Wen Ying knew Chen Ru would definitely bring up the royalty issue.
She dawdled on her way home from school.
Xie Qian, seeing her pitiful state, gave her a strategy: keep silent on what shouldn’t be said, and be forthright about what should.
Wen Ying humbly asked, “What do you think I shouldn’t say?”
“She’s your mother. You know her better than I do. You need to gauge the line and control the conversation’s pace yourself.”
Chen Ru was a strong-willed, stubborn mother. After one encounter, Xie Qian deeply felt this.
He believed the real conflict between Wen Ying and Chen Ru wasn’t about whether Wen Ying earned millions writing novels, but her hiding the Tianjiao investment from Chen Ru. This would make Chen Ru feel Wen Ying had completely slipped from parental control!
Could Chen Ru accept that?
Definitely not.
A truly open-minded mother wouldn’t force her child to study abroad against their wishes.
What Xie Qian really wanted to warn Wen Ying about was that if Chen Ru learned about the Tianjiao investment, she’d use it to pressure Wen Ying into agreeing to study abroad.
Sadly, Xie Qian couldn’t say it outright. He’d promised not to tell Wen Ying about his private meeting with Chen Ru.
A person without integrity cannot stand. Xie Qian always kept his word.
He could only hint for Wen Ying to “control the conversation’s pace”: admit fault quickly when needed, but hold firm on non-negotiables.
“You’re right…”
This blow was inevitable, and Xie Qian couldn’t negotiate with Manager Chen for her. Wen Ying had to face it herself.
With the mindset of facing the music either way, Wen Ying returned home.
The house was calm.
Her dad, Wen Dongrong, was intently mopping the floor.
Just the small patch by the living room balcony—Wen Dongrong scrubbed repeatedly, as if polishing every tile seam.
Was that necessary?
Wen Ying was puzzled. “Dad, I don’t recall you having a cleaning obsession!”
Wen Dongrong chuckled, “You wouldn’t understand.”
This wasn’t obsession; it was hygiene. It’s where he’d sleep tonight, so the floor needed to be spotless before laying out bedding!
Wen Ying truly didn’t get it.
Middle-aged women have menopause; maybe middle-aged men have something similar?
Wen Ying peeked around. “Where’s Mum? Not back from work?”
Wen Dongrong didn’t answer, still focused on the tile seams.
Wen Ying had hoped to pry some intel from Old Wen, but with him uncooperative, she could only start her homework.
After finishing, she emerged to find Chen Ru on the living room sofa, the TV playing a rerun of *Starry River with You* on the Chengdu local channel. Chen Ru watched intently.
Old Wen was still on the balcony, cracking the window to feel outside, muttering, “It’s a bit cold…”
Cold?
It wasn’t that bad.
Having lived in Chengdu, Wen Ying was used to winter’s magical chill. It wasn’t even the city’s coldest time yet.
Wen Ying found Old Wen oddly eccentric today.
Chen Ru suddenly turned, interrupting her thoughts. “Do you have anything to say to me?”
Wen Ying scratched her head. “I’m not sure how to say it, but about that Writers’ Rich List in the papers…”
Still organising her words, Chen Ru cut in, “Is the data in that list accurate? Did you really earn ten million from publishing novels?”
“There’s a slight discrepancy. It’s pre-tax income, and it’s based on print runs. My publisher settles based on actual sales, so it’s not entirely accurate. But my royalties are a bit higher than their estimate, so it balances out. There’s a difference, but it’s not huge!”
Wen Ying considered this part of what she should be open about, holding nothing back, her attitude straightforward.
Chen Ru was marginally satisfied.
“You spent over a million on the Shanghai apartments. Even with taxes, you should still have a few million, right?”
Wen Ying’s heart sank.
A few million? Hardly.
With Editor-in-Chief Bao delaying her royalties, Wen Ying was barely covering her mortgage.
Her quickest income now was writing short stories for magazines. *Spark*’s fees weren’t controlled by Bao, settling per piece. With her fame, she got top rates. One published piece a month, and she wouldn’t worry about Bao’s delays.
If Wen Ying went all out, writing for multiple magazines, she could live comfortably off short stories!
But with just over a hundred days until the college entrance exam, she lacked the energy for that.
These thoughts swirled, but Wen Ying kept her face calm. “Yeah, a few million.”
Chen Ru suddenly asked, “Where’s your money deposited?”
Uh.
“China Construction Bank.”
Wen Ying wasn’t lying—her manuscript and royalty accounts were with CCB.
Chen Ru nodded.
“I said before you could manage your money, whether it’s tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, or millions. I won’t go back on that. I didn’t plan to care which bank you used, but our bank recently launched a financial product with good annual returns. I suggest you consider investing in it. It’s just a suggestion—you don’t have to follow it. But with your money growing, you’ll need to learn to manage it eventually.”
Deposits are the safest, preserving principal.
But the safest method, while secure, doesn’t yield much.
During early reforms, “ten-thousand-yuan households” were a big deal, with high bank interest rates. Some thought they could live off interest, but inflation outpaced it. Now, ten thousand yuan is no big deal.
Wen Ying fully agreed with Chen Ru’s financial views, her two lifetimes giving her even deeper insight than her mother.
The real issue wasn’t her lack of financial sense—it was having no wealth to manage!
Facing Manager Chen’s suggestion, Wen Ying could only nod stiffly. “Actually, CCB has similar products.”
Chen Ru suddenly laughed. “All this talk, and you just don’t want to deposit with my bank, afraid I’ll check your balance anytime, right?”
—That was indeed a reason.
Wen Ying gave an awkward smile.
Wen Dongrong, by the window, not only reached outside but stuck half his head out.
So cold.
Old Wen yanked his head back.
Since coming home, Wen Ying had found Old Wen odd. Now, a flash of insight hit: he wasn’t menopausal—he looked like he’d given up on life!
Had Old Wen sold her out?!
Before Wen Ying could confess, Chen Ru slammed the table and stood.
“I said I wouldn’t touch your money, so you don’t need to guard against me. You’re earning now, getting worldly, making multi-million investments without consulting us! What should I call you now—Great Writer Wen, Tycoon Wen, or Shareholder Wen?!”
Wen Ying’s head buzzed.
Old Wen had indeed betrayed her!
Chen Ru’s face was purple with rage. Wen Ying lunged forward, clinging to her arm. “Mum, I was wrong, but I can explain!”
—Xie Qian was right. She had to take back control of this conversation now!
