s presence was commanding.
The veteran’s family reluctantly brought the fruit basket into the ward.
Moments later, it was thrown out, fruits rolling everywhere, accompanied by curses.
An apple rolled to Yuan Fenghui’s feet.
She picked up the bruised fruit, smiling wryly at the family by the door. “Your elder stressed a writer’s frugal lifestyle in his work. Wasting fruit isn’t great, is it? And at his age, such a temper isn’t good for health.”
Her words left the family flushed with embarrassment, silencing the curses from the ward.
Only after Yuan Fenghui left did the family return inside.
“She’s finally gone.”
In the ward, an old man lay red-faced. Hearing Yuan Fenghui had left, he unleashed his pent-up emotions, cursing under his breath.
“Too far…”
“That Fu guy acts so lofty, but bows to money and takes shots at others!”
“And this—what’s her name?”
“Yuan Fenghui, from Tianjiao Films.”
“A film company meddling in literature? Absurd, utterly absurd! And you lot are useless, can’t even stop a woman!”
The family exchanged glances.
Honestly, they didn’t understand why the old man was so enraged.
Old Fu was right. Times have changed, and young writers are earning well.
But it’s not just Upstream Fish making money. Why fixate on her?
Now netizens were harsh, calling Old Fu a true literary elder, broad-minded and nurturing, while their elder was the opposite. If only he’d emulated Old Fu and been a gracious senior.
The family tried劝说, but hit the old man’s pride.
“You just wish you were Fu’s kids!”
The old man, neck stiff, tried to get out of bed to lash out. Rising too fast, he swayed, opened his mouth to curse, but his throat rasped as if choking on a walnut, unable to form words. His face turned red-purple, neck swollen, veins bulging, and he collapsed backward.
The family panicked, some rushing to support him, others calling for doctors. The ward descended into chaos, the shattered fruit basket and scattered fruits seeming to mock the mess.
…
After emergency treatment, the veteran writer’s life was saved, but he faced lasting aftereffects.
As Old Fu and Yuan Fenghui advised, a bad temper at his age was trouble. A surge of emotion brought on a real illness.
What started as a feigned sickness became genuine.
The family gave interviews, hoping to garner sympathy with his condition. Aside from a few overly empathetic souls, most netizens didn’t buy it. They were more worried about Little Fish.
From the start of the anti-Fish wave, Wen Ying hadn’t given interviews or defended herself.
The veteran couldn’t handle a bit of online criticism and fell ill. What about Little Fish?
She’d been bashed for a long time.
If an old man’s body couldn’t take criticism, could a young person’s mind?
Readers lost interest in targeting stubborn trolls. They were concerned for Little Fish.
Some speculated Wen Ying might play the victim for sympathy, but her next blog post was a photo.
In *Spark* magazine’s office, Wen Ying and Zhang Guangzhen reviewed manuscripts, stacks of submissions piling high.
The photo, taken by Little Minnow, was captioned simply: “Always working.”
—Criticise or praise, I’ll do my work. I’m neither depressed by criticism nor floating from praise. Quiet work is my stance!
