On the first night of the Lunar New Year, the usually bustling metropolis shed its glamorous attire, and the city that never sleeps finally embraced silence.

The work of a professional novelist does not pause for holidays.

Zhou Zhi stared blankly at the corkboard in her word processing software.

After all, it was software that cost over a hundred yuan: beautiful layout, powerful features. It was said many authors used it for writing, with Haruki Murakami being the most well-known representative.

The software could provide the same interface for all users, but unfortunately, it couldn't bestow talent or prose along with it.

The cursor blinked for a long time in the dark writing mode.

No matter how powerful or famous the software was, it couldn't provide one function every author needed: automatic writing based on brainstorms.

Why hadn't anyone invented a device that could connect the brain to a computer? Just plug in a data connection device, and the computer could convert the information in the brain into documents.

It could effectively reduce the possibility of writer's block.

Writer's block was the most painful moment for all writers, no less agonizing than constipation. However, while constipation had laxatives, writer's block had no miracle cure.

Countless times she opened the software, placed her hands on the keyboard, typed, deleted, and closed the software.

Zhou Zhi had been experiencing this pain for several days.

It was all because of that invitation—baffling yet full of temptation.

The invitation came from a celebrity studio, claiming they had taken a liking to her novel and wanted to adapt it into a script to produce a web series.

Why a web series? Limited by the subject matter and style, television stations and the big screen had strict censorship, so going through the internet made it easier to pass review.

At first glance, it seemed like a scam.

Baihe (Yuri) literature had always been a niche genre, not as popular as romance or BL, and Zhou Zhi—pen name Shang Que—was a moderately successful niche Baihe author. She wasn't even considered for audio drama copyrights, let alone film and television rights.

But the invitation was conveyed through her rights editor, Jiang Shang. Jiang Shang was even more surprised than she was, repeatedly saying: "What kind of earth-shattering luck have you stumbled upon? Fortune has come, cherish it well."

Zhou Zhi said, "Let me think about it."

Jiang Shang exclaimed in disbelief, "You still need to think about it?" It was simply unbelievable.

Baihe literature wasn't without its breakout hits, but Zhou Zhi... her data was always lukewarm. It wasn't that no one read her work or praised it, but it always remained within niche circles.

According to Jiang Shang's thinking, for a novel with such modest achievements to be noticed by that studio and have them want to buy the rights, even for one yuan, she should give it.

As long as an agreement was reached and the first press release mentioning the project in development was issued, Zhou Zhi would be the biggest winner.

She would quickly transform from an unknown, bottom-tier author into a hot search chart celebrity, thereby increasing her novel's subscriptions. As for public opinion and the ensuing trend of public discourse, that wasn't within Jiang Shang's consideration.

In this era, traffic was still king. As long as there was a traffic entry point, any sensational novel could be monetized. Besides, Zhou Zhi's novels couldn't really be considered sensational.

Jiang Shang could already foresee Zhou Zhi's meteoric rise.

Regardless of why Fang Jiang Studio had taken a liking to Zhou Zhi, their favor was the ladder for Zhou Zhi's ascent.

Anything associated with Fang Jiang's name was guaranteed to become a hit, a sensation, and a bestseller.

Anything.

She released at least one major television production and one film every year, winning countless awards and endorsing numerous brands. Even the century-old Spanish leather goods brand L family had chosen her as their spokesperson. Her Weibo followers had reached nine digits. As the female actress with the highest commercial value in the domestic entertainment industry, Fang Jiang was a deserving superstar.

Faced with the olive branch extended by Fang Jiang Studio, Jiang Shang couldn't understand what Zhou Zhi still had to consider. This was an opportunity rarer than a meteorite landing on one's doorstep.

She thought Zhou Zhi was worried they had made a mistake. "Don't worry, I confirmed it repeatedly—they really want your novels, several of them in fact. They asked if there could be a bundled price, with each piece no less than a hundred thousand."

"Hmm..." Not too much, not too little. Zhou Zhi wasn't dissatisfied with the figure. On the contrary, she felt a little flattered.

After receiving the invitation from Fang Jiang Studio, curiosity drove Jiang Shang to read Zhou Zhi's novels. The characters were vivid, unconventional, and indeed had moments of brilliance and ingenuity. One could also sense the author's care for her work. "Don't worry, they assured me they would fully consider your opinions during the screenwriting process."

Jiang Shang exhausted all her persuasive efforts, only to receive a reply of "let's talk after the New Year."

What was there to consider or discuss further! Jiang Shang suppressed her anger. "If you don't know who Fang Jiang is, go search on Baidu, Google, or Bing. I refuse to believe you haven't watched any of her TV dramas!"

Zhou Zhi, who didn't own a television at home, admitted she truly hadn't seen any of Fang Jiang's TV dramas. Not just Fang Jiang's—she hadn't watched any of the shows or movies starring the current crop of young actresses.

As an obscure, frugal author lingering in the eighteenth tier of fame, she wouldn't spend a single cent on poorly told stories, just as she wouldn't read trashy novels. Supporting subpar works only held back excellent ones.

But—

No author could resist the temptation of seeing their novels adapted for the screen.

Typing "Fang Jiang" into any search engine brought up an overwhelming number of entries.

Fang Jiang was a beauty, a genuine beauty. In an era dominated by plastic surgery and flooded with internet celebrity faces, she was the kind of standout you could instantly recognize in a crowd of stars.

With her delicate jawline, large eyes, naturally full eyebrows, and striking features, she could exude both elegance and authority, effortlessly embodying the domineering older sister image that young queer women adored these days.

"Hey, I think we've seen some of her clips before. Right, Gang Kai?"

Gang Kai, one year old, full name Gangtou Kaihua, was the smartest Border Collie in the dog world, reputed to have the intelligence of an eight-year-old child once fully developed. Zhou Zhi didn't know exactly how developed an eight-year-old's intellect was, but Gang Kai was exceptionally skilled at outsmarting her—and when that failed, resorting to acting cute.

Sure enough, feeling neglected as Zhou Zhi focused intently on her laptop screen, Gang Kai squeezed into her lap to watch alongside her, seeking attention.

Patting the restless dog nestled in her arms, Zhou Zhi continued browsing Fang Jiang's gossip.

No matter how she looked at it, this star and her novels seemed mismatched—she felt unworthy of such an opportunity.

As a star discovered by a talent scout after graduating from university, Fang Jiang had no formal acting training. After entering the industry, she focused on TV dramas and films, starring either in adaptations of major IPs or works by renowned directors and writers.

Such stars usually either had powerful backers or came from influential families. Rumors of being kept swirled around her, especially since almost everyone who met her was struck by her extraordinary beauty.

Only she herself would say when talking about her appearance: since childhood, she had no awareness of her own looks, and her family rarely praised her as beautiful. Later, too many people called her beautiful, so she stopped taking it to heart. For a woman, there are far more important things than physical appearance.

Compared to other young actresses and celebrities, Fang Jiang rarely gives interviews, but each time she does, she is exceptionally poised.

What is most remarkable is her English. Her accent isn't exactly native—devoid of any London flair—clearly revealing her as a native of Shanghai. Yet, she excels in fluency and skillful usage. It is said that when a talent scout discovered her, she was sitting in a small conference room of some company, waiting for an interview, with her CET-6 and Intermediate Interpreter certificates tucked in her bag. If she hadn't entered the entertainment industry, Fang Jiang might have been just one of the many export salespeople in Hongkou Foreign Trade Center.

Frankly speaking, based solely on interviews and Fang Jiang herself, aside from the growing doubts in her heart, Zhou Zhi couldn't find a single reason to refuse.

Until she clicked on the edited clips of Fang Jiang's TV dramas and movies.

Happy—hahahaha, sad—boohoo, in pain—waaah, angry—hmph hmph.

Excited—eyes wide open, furious—eyes wide open, sorrowful—eyes wide open, or else, a cold, expressionless face pretending to be aloof.

Whether in period dramas or modern series, her delivery of lines almost always carried the same tone and feeling.

Zhou Zhi hugged Gang Kai in agony.

Bite me to death, just bite me to death.

With acting skills like this, how can anyone still praise her?

The original comment read: Fang Jiang is truly beautiful and charismatic. Her acting is better than her contemporaries like Song xx, Liu x, and Han x. As for their acting, why bother discussing something that doesn't exist?

Another comment stated: At least Fang Jiang has won all domestic television awards except the Flying Bird Award—Golden Peony, China, Hundred Families, Gardenia—she has them all. At the very least, her performances are pleasing to the eye. Those with better acting skills aren't as good-looking as she is. Taking a step back, Fang Jiang is an intellectual young lady—her interviews are logical and clear, she never puts on airs, there are no rumors of her being a diva, and her Weibo doesn't quote Zhang Ailing, Lu Xun, or Mo Yan. She smiles at passersby and sometimes takes photos with fans. Aside from her acting, she's practically the female version of Chow Yun-fat.

Below were hundreds of pages of fans from various factions tearing into and cursing each other.

I don't understand this world anymore.

Zhou Zhi scrolled through the comments, laughing and mocking until the early hours of the morning.

As the clock struck midnight, Zhou Zhi felt hungry. Before her parents left on their trip, they had stocked up plenty—snacks, biscuits, instant noodles, salmon, eel—everything one could want. But just as there's always one piece of clothing missing from the wardrobe, there's always one snack missing from the stash.

Gang Kai nudged its dog treat box, and Zhou Zhi couldn't tell whether it wanted her to eat the dog treat or was just following the trend of having a midnight snack.

She opened the food delivery app on her phone.

*Good grief—*all the stalls for barbecue, crispy chicken, and pork tenderloin were closed. Only one wonton shop remained open, a few hundred meters away, with a delivery fee as high as twenty yuan.

This was the Spring Festival in a major city: no hectic travel schedules, no hard-to-get train tickets, no flights with inflated prices, no disputes over who gets a seat at the table, no outdated customs like kowtowing to ancestors, and no noisy, crackling fireworks.

Small shops closed, the masses retreated, the entire city emptied out—this is the metropolitan New Year atmosphere.

Fortunately, 24-hour convenience stores were still open, with a FamilyMart just a few steps away at the subway station outside the residential complex.

The steaming hot oden suddenly popped into her mind... fish balls, cuttlefish balls, and orchid tofu.

Should she choose curry fish balls or spicy fish balls?

Torn between not wanting to go out in the freezing cold and staying hungry with nothing satisfying to eat—which would make her irritable and completely unable to sleep—Zhou Zhi bundled up and headed out half an hour later.

Hat, mask, scarf, gloves—the only part of her directly exposed to the icy air outside was her eyes. If it weren't for the darkness, she would have even worn goggles or sunglasses.

As for the fish balls? Only children make choices—adults take both.

The late-night streets were quiet. With subway operating hours adjusted for the New Year, even the pedicab drivers had long since clocked out to reunite with their families.

The only place with lights on along the entire street was the FamilyMart.

A black Audi was parked outside the convenience store, its headlights on, likely waiting for someone. It seemed Zhou Zhi wasn't the only one hunting for food in the middle of the night.

"Welcome, Happy New Year!" As she opened the door, warm air and the aroma of oden broth washed over her. The FamilyMart clerk greeted her energetically.

Zhou Zhi took off her gloves, curious about the other late-night visitor.

In her line of sight was a woman even more bundled up than she was—hat, mask, scarf, all in place, plus a pair of oversized sunglasses. Wrapped in a beige shearling coat, she looked like a sheep.

A mischievous impulse struck Zhou Zhi. She casually walked over to the woman clad in sheep's clothing.

"Baa..."

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