Xie Qian was right—deliberately pleasing Old Fu is tough because too many people try!
Critics shout that literature is dead, but only they know if it’s truly dead in reality.
As for Old Fu’s influence, setting aside pragmatism, his guidance can greatly elevate a writer’s craft. With pragmatism, his impact is even bigger—if he chooses, he can hold public endorsement events for young writers. A few such events, backed by literary giants, can rocket an obscure young author to mainstream acceptance, reaping both fame and fortune!
Take Song Chan: joining the Writers’ Association young, publishing a book, winning first prize in the New Concept Essay Contest—all thanks to her father, Song Foxiang, a magazine editor. Old Fu’s influence in China’s literary world is like a hundred Song Foxiangs combined.
Fame and fortune, Old Fu can grant both. Countless young writers and middle-aged authors feeling overlooked vie to win his favor!
What sets Wen Ying apart?
Before meeting Old Fu, she already had fame, and he genuinely admired her work. So, Wen Ying’s meeting wasn’t about chasing his resources—she truly sought his guidance.
They say writing is solitary. Technique helps, but it alone doesn’t make a writer. Each work has its own vitality. Sometimes, years of study yield no breakthrough; other times, a few words of advice open new horizons!
Xie Qian’s words calmed Wen Ying. She decided to focus on her new book when meeting Old Fu.
*Teen Idol* was still selling hot and would for a while. As a high school sophomore, Wen Ying could coast on one bestseller for life, like many writers. But knowing the future, she had to seize the golden years of print media. Only by planning now could she build a vast cultural empire later.
Her future, Xie Qian’s escape from his original fate, her creative dreams—all intertwined, pushing her to write new works!
On the day of the meeting, Zou Weijun offered to accompany her, but Old Fu politely sent her away, leaving only Wen Ying and Xie Qian.
Old Fu acted as if he’d never met Xie Qian, focusing entirely on Wen Ying. His first impression: she had spirit.
The girl looked gentle, but her eyes held a sharp, hidden edge—not someone to mess with.
Fascinating. During the public attacks, she held back from retaliating?
“They criticized you. Weren’t you angry?”
Old Fu got straight to the point, catching Wen Ying off guard. She mumbled, “Why should I be angry? They criticize me because they’re not as good as me.”
Her candidness showed she meant it. Xie Qian, beside her, didn’t stop her, clearly agreeing. Old Fu chuckled.
“You’re very confident!”
Wen Ying blushed but stood her ground. “I don’t care what others think. I won’t belittle myself. I don’t mean their skills are inferior, but their character and vision. If I were them, I wouldn’t vent anger by attacking others. I’d channel shame into effort, catch up!”
Nervous before, she spoke freely now in front of Old Fu.
Xie Qian smiled.
Classic hamster.
Old Fu glanced at Xie Qian, humming softly. “Character and vision aren’t like grades you can see on paper. Character takes time to know; vision shows in action. I don’t want to hear this. Tell me about your new book. Little Zou said you’re planning one.”
As expected!
Old Fu cared not about Wen Ying’s personality but her creative plans.
*Teen Idol* made her famous, bringing hefty royalties. Old Fu estimated, with its sales and momentum, Wen Ying could earn millions.
Millions—not thousands or tens of thousands. Most writers never see such money. Even adults might lose themselves to such wealth.
Money brings temptations, plus fame’s endless invitations. Why do many writers have just one hit? It’s not unwillingness to write but a lack of follow-through. Creating better work after fame is hard.
Are there such writers?
Plenty.
Those who consistently produce quality work aren’t just bestseller authors—they’re called literary masters!
Wen Ying was a bestseller author now, but Old Fu saw her as a potential master.
Realizing this, Xie Qian’s throat stopped itching.
If Old Fu could guide the hamster toward “literary master,” reading *Teen Idol* once was nothing. For every book she wrote, Xie Qian would read it aloud to Old Fu.
Just needed full emotion, right?
Emotion can be mustered.
Xie Qian hid his thoughts as Wen Ying began sharing her plans with Old Fu.
*Teen Idol* pegged her as a youth literature writer, a fresh take on campus stories. To play it safe, she could write a sequel—its multiple storylines and popular characters had more to tell, and the market would eat it up.
But Wen Ying wasn’t planning a *Teen Idol* sequel or even another campus story. Her next project wasn’t a single novel but a series, centered on the Nine Cauldrons of China, blending Chinese mythology and history into a fantastical adventure!
Old Fu started listening casually but grew serious.
This series had a grand scope.
Even established authors rarely tackled such expansive series, let alone a young writer like Wen Ying.
China’s mythology is a treasure trove. Classics like *Investiture of the Gods* or *Journey to the West* draw from it. A single myth could fuel a book. Wen Ying writing one novel wouldn’t surprise Old Fu.
But a whole series?
This girl’s ambition was huge, and he hadn’t misjudged her.
Far from disliking her “grand plan,” Old Fu was intrigued.
Small-scale romance is easy to write, but sticking to it narrows a writer’s vision and scope.
Old Fu didn’t mind Wen Ying’s ambition in her craft. He feared she’d stay in the rut of youth campus stories, unable to break free!
“If you need help, just ask.”
