Song Yuan’s private attempts to contact Zhou Zhi also ended in failure.
The first time, Song Yuan left a comment on the website, but it was flagged as prohibited content and deleted outright.
Zhou Zhi saw the comment in the backend but ignored it.
The second time, Song Yuan found Zhou Zhi’s phone number and called her.
Zhou Zhi assumed she was a telemarketer. The entire conversation went: “Okay, not interested, thank you, goodbye.”
The third time, the moment the call connected, Song Yuan quickly explained that she was a reader, revealed her website pseudonym, and shouted, “Shang Que, I really am your reader!”
It was a damp, chilly afternoon, with a steady drizzle outside the office building. The rain had persisted from before the New Year until after, and every weather forecast predicted nothing but rain: light rain, moderate rain, heavy rain, overcast with occasional showers. On the rare day or half-day of sunshine, households would hang out prayer flags like banners. Those without dryers would air out their perpetually damp underwear for sun sterilization, as if releasing prisoners for a breath of fresh air.
The office air conditioning was set to a warm twenty-eight degrees Celsius. Song Yuan, wearing a sweater, broke into a cold sweat on her end of the phone. Her two bosses sat casually on the sofa, sipping tea, exchanging industry gossip and post-holiday work plans, occasionally glancing her way.
Of course, this was all in her head.
Before her plaintive cry of “I really am your reader,” Meng Shizhen and Fang Jiang hadn’t even noticed her presence.
On the other end, Zhou Zhi had just caught Gang Kai, who was trying to escape a butt-wiping, holding a wet wipe in one hand while clamping her phone between her ear and shoulder. Startled by the “passionate confession,” she dropped the phone, and Gang Kai seized the chance to slip free of her grasp.
“Shang Que?”
Zhou Zhi shot Gang Kai a glare and, regardless of whether the Border Collie could read lips, mouthed, “I’ll wipe you later—you’re not getting away.”
Then she picked up the phone. “Sorry, I dropped my phone just now. I remember this ID—a longtime reader who often leaves comments. ‘3.1415926535,’ thank you for your support over the years.” She gave a slight bow, whether the other person could see it or not. “Please continue to look after me in the future.”
“3.1415926535” was Song Yuan’s website ID, derived from as many digits of pi as she could remember. Most people only recalled up to 926, so she was surprised and delighted that her favorite author could recite the full ID.
Having been Fang Jiang’s assistant for five years, Song Yuan adhered to her boss’s principle: listen more, observe more, do more, speak less. As a celebrity assistant, her schedule revolved around her boss’s erratic hours—if Fang Jiang kept odd hours, so did she. It was demanding work, but it came with plenty of exposure. Where there are people, there are complexities. The entertainment industry was a mixed bag, rife with conflicting interests and duplicity. Over time, she had learned to distinguish sincerity from pretense.
Zhou Zhi’s words were genuinely heartfelt, leaving Song Yuan flustered. She stammered, “O-okay, I will, Author, I will.”
“Pfft.” Fang Jiang and Meng Shizhen made no effort to hide their laughter.
Song Yuan turned away, refusing to look at them. They didn’t understand—they simply didn’t get it.
After a brief silence, Zhou Zhi said, "So, '3.1415926535', what did you want to see me about?" She didn't ask how the other party had gotten her phone number. Quickly recalling the comments left by this ID, they weren't particularly obsessive, mostly revolving around the novel's themes and main characters—it didn't seem like the kind of person who would stalk her.
"Author, my surname is Song, called Song Yuan. You don't have to call me that long string."
Zhou Zhi readily complied. "Alright, Song Yuan, so?"
Suppressing her inner excitement, Song Yuan conveyed Fang Jiang Studio's collaboration proposal to Zhou Zhi, only to have Zhou Zhi flatly refuse. This time, she didn't spout any nonsense about feeling unworthy, instead, she directly asked, "As a reader, do you think Fang Jiang is suitable to play the role in the novel?"
Song Yuan had already thought about this! "Empress Dugu, my favorite empress... Author, I want to send you blades."
Zhou Zhi chuckled. "I'm glad you like the empress so much. But do you think she can truly portray the Empress Dugu in your heart?"
"Of course..." Song Yuan didn't immediately say yes. In her mind, Cheng Hanzhi was the best choice for Empress Dugu. As for her Fang Jiang, if she could bring out that kind of demeanor from her daily life, it might not be impossible.
During her hesitation, Zhou Zhi laughed again. "But don't tell her this—it's not her fault, it's mine. I'm a Virgo, too nitpicky, and too attached to the characters I've created. Just tell her I have a grudge against money and don't want to sell."
With the actual person present, Song Yuan couldn't say much more. She only conveyed the studio's sincerity, but no matter how hard she tried, Zhou Zhi wouldn't budge.
Fang Jiang and Meng Shizhen had been listening nearby. The two of them were beating around the bush, and Fang Jiang's temper flared up instantly.
"Xiao Yuan, tell her we'll give her an extra 300,000."
"No, don"t, ah..."
The financier was having an intermittent fit, and Meng Shizhen couldn't stop her in time, wishing she could tear her mouth shut.
The heartache lasted less than a minute before Zhou Zhi's reply came. Afraid that Fang Jiang would take over the conversation herself, Song Yuan quickly expressed regret and hung up.
"That writer still refuses? What did she say?"
"No matter what I said, she refused, saying it's not suitable." Taking a sip of water, Song Yuan covered it up, not repeating Zhou Zhi's exact words.
The exact words were: Tell her to save her money to buy awards—awards are quite expensive, so she should spend her money wisely.
The author was truly the author, hitting where it hurt with one strike, no ambiguity.
If those words were relayed, Fang Jiang would personally step in and curse Zhou Zhi half to death.
Seeing Song Yuan hemming and hawing, Meng Shizhen guessed the other party had said something else. But since she wanted this outcome, she chimed in, saying a few words about the minor author being unimpressive and nothing special. "Jiang Jiang, let's find someone else—more famous than that writer, with more popularity and buzz. Xiao Yuan, who's the best Baihe author on your site? Let's find her. Jiang Jiang, how about we look for Yi Shu..."
"No." Fang Jiang, furious, kicked off her shoes and stood on the sofa, looking down from above with one hand on her hip. "Her! What's her name? Zhou Zhi—her, just her. I don't believe it, she actually dares to refuse. Who does she think she is?" As a popular star who had already reached a state of Zen-like detachment—wanting for nothing yet having everything—Fang Jiang felt an unprecedented sense of—
Excitement.
"Good, very good, you little obscure writer. You've successfully caught my attention."
---
"Ahem, Jiang Jiang, how about this—we talk to the website and put some pressure on her. Or, we could have someone adapt her novel into a script, add some new elements, and pass it off as original. There’s not much she can do about it. If she’s willing to spend time and effort, let her sue us." Meng Shizhen was referring to a currently "trending" practice: when copyright fees are deemed too high, creators simply mimic the original, adding and deleting elements here and there, leaving the original author with little recourse beyond frustration.
Seeking legal help? Go ahead, sue, just try it. After several high-profile plagiarism cases that stirred public outrage and condemnation, what was the outcome? The plaintiffs were exhausted, bogged down in presenting evidence, while the plagiarists profited handsomely. Even if infringement was ruled, at most, they paid some compensation. But before receiving any money, the plaintiff had to endure immense pressure. And even after getting compensation, the plagiarists emerged unscathed, while the plaintiff was left drained. And that’s assuming both sides were evenly matched. In Zhou Zhi’s case against Fang Jiang Studio, Zhou Zhi stood no chance.
Everyone knows plagiarism lawsuits are tough to win.
Meng Shizhen had never engaged in such practices. She wasn’t stingy, nor did she condone underhanded tactics—unless it was to teach someone a lesson.
"Nooo…" Song Yuan, the devoted reader, let out a mournful wail, so dramatic it nearly rivaled the Queen of the Night’s aria from The Magic Flute.
Fang Jiang lifted her elegant chin, proud as a queen. "Hmph, that would be far too boring."
Meng Shizhen smiled knowingly. She had expected Fang Jiang to disagree. "I just wanted to help you vent your frustration." Even if Fang Jiang had agreed, it would’ve been a reluctant one—why waste so much manpower and resources on something so trivial?
"I’m not angry. I’m eager, I’m full of anticipation."
---
A sense of foreboding rose in Meng Shizhen, as unsettling as when Song Yuan had told her Fang Jiang tried to steal something.
"I will conquer her with my personal charm." A long-dormant sense of novelty surged within her, like a breath of fresh air injected into her mundane life. Fang Jiang’s current feeling was somewhat akin to the explosive flavor sensation in Cooking Master Boy when tasting exquisite dishes. It was also like a rush of wasabi clearing her stuffy nose from a cold.
It didn’t matter that she didn’t know the writer.
It didn’t matter that she hadn’t read her novel.
This was the first time in half a year that Fang Jiang felt so motivated to do something.
She wanted to show that writer who she was, make her remember firmly who she was.
She, Fang Jiang, was not a woman anyone could refuse.
"Xiao Yuan, call her again and tell her I’ll treat her to a meal. You two decide what to eat."
This bizarre turn of events caught Song Yuan off guard. She stammered for a long moment before cautiously saying, "Teacher Fang, Shang Que is socially awkward. I’m afraid… she probably won’t… agree."
"Hmm? Xiao Yuan, I believe in your ability. Whether she’s a corporate drone or an undesirable woman, you must get her to come out."
Song Yuan grimaced. "Teacher Fang, what are we bringing her out for…?" Was she planning to ambush Zhou Zhi with a sack and beat her up? What if it affected her writing updates? Her precious updates…
"To eat."
"You mean, eat as in… have a meal?"
"What other kind of eating is there?"
"Eat… as in 'eat' her alive…"
"That’s illegal. What on earth goes through your mind all day?"
Meng Shizhen, the ignored Meng Shizhen, watched her suddenly radiant patron, speechless.
---
Author's Note: *Note
1. Eat her alive: To beat someone up. "I'll treat her to a meal" = "I'll beat her up."
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