Song Foxiang looked at Wen Ying with pleading eyes, full of longing.
In his entire life, Song Foxiang rarely begged anyone. If his friend Editor Wan saw this, the few hairs left on Wan’s head would probably fall out from shock.
If Old Song had this humility earlier, with his former fame in Rongcheng’s cultural scene, he wouldn’t just be a magazine editor-in-chief—he’d likely be a high-up in a publishing group!
Song Foxiang, who never lowered himself, was now seeking advice. Wen Ying had no intention of taking advantage of him. At this moment, she deeply envied Song Chan—not for being an exchange student or getting into Yale, but for having such a devoted father!
If Old Wen had even half of Song Foxiang’s dedication, Wen Ying wouldn’t have to play mind games with him. Their fragile father-daughter bond would’ve been forged as strong as steel!
“Editor Song, no need for ‘seeking advice.’ Share your ideas with me; let’s call it a peer exchange. With your writing skills, once you find the right creative niche, writing a bestseller won’t be hard!”
Song Foxiang’s eyes nearly welled up at Wen Ying’s words.
Not only did she agree readily, but she also gave him face, calling it a “peer exchange.”
If Wen Ying, fresh off her New Concept Essay win, had said this, Song Foxiang might’ve taken offense. But now, as the one asking for help, her gracious attitude made him feel at ease. No wonder industry veterans like Old Fu admired her. Her writing talent was one thing, but her likable personality shone through over time. Some young bestselling authors paled in comparison, showing no respect to literary elders at certain events!
“I’m here to learn, plain and simple!”
Song Foxiang skipped the wine, boldly swapped seats with his nephew Song Shao, and poured out all his recent thoughts to Wen Ying.
Chen Ru was keen on details about Song Chan’s Yale acceptance, but seeing Song Foxiang’s focus elsewhere, she held back and chatted with Song Shao instead.
Naturally, the topic circled back to Song Chan. How did she succeed in her application? Song Shao must know something.
Chen Ru wasn’t sure if Song Shao planned to study abroad, and if so, which top school he aimed for. She wanted to gauge a top student’s choices.
No one paid attention to Wen Dongrong, so Old Wen eavesdropped on Song Foxiang and Wen Ying.
That Song guy was so smug earlier, but now he’s humbling himself to a high school girl!
No choice, though—Wen Dongrong’s genes were just too good!
A pen-pusher who wrote reports birthed a daughter who wrote novels. Perfectly logical!
Wen Dongrong’s face glowed, contrasting sharply with Song Foxiang.
“I definitely won’t write about young love. Even if I tried, I’d mess it up,” Song Foxiang lamented.
Before consulting Wen Ying, he’d studied the bestseller market. Working at a publishing group gave him easy access to recent industry data.
Youth literature sold well, with Wen Ying among the best.
Influenced by TV shows, interpretive books also surged—classics like *Dream of the Red Chamber*, *Three Kingdoms*, and *Analects* were reinterpreted by famous scholars. Their fame, combined with the works’ inherent influence, landed these books on bestseller lists.
Then there were foreign masterpieces and original novels tied to hit films. Domestic fiction faced fierce competition.
Song Foxiang understood why most books sold well, but some baffled him.
Piling up pretentious phrases could make money?
Earning through writing wasn’t shameful, but earning with such works felt degrading. Song Foxiang could lower his pride but not his standards. To him, some books didn’t even meet publishing quality!
Yet they were published and popular, leaving Song Foxiang questioning: what’s wrong with today’s book market?
His “consulting” was more like venting. These doubts had clearly weighed on him for days!
Wen Ying listened patiently, nodding occasionally. When Song Foxiang’s excitement calmed, she organized her thoughts: “Editor Song, I’ve thought deeply about these issues too—what kind of work caters to the market? Before writing *Searching for Yong*, I hesitated. Another book like *Teen Idol* would’ve been safest, with a fixed reader base and low sales risk.”
“But you ditched the safe bet and wrote *Searching for Yong*!” Song Foxiang raised his voice. “Its story structure is grand, slow to build, and so different from your previous books. Several editors were sweating for you, but after two serialized issues, it’s a hit!”
Switching genres and succeeding—Song Foxiang admired Wen Ying’s market insight.
Wen Ying was honest. “I expected decent results, but I wasn’t sure how popular it’d be. It’s a risky genre, and I wrote it for personal reasons. *Searching for Yong* is just the first in the Nine Cauldrons series. I’m not certain the series will take off or if old readers will follow. The book market’s always changing. This year’s hot genre might be stale next year; an untouched genre might explode. Too many factors affect the market!”
Chasing trends and writing copycats?
That’s just eating others’ leftovers.
Readers’ tastes vary. China has so many people—students, workers, even retirees. Every age group and profession has unique reading needs.
Some want romance, others suspense, and some faithfully love “street stall literature.” Reading tastes are personal and shouldn’t be judged.
Books Song Foxiang couldn’t accept were treasures to certain readers, hitting their emotional needs precisely!
No writer can capture every reader. Even Nobel Prize works have critics.
Wen Ying suggested Song Foxiang stop overanalyzing the market. Since every genre has an audience, he should focus on his strengths, master one genre, and let readers who love it come to him!
“So I wrote *Searching for Yong*. If old readers don’t like it, I’ll lose some, but if I write well, new readers who love this genre will come. I know I’m good at storytelling. That core stays the same, no matter the setting! Likewise, Editor Song, only you know what you’re best at.”
What was he best at?
Writing poetry!
But society’s fast pace had ended the golden age of modern poetry. No poetry collection had hit the bestseller list.
Besides poetry, what else was he good at? Song Foxiang racked his brain.
Wen Ying wanted to hint that, with his parents present, she held back—Song Foxiang’s romantic history made him perfect for writing about love. He could become a master of emotional literature. His poetic flair would surely strike the hearts of lovesick readers.
Wen Dongrong, listening eagerly, urged, “Go on, why’d you stop?”
Song Foxiang shot Old Wen a disdainful look. A cultured conversation, interrupted by a bureaucratic hack!
Song Foxiang smiled faintly. “I’ve gained insight. No need to continue!”
Whether he’d figured it out or not, he had to keep up appearances.
Wen Dongrong chuckled. If not for Yale’s prestige, would Song have had a chance to speak tonight?
The two men’s eyes met, then quickly looked away.
Confirmed: they really disliked each other!
Aside from Old Wen and Song Foxiang’s mutual disdain, everyone else enjoyed the dinner, a harmonious affair.
Chen Ru’s fondness for Song Shao soared.
On the way home, she asked Wen Ying, “Song Shao seems set on studying abroad. Any thoughts?”
Chen Ru initially hoped Wen Ying would attend a top domestic university. Now that Wen Ying had reached that level, Chen Ru’s expectations grew.
Water flows downward, but people aim higher.
Song Foxiang’s daughter Song Chan got into Yale, Song Shao planned to study abroad, and Wen Ying wasn’t inferior to them. Why not aim high?
Wen Ying wasn’t surprised Song Shao wanted to study abroad. In her past life, he did, paving his academic path.
But Wen Ying had no such plans!
“I’m going to university in Shanghai. Didn’t we buy a house there?”
Houses serve people, not bind them. If Wen Ying said she was going to Shanghai for the houses, Chen Ru would sell them instantly.
Mother and daughter couldn’t agree on this, making the ride home tense.
Wen Dongrong was puzzled too. “What’s wrong with studying abroad?”
Not that Old Wen worshipped foreign things, but overseas degrees carried weight in China.
Wen Ying laughed helplessly. “What suits others may not suit me. I’ve never considered studying abroad. Have you forgotten? I won our bet after the high school entrance exam. I get to choose my university and major.”
That was the deal, and Wen Ying was the winner.
Chen Ru and Wen Dongrong were speechless.
Meanwhile, Xie Qian kept checking his phone at home.
Dining with Song Shao was one thing, but now even Wen Ying’s “good night” texts were becoming casual, irregular, and untimely!
