Luck comes and you cannot stop it.
Wen Dongrong not only got his manuscript accepted, he got two accepted at once.
One of his commentary submissions caught the eye of the Evening News, and the editor said it would be published in the Evening News supplement tomorrow.
Newspapers have timeliness, so once a manuscript is accepted, it gets published quickly without any backlog of pieces. Not like magazines that might hold them for one or two months; even a delay of one or two days could mean the news has lost its heat.
The other piece was spotted by the renowned editor of Zhi Yin magazine. The Zhi Yin editor pointed out several minor issues in Wen Dongrong’s manuscript in an email and said outright that if he revised it promptly, it could be published next month.
The piece accepted by the Evening News would bring in fees quickly.
The one accepted by Zhi Yin would bring in high fees.
There was no helping it; Zhi Yin’s circulation was enormous, and its readership vast. Though many of the stories seemed utterly melodramatic and implausible to someone of Lao Wen’s tastes, readers loved them anyway.
Zhi Yin’s standard remuneration was one thousand yuan per thousand words, so a piece of several thousand words could net several thousand yuan in fees.
Wen Dongrong himself had not expected this. Though other pieces were rejected, the Evening News took one, and Zhi Yin took another.
With two pieces already accepted, more would surely follow in a steady stream, meaning a steady stream of fee income too. Thinking of this, Wen Dongrong sat in his study and laughed out loud.
I am too brilliant.
Previously, the rejections were because he had not mastered the techniques. With a bit of guidance, even a major publication like Zhi Yin could be conquered with ease.
Wen Dongrong immediately thanked the editor who had guided him on QQ.
He was the sort of person who spoke very sweetly whenever he needed a favour, and the editor was delighted by his flattery.
Your writing foundation is indeed solid, with years of accumulation behind it, leading to this burst of inspiration in such a short time.
Facing the editor’s praise, Wen Dongrong accepted it calmly. Most people did not have his level of writing foundation, of course. Though in chatting with the editor on QQ, Wen Dongrong still said a few modest words.
His excitement would not settle, so Wen Dongrong decided to head to the kitchen for something to eat. As soon as he opened the study door, he saw Wen Ying sitting on the sofa.
Eh, when did you get back.
I have been back a while. What were you doing in the study. Did you not hear me open the door.
Wen Ying craned her neck to peer in. Wen Dongrong typed with heavy force, and she had heard the keyboard clacking from the living room, intermittent but nonstop. She suspected Lao Wen was in the study again, chatting online.
Wen Dongrong shut the study door straight away. What else would one do in a study, of course, handle work matters.
Wen Ying had sharp eyes and had already glimpsed the QQ chat window on the computer screen. Though she could not make out the content, Lao Wen’s lie was exposed. Lao Wen seemed truly addicted to online chatting lately; could it really be as she suspected.
Wen Ying agonised over whether to cross the line and pry into Lao Wen’s privacy, but he had already gone to the kitchen with hands clasped behind his back, humming a tune.
Wen Ying felt she could not blame herself for overthinking; Lao Wen’s delighted look really seemed like he was enjoying a second spring.
That evening, as usual, Wen Dongrong cooked, and Wen Ying offered to help, peeling garlic and trimming onions. She was even sent downstairs by Wen Dongrong to buy seasonings. By the time Wen Ying had finished all the tasks, enough time to groom Lao Wen’s every hair, she tentatively asked him: Dad, are you still sponsoring those poor students.
Of course I am sponsoring them, but no need for you to give money from now on. I will pay out of my own pocket.
But your salary all goes to Mum.
I have other money. No need for you to worry about it.
Wen Dongrong was stubborn as iron, and Wen Ying could not help thinking of the new source of income her uncle Deng Shangwei had mentioned.
Sigh, in other families it was the parents worrying about the child, but in the Wen family it was the other way around.
Wen Ying feared Lao Wen might stray in his thoughts and make an emotional mistake, but she also feared he might make a financial mistake at work. Worse still, sometimes these two mistakes went hand in hand; no wonder it was called a transaction of power and sex.
The plastic father and daughter were not on the same wavelength. Humming away as he cooked, Wen Dongrong had no idea of Wen Ying’s thoughts. He put his heart into stir frying several dishes, and at dinner he even opened a bottle of wine, clearly in the mood to drink tonight.
Now not only was Wen Ying suspicious, even Chen Ru found it baffling: Why are you so happy. Did you win the lottery.
Wen Dongrong shook his head with a smile. How could I buy lottery tickets. No matter the kind, they are all pie in the sky. I have only ever seen news about someone somewhere winning a big prize. Have you ever seen anyone close to us win. The odds are too low. I do not believe in that sort of thing. I am always down to earth. I only earn solid, real money.
You always have a tendency to get carried away.
Chen Ru did not go along with Wen Dongrong’s line: If you did not buy any, then you did not. What is the point of rambling on when I just asked a simple question. More action and less boasting is what counts as solid and real.
Wen Dongrong was choked.
Wen Dongrong had thought his wife would press him a bit, so he could announce the good news of the acceptances right there at the table. Instead, Chen Ru did not play by the rules and turned to urge Wen Ying to eat more:
Ignore your dad. Once you finish eating, go and get on with your own things.
Oh, alright.
Wen Ying obediently tucked into her meal.
Manager Chen saw through everything. No matter what little schemes Lao Wen was hiding, Manager Chen would uncover them sooner or later.
As Wen Ying shoveled rice into her mouth, she lit a candle for Lao Wen in her heart.
She had reminded him several times already. If Lao Wen did not heed her advice, she could not be blamed as his daughter for failing to save him later.
Wen Dongrong muttered to himself: Hey, I work hard cooking too.
In Chen Ru’s words, Lao Wen cooking a few more meals now was only what he owed. Back then this fellow had severe chauvinism; after work he would not set foot in the kitchen. With both husband and wife working, why should all the housework fall on Chen Ru.
Chen Ru had wised up now.
A man thinking one phrase of struggling for his career let him shirk everything. No way.
Wen Dongrong was busy at work, but Chen Ru was even busier.
In banking, it was all about performance. The better the performance, the higher the income. Chen Ru had shifted all the energy she once spent on housework to her job, and her performance had indeed improved steadily. She had built her own career into a roaring success.
Wen Dongrong doing housework now was, in Chen Ru’s eyes, just paying off a debt. It was repayment, so what was there to praise.
Chen Ru’s indifference left Wen Dongrong deeply disappointed.
The wine in his mouth lost its flavour.
Why would she not ask.
If she asked again, he would have told her.
Wen Ying set down her bowl. Dad, let me tell you.
Wen Dongrong turned his head at once, full of expectation. Wen Ying cleared her throat lightly: The fish you cooked today is a bit salty.
…
Wen Dongrong waved his hand in annoyance: Go on, go on. If it is salty, drink more water.
You have to accept feedback from others.
I will not.
Wen Dongrong was fuming.
He was angry after dinner, still angry after washing the dishes, and even angry lying in bed after his evening wash, like a pufferfish puffed up with rage.
Seeing Chen Ru enter the room, Wen Dongrong could not hold back any longer. He bounced up from the bed in one go: Come with me to the study. I have something to show you.
