Category: Shion’s Notes

Chapter 117: A Name with a Floral Meaning

What kind of story was this? One that could captivate so completely? The editors took turns reading it, feeling unsatisfied when it ended. They had started reading as editors, but as they progressed, they transformed into readers. How long had it been since that happened?

The story followed an ordinary protagonist, Ye Han, who had a perfect life: a loving family, a sister, a house, and supportive parents. One day, he is caught in a time warp, transported from 2019 to 2099, a leap of eighty years. This era was vastly different from his own. With advancements in technology and human exploration, individuals with special abilities, known as Variants, had emerged, possessing powers capable of destroying cities. A more appealing term would be “superpowered individuals.”

The emergence of these Variants disrupted the global balance of power, sparking intense debate about their existence and whether they should be eliminated or left alone. They disrupted the natural order, wielding power comparable to an army, capable of challenging nature without weapons. Some even proclaimed themselves superheroes.

Governments began large-scale hunts for these superpowered individuals, capturing or killing them on sight. A bloody era had begun.

After decades, governments realized these Variants could be utilized as soldiers, leading to the formation of superhuman task forces. The female protagonist, Xu Anqi, was one of the first Variants recruited into such an organization. Other Variants, fueled by hatred for the government, refused to be controlled, becoming enemies of the state and seeking revenge.

The male protagonist, arriving in this future, encounters the female protagonist, and they share a brief period of happiness. He develops feelings for her. However, their joy is short-lived. In an unexpected turn of events, the protagonist from the past awakens a unique superpower, the kind seen in the first generation of Variants, becoming a target for the government. With no identification or residence in this future, he is forced to flee. The female protagonist helps him, desperately trying to protect him, but ultimately, they cannot escape fate.

In the climax, the male protagonist is rescued by a Variant organization known as the Superhuman Association and meets their leader, presented with the opportunity to join them.

In the final scene, the male protagonist, longing for the female protagonist he has lost, is consumed by loneliness in this unfamiliar future. He wonders when he will see her again. Meanwhile, the Superhuman Association assigns him a new mission: infiltrate a school disguised as a civilian and gather intelligence on the government.

That was the entirety of the first volume.

“Oh my god, is that it? I want more…”

“Too short! I wish it were longer…”

The editors lingered on the story, captivated. Though the beginning was somewhat cliché and the setting not entirely novel, the story’s strength lay in its delicate and moving portrayal of emotions. The likable protagonists and the poignant ending left them wanting more.

The premise of time-traveling to the future and falling in love with someone from generations later was quite appealing.

And based on the content, the story primarily focused on the future, with action as a component, but the romance seemed to be the main focus, hence the title, “Ballad of the Enchantress.”

Of particular interest was the gift the male protagonist received at the beginning: a bouquet of blue enchantress roses.

“Sister Chen, what do you think of this manuscript? I think it’s good. Let’s approve it.”

Chen Xi took the manuscript, removed her glasses, and read it in one sitting, still feeling unsatisfied when she finished. The last time she had felt this way was when Luo Nan submitted his work.

Was this another Luo Nan?

Chen Xi wouldn’t repeat her previous mistake. Letting Luo Nan slip away to Qidian, where he became a platinum author, was a lesson learned.

“This author doesn’t seem like an established writer using a new pen name. Who is it? A newcomer? But that can’t be right… The writing is too powerful.”

“I agree. But the style… it doesn’t resemble any established author I know. How many authors can handle emotionally charged scenes so well? The beginning is incredibly sweet, and the ending… it made me want to strangle the author! It’s so frustrating!”

The editors realized how long it had been since they had discussed a story like regular readers. As editors, they always viewed manuscripts with a critical eye. Their standards were high, but they had lost the joy of reading. How long had it been since they had discussed a story with such genuine enthusiasm?

Chen Xi pondered the writing, sensing something unique, especially in the later descriptions, which contained elements unsuitable for commercial publication. The heavier themes wouldn’t be well-received in the market. People read for entertainment, not for depressing, dark content.

She could also sense the author’s inner world within the words, the frustration with reality, yet also the lingering hope.

The author’s pen name was… Shion.(Japanese name for the plant species Aster tataricus)

Shion, a flower’s name, meaning… remembrance?

“We need to have a meeting to discuss this author. This is a tricky one.”

The novel wasn’t bad, but calling it perfect would be a stretch. It had the necessary commercial elements, well-defined characters, and engaging female characters. It also borrowed heavily from Japanese light novels, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. However, the ending was too heavy. While it would pique readers’ interest in the next volume, excessive negativity wasn’t popular. This was Chen Xi’s dilemma.

If only the ending could be changed.

She thought.

But it was precisely that ending that set the novel apart, elevating it to almost literary fiction.

Such a talented author had to be signed.

But who was this person?

Chen Xi clicked on the author’s profile, but only the pen name was filled in. Age and gender were blank. There was nothing. Who was this Shion?

Chen Xi’s curiosity grew.

The cold wind blew, rustling the dry leaves. Yu Linna lay in bed, burning with fever, her body numb. She couldn’t feel the warmth of the room; all she felt was cold, despite the heating being on.

“Ugh…”

She desperately wished someone were there. Alone, she felt abandoned by the world, like she didn’t belong.

She wondered if her manuscript would make it, if she would succeed. If not, perhaps it was just fate.

She remembered auditioning for an acting role. The director had said she had good ideas but lacked acting skills. At the time, she hadn’t been concerned, believing that simply being noticed by the director meant she had a chance. But then Nangong Ying showed up, and Yu Linna was ruthlessly dismissed.

She thought she could do it, but she couldn’t.

She exhaled a hot breath, her eyes unfocused, her face flushed. When was the last time she had a fever this high? She couldn’t remember…

Every fever had been the same, endured alone.

This time was no different. She would get through it, she thought, closing her eyes.

Ding-dong~

The doorbell rang. A visitor at this hour? And at the worst possible time.

Yu Linna forced herself up, supporting herself against the wall, slowly making her way to the living room. The doorbell continued ringing, her legs feeling heavy as lead. By the time she reached the door, she was completely drained.

“Hello, anyone home? It’s Jiangning. I’m here to see Linna. I heard you’re living together now. I brought some snacks. Want to share?”

Through the peephole, she saw the visitor’s face.

Yu Linna opened the door, a gust of cold air hitting her, almost knocking her over. A hand steadied her.

“Linna! Linna! What’s wrong? You’re burning up! What happened?”

“Cough… Zhiyun’s not home… Come in…”

“Don’t worry about that now! Go lie down!”

Fang Jiangning was shocked by Yu Linna’s condition. She quickly closed the door and helped Yu Linna back to bed, taking her temperature.

“So high! 39.2 degrees Celsius! You need to rest. I’ll get you a towel.”

Yu Linna lay in bed, dizzy and disoriented. But she was conscious; she knew what was happening.

She never imagined she would collapse from overwork. Something like this was unthinkable before.

Fang Jiangning brought her water and a towel, rummaged through the medicine cabinet for fever reducers, and helped Yu Linna take them. She had simply come to visit Ye Zhiyun and Yu Linna, never expecting this.

She had heard Yu Linna had moved in with Ye Zhiyun, assuming they would both be home, looking after each other. She hadn’t expected Ye Zhiyun to be out, leaving Yu Linna alone. If she hadn’t come over, Yu Linna would have been in danger.

“Why didn’t you call me? Did you want to die alone in here? Honestly!”

Fang Jiangning was angry, scolding her for not taking care of herself.

“…I… forgot…” Yu Linna mumbled weakly.

It wasn’t that she forgot, but she hadn’t thought to rely on anyone. She had always been alone, unaccustomed to asking for help.

Fang Jiangning placed a damp towel on Yu Linna’s forehead and piled on several blankets, but her fever persisted. This was serious.

“I feel so uncomfortable… Can you take the blankets off…?”

“No! You need to rest. You don’t even know how bad you look!”

Fang Jiangning refused, unwilling to let Yu Linna do anything that would worsen her condition.

---

Chapter 118: Commercial or Literary?

Yu Linna’s fever wouldn’t break. She drifted in and out of consciousness, unable to rest, unable to sleep. Her body felt heavy, her cells burning.

Discomfort was an understatement. Was she dying?

The thought crossed her mind.

If she died, everything would be over. But she didn’t want to die. She wanted to live.

“What to do… it’s not going down…”

Fang Jiangning, watching the unchanging numbers on the thermometer, grew increasingly worried. She had changed the cold compress several times, but Yu Linna showed no signs of improvement. She considered taking her to the hospital.

“Ugh…”

Yu Linna exhaled a hot breath, her eyes unfocused, her consciousness fading. She felt detached, like she was floating outside her body.

Dying alone like this… how frustrating. She wanted to live.

She had a massive debt to repay, eighty million. She couldn’t die yet; she had to live to repay it.

“Linna, can you hear me?”

“…I can hear you…”

“Is there anything you want? I’ll get it for you.”

“…I don’t want anything…”

“How will I know if you don’t tell me? You love food, right? I’ll buy you some sausages, okay?”

“I don’t want to eat…”

“How about cookies? I brought some…”

“I don’t want any…”

Nothing seemed to work. Fang Jiangning tried to make her smile, but Yu Linna remained sullen, her face etched with discomfort.

She wanted to help, but… she didn’t know how.

Perhaps she should inform someone about Yu Linna’s condition, like Ye Zhiyun.

“Don’t tell Zhiyun. I don’t want her to know…”

“You can’t keep something like this a secret!”

“I don’t want her to know…”

She didn’t want to be a burden.

From a young age, she had known she was merely a guest, not truly belonging, always careful not to cause trouble, always obedient. And since she couldn’t be a burden, she had learned to endure.

“Linna…”

Looking at the frail girl, Fang Jiangning felt a pang of sympathy. Why did seeing her like this make her feel so sad? Why did Yu Linna always seem to exude an aura of sorrow, of melancholy?

She remembered what Yu Linna had said at the villa that night, drunk. Though intoxicated, her words surely held some truth.

“I won’t kick you out…” she said.

As expected, she saw a flicker of surprise in Yu Linna’s eyes, a sensitivity to those words.

“You said that, didn’t you?”

Yu Linna didn’t reply, remaining silent, too weak to speak.

“Linna, I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while now, why are you living alone? Why are you always short of money? And where are your parents? Can you… tell me?”

So, she had noticed.

It was inevitable. They had spent so much time together, grown so close. It was only natural for her to notice.

Yu Linna had never intended to share her family situation. Years of living under someone else’s roof had made her extremely sensitive about family matters, reluctant to discuss them. She hated being pitied.

But she couldn’t hide it from Fang Jiangning anymore.

It was impossible.

“As you can see… I don’t have parents. I’m… an orphan… unwanted…”

She had said it.

There was no point hiding it now. It was better to be honest.

Though Fang Jiangning had suspected something, she hadn’t imagined Yu Linna’s circumstances to be this dire. Being mixed-race and beautiful, most people would assume she came from a wealthy family. But in reality, she was poor.

In all the time they had known each other, Yu Linna had never mentioned her family, never spoken about her parents, as if the topic was taboo. Whenever the conversation drifted to family, Yu Linna would fall silent, fiddling with her phone.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk, but she had nothing to say. Someone without parents, what could she possibly share?

“Linna…”

Fang Jiangning felt a surge of pity for her, for her difficult childhood, for her solitary life. She finally understood why Yu Linna was always eager for free food and drinks, why she was always taking advantage of others, always wanting to eat their food.

It was because she had never had it, so she craved it.

“Don’t pity me… I’m used to it… It’s fine…”

Though she said so, how could she truly be unaffected?

Yu Linna had been a constant presence in her life. After school, Fang Jiangning often bought her snacks for a few yuan, easily winning her over. Whether Yu Linna was angry or sad, food always did the trick.

But how could Fang Jiangning have known the reason Yu Linna was so eager for free food was because she had rarely experienced it as a child, never had the chance to enjoy delicious meals. She had often gone hungry, unable to afford even a one-yuan bun. She had been alone since childhood, struggling to survive. If she had someone to care for her, she wouldn’t have had such a difficult life.

“Silly, why didn’t you tell me? We’re friends. I would have taken care of you.”

Fang Jiangning stroked Yu Linna’s face, tears welling up in her eyes.

Before getting to know Yu Linna, she had found her cute and wanted to be friends. Now, knowing her story, she felt only heartache.

Yu Linna used to work multiple part-time jobs, constantly taking time off from school, always needing money, falling behind on rent. Several times, when Fang Jiangning bought her two buns, Yu Linna would eat them for dinner before heading off to work, happily declaring, “Saved myself a meal.”

What kind of life had she lived, how difficult must it have been, to treat a small snack as a proper meal?

“No… I’m fine on my own… I can survive alone…”

She shook her head, eyes closed, her voice weak.

She had lived like this for so many years, alone, and had grown used to it. There was nothing to complain about now.

Perhaps solitude suited her more than company.

“How can I pretend nothing happened? Linna… please, just be like before, let me buy you food, let you freeload off me. I just want you to be healthy…”

Yu Linna couldn’t hear her anymore. She had drifted off to sleep, and her fever finally began to subside. The medicine was working.

Yu Linna had always been alone. She didn’t even remember when she lost her parents. Perhaps it was right after she was born. She couldn’t recall; how could she remember her early childhood so clearly? She only knew she seemed to have been sold. Beyond that, she knew nothing, except for the notebook with her name on it.

After Yu Linna fell asleep, Fang Jiangning changed the cold compress and went to the kitchen to make porridge. Having decided to take care of her, she would do her best. She called her parents, telling them she would be staying late to look after Linna.

Yu Linna’s fever gradually subsided; she was finally getting better.

Meanwhile, at the editorial office, the staff were divided over Ballad of the Enchantress. The book was difficult to categorize. As a commercial novel, its ending was too heavy. As a literary work, it followed commercial storytelling conventions.

Should it be classified as commercial or literary? It was a headache.

“I think it should be considered a commercial novel. It’s written using commercial techniques, from the characters to the plot progression. Didn’t you notice the beginning follows the typical commercial novel formula? The setting is simple, the story ordinary. But the writing is excellent, the atmosphere captivating. It draws you in. I believe it’s commercial.”

“I disagree. I think it’s literary. Look at the later developments, clearly a duet between the male and female protagonists, singing of joy amidst hardship while being pursued by the government. And the ending, the male protagonist sitting by the shore, reminiscing about the female protagonist… that’s not a commercial ending. Honestly, the book could have ended there.”

“But don’t forget the time-travel element. The author wouldn’t include that without a purpose, clearly intending to write a sequel.”

“But from a commercial standpoint, the ending is terrible! It’s so bleak, so depressing. Such a heavy theme isn’t suitable for general readers!”

The editors argued over a single book. When was the last time this happened?

No one could remember.

The entire editorial department was in an uproar over whether to classify the book as commercial or literary. Chen Xi had a headache. Who was this Shion? How could they write such a story? Were they a genius or a fool?

Not quite commercial, not quite literary, yet somehow it worked. In a way, it was a testament to the author’s talent.

“How about this, we sign them first, then have them revise the ending.”

Chen Xi stood up and proposed.

A new era was about to begin.

Chapter 116: Named Shion

What was this story about?

It revolved around a male protagonist from a harmonious and happy family who one day time-travels eighty years into the future and encounters the most important person in his life. It was a ballad of love.

Who would have thought this story was churned out in just a week? In the industry, such rushed work was generally considered subpar. However, Yu Linna, after reading through her story, felt it was decent enough, especially considering it was her first independent creation. This was her child; there was no reason not to love it.

It contained all her sweat, her dreams, the crystallization of her efforts.

She had always faced setbacks, always met with failure. But from this moment on, she would break free. She was embarking on a journey, towards higher, farther destinations.

Her fingers danced across the keyboard, typing a few lines.

Ballad of the Enchantress.

This was the title of the novel she had spent seven days creating, her first independent work.

She didn’t know if this book would change her life. If it failed, she would accept her fate. But until then, she wanted to give it her all.

Next came the pen name.

Truthfully, Yu Linna didn’t know what to choose. She had never considered this before.

She had always lived a carefree life. How about “Carefree Heroine”? No, too cliché, not elegant enough.

She thought about her past, the happy memories, the beautiful moments. She longed for those days, yearned to return, but it was impossible. Those memories could only be treasured within her heart.

So many years of hardship, of worrying about survival, of crying herself to sleep countless nights. These painful experiences, though unpleasant, were memories she didn’t want to forget. Forgetting them would render her struggles meaningless.

She wanted to remember all her hardships.

All her unhappiness.

Shion.

Finally, she typed her pen name.

Yu Linna opened Wenqing’s submission email, attached her compressed manuscript, and clicked send. The deadline was only three minutes away. She had finished writing and submitting her novel just three minutes before the cutoff. Her mission was finally accomplished.

“Phew…”

With everything done, exhaustion crashed over her. Yu Linna collapsed onto the bed, her body burning with fever, the ice pack tumbling to the floor. Her vision blurred, her body weak, every movement a struggle. Touching her forehead, she realized it was scorching hot.

Her throat was dry, her body drained of energy. She slumped onto Ye Zhiyun’s bed, unable to lift her arms.

Yu Linna was sick. The excessive work, the relentless exertion, had taken a toll on her already frail body, causing her to collapse. Worse, she was alone in the house. Even sick, there was no one to care for her. She could only lie there, motionless.

“Ugh…”

Her gaze drifted towards the ceiling. She managed to pull the blanket over herself, but she was shivering, too weak to do anything else. She felt like anyone could easily push her over.

Her body felt like it no longer belonged to her.

So this was what it felt like to push oneself to the limit, a draining, almost out-of-body experience, like ascending to heaven.

Yu Linna rarely got sick. In the past, she couldn’t afford medical care, so she tried her best to avoid getting sick, and even when she did, she couldn’t go to the hospital. Over time, she became less prone to illness, but that didn’t mean she was healthy. Because she rarely got sick, when she did, it was usually severe.

Yu Linna closed her eyes, feeling her consciousness slipping away.

Ye Zhiyun felt a pang in her chest, gazing out the window. Despite the bustling cityscape outside, she felt a sense of loss, an emptiness within her.

“What’s wrong, dear? Thinking of someone?”

“Mind your own business. Just give me some work to do. I’m not here for blind dates. This is so boring.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll have work soon.”

No one knew that from this moment on, the world would begin to change.

Since rising to fame, Nangong Ying had been constantly in the spotlight, her privacy invaded, much to her annoyance. As a newcomer to the entertainment industry, many were curious about her background, but she never spoke about her family. Consequently, few in the industry, apart from Chenghe, knew she was the daughter of Nangong Zhuo, a nationally acclaimed athlete. If people knew the daughter of an Olympic gold medalist and star athlete had become an actress, they would be astonished.

“Miss Nangong, please go to the makeup room to prepare. The recording will start soon.”

Nangong Ying had planned to dedicate her winter break to studying for the art school entrance exams in March. She had decided to pursue acting professionally. However, things hadn’t gone as planned. Chenghe had contacted her, requesting her participation in a variety show to boost her popularity.

She wanted to refuse, but knowing it would benefit her career, and unable to defy Chenghe’s influence, she had agreed. She would wait until she had more leverage to refuse; until then, she had to obey.

Sitting in front of the makeup mirror, she remained still as the makeup artist worked their magic. Being famous was different. She often noticed girls looking at her with the same admiration as boys. Her dream of being admired seemed to have come true.

But the initial excitement had faded, replaced by a profound emptiness, a loneliness.

She hadn’t forgotten that her current success had come at the expense of another.

If she hadn’t betrayed Yu Linna, she wouldn’t be where she was today. She knew that.

Towards Yu Linna, she felt only guilt. She didn’t expect forgiveness, but sometimes… she realized how painful it was to be disliked.

Only now did she understand how important Yu Linna had been to her. They used to spend their holidays eating out, chatting happily for hours. Now, that was impossible.

She missed having Yu Linna in her life.

She missed her terribly, missed the times they spent together.

But there was no going back.

“Miss Nangong, you’re ready. Please come on stage.”

“Okay.”

She responded, stood up, and walked towards the stage. Her work was about to begin. She was Nangong Ying, the celebrity, no longer the ordinary Nangong Ying.

Wenqing’s annual New Talent Awards was a competition to discover new writers, awarding prizes, publishing contracts, and boosting the winners’ popularity. However, in recent years, the awards had become riddled with insider dealings, with established authors often using pen names to win. Newcomers, no matter how talented, rarely placed higher than third.

The only exception was Air winning last year.

Air, aka Zhao Yuyan, had become the youngest winner, securing a publishing contract for her novel, “The Rich Man’s Game,” and breaking free from the label of a “short story writer.”

But who could guarantee another superstar like Air would emerge every year?

Air’s work was already being adapted into anime and manga. How many newcomers could achieve such success?

“Sister Chen, we’ve received all the final manuscripts. We need to start reviewing them and decide which ones will be selected.”

“Okay.”

The busiest time of year was manuscript review season. Mountains of submissions piled up, and the editors had to meticulously read through each one. The greatest joy of reading was getting lost in a good story, but not every novel was captivating. Some were incredibly difficult to get through, a source of constant headaches for the editors.

“Ugh, this story is so cliché. Why are five girls in love with the male protagonist right from the start? Is this a harem anime? Pass.”

The editors had sharp eyes, able to discern good stories from bad. They had no interest in poorly written manuscripts. To select the best, they had to be strict.

“This author is clearly a newbie. Typical wish-fulfillment power fantasy. A golden finger is too much. Wish-fulfillment is fine, but this is excessive. No.”

“This writing is so good, but the plot is nonsensical. The female protagonist is practically a public bus. This would be crucified online. No.”

“I don’t understand this plot. Is the male protagonist trying to NTR someone’s wife? So, the mistress is actually the protagonist? Not sure if this will work. Set it aside for now.”

After the first round of eliminations, few novels remained. Chen Xi’s eyes were sore, yet she hadn’t found anything satisfying. She recalled Luo Nan’s submission a few months ago. She had loved his manuscript and advocated for signing him.

But the other editors hadn’t agreed to Luo Nan’s terms, rejecting him. He had then gone to Qidian, becoming one of their platinum authors, his work securing a publishing deal within months, earning him a six-figure income.

Not everyone was Zhao Yuyan, not everyone was Luo Nan. Chen Xi knew this well.

Finding a good story among so many submissions was incredibly challenging.

Unless something unexpected happened, this year’s New Talent Awards would likely be uneventful, perhaps with an established author winning under a pseudonym. Last year’s situation couldn’t be replicated.

“Sister Chen, this is the last one. Let’s call it a day after this.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s see… the title is… ‘Ballad of the Enchantress.’”

Initially, the editors approached this novel with indifference, expecting another cliché-ridden story. But… two minutes in, they were hooked, losing track of time.

Chapter 114: Setting Off

Zhao Yuyan understood why Yu Linna had specifically sought her out to discuss this. Intuitively, she sensed this wasn’t something Yu Linna would normally do.

“Why are you asking me this?” Zhao Yuyan asked, amused.

Why indeed? Yu Linna couldn’t articulate it herself. She simply wanted to understand how someone who had experienced the pursuit of dreams viewed the concept. Since Zhao Yuyan was successful in her own right, it meant she, like Nangong Ying, was someone who had “climbed higher.” She should understand the meaning of the word.

“Don’t worry about why. I just want to know what the word ‘dream’ means to you.”

“…Meaning? It holds a lot of significance. Without it, I probably wouldn’t have become a novelist.”

Zhao Yuyan poured tea, a nostalgic smile gracing her face.

“Zhao Yuyan, are dreams important to you?”

“Yes, very important.”

Without dreams to sustain her, she probably wouldn’t have chosen this path. It was precisely because of her dreams that she had come this far.

Yu Linna’s gaze dimmed. So, for her too, dreams were incredibly important.

“Would you do anything for your dream?”

“Absolutely.”

Yu Linna’s hands clenched, biting her lip to stifle a sound.

“Even betray someone, push your best friend into the depths of hell?”

Her heart tightened, her head bowed, concealing her expression. Had Zhao Yuyan looked closer, she would have seen the pain etched on Yu Linna’s face.

“Of course not. Even for a dream, you can’t do something like that. Dreams are dreams, but not at the cost of trampling on someone else’s freedom.”

At that moment, Yu Linna’s heart began to thaw.

Her clenched fists relaxed.

Zhao Yuyan’s journey hadn’t been easy either. She had debuted as a novelist a year ago, but she had published short stories before that, leading to doubts about her ability to write long-form fiction. Faced with skepticism, she had earned respect through hard work and talent.

She was called “Miss Air,” but few understood the struggles and efforts she had poured into reaching this point. Though she often missed deadlines, played games, and procrastinated, she was serious when it mattered. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have become a successful writer.

“Linna, you’re asking me this because something is bothering you, isn’t it?”

“You’re right. I’ve been troubled, haunted by my past, to the point of suffocation. I’ve been trying to figure out what to do, how to move forward. Now, I think I understand a little better…”

Nangong Ying’s appearance had thrown her into turmoil. She couldn’t comprehend how someone could go to such lengths for a dream. But she now realized that not everyone was like that.

Nangong Ying was an exception.

Nangong, you were so cruel. For your dream, you betrayed me, hurt me.

You made it impossible for me to trust anyone again, to ever have you back in my life.

But I still have to keep going. Even if I’m bruised and battered, I have to pick myself up and move forward.

Yu Linna stood up, a newfound clarity in her eyes.

“Linna, are you leaving?”

“I should go. I think I know what to do now. Thank you.”

“If you change your mind and want to join us, you’re always welcome.”

Zhao Yuyan knew Yu Linna was talented. If she wanted to enter their world, she wouldn’t refuse. Such talent shouldn’t be wasted; it should be allowed to shine.

Yu Linna didn’t reply, simply offering a small smile before taking her leave.

Nangong Ying’s appearance had been unexpected, but Zhao Yuyan’s words had given her a new perspective. She also recalled Tang Yumeng’s words that day.

Dreams were important, but not at the expense of others.

Everyone’s definition of dreams, their approach to pursuing them, was different. Yu Linna had once had dreams, then abandoned them. Now, she wanted to reclaim them.

Walking down the street, she looked up at the large screen on the building. It was now displaying a celebrity advertisement.

“Superstar newcomer Nangong Ying will be a guest on ‘Starlight Sparkle’ this weekend, revealing the hardships of filming on set and announcing the release date of her new movie! Don’t miss it!”

The screen played clips from Nangong Ying’s recently released film. Nangong Ying’s status was vastly different now. She was no longer an unknown actress; she was a rising star.

Looking at that face, Yu Linna clenched her fists. She had once dreamed of seeing her own face on television, of being recognized, of having her name known. Now, she didn’t need to prove herself with her face, to conquer others with her appearance.

She would use her own methods, her own strength, to earn her place.

Yu Linna stopped by the tutoring center where she used to work. She had spent two years there as a teaching assistant. Back then, the owner, Zhou Xiaoqing, taking pity on her situation, had offered her the job. But after the incident with Chenghe, she had been forced to leave.

Standing at the entrance, watching the children playing inside, she felt a wave of nostalgia. She had once been one of them.

“Wow, it’s Sister Linlin! Why are you back?”

“Sister Linlin’s back! Everyone come quick!”

“Sister Linlin, where did you go? We missed you so much!”

“Sister Linlin, here’s my lollipop! Please come back!”

The children swarmed her, reaching through the gate, wanting to hug her, their small bodies unable to climb over. Yu Linna looked at these kids. She had once been exasperated by their antics, yet they seemed to hold genuine affection for her.

“Linna, what are you…?”

Zhou Xiaoqing, alerted by the commotion, had come to investigate. She was surprised to see Yu Linna, the girl she had let go two months ago. She shouldn’t be here.

But why was she…?

“I just came back to visit. Don’t worry, Sister Qing, I’m not here to ask for anything.”

She reached through the gate and patted a child’s head. The boy beamed with joy, jumping up and down, shouting, “Sister Linlin touched me!” eliciting envious cries from the other children.

Zhou Xiaoqing stepped outside, locking the gate, and gently herded the children back to their classroom for their next lesson. Looking at Yu Linna, the girl who had once worked for her, she felt a pang of sadness.

She had heard that Yu Linna’s life was difficult, subsisting on pickled vegetables and plain porridge. In the two years they had worked together, Yu Linna had never spoken about her family, but Zhou Xiaoqing knew they were struggling. Despite her hardships, Yu Linna had always been resilient, shouldering her burdens and working diligently. To make ends meet, she held multiple jobs, often having to leave early to get to her other commitments.

Only after Yu Linna left did Zhou Xiaoqing realize how important she had become to her. But it was too late.

“Linna, how are you doing now?” she asked.

“I’m doing well. Someone is taking care of me. Don’t worry. I’m really fine.”

She claimed to be fine, but Zhou Xiaoqing didn’t believe her. A girl so frugal she wouldn’t even buy herself ice cream couldn’t possibly be doing “fine.”

“And your family, how are they…?”

“…Someone is taking care of me, treating me well. That’s enough. Family… I never dared to hope for that. Forget about it. Sister Qing, how are you doing?”

“Well, the children were quite upset after you left, but they’ll get used to it.”

“That’s good.”

Seeing the children doing well was enough for her. Without her, they would continue to live, to learn, to thrive. She was merely a passerby in their lives.

If the incident with Chenghe hadn’t happened, she might still be teaching here, applying for a full-time position after graduating high school. But fate had other plans.

“Sister Qing, I’ll be going now.”

“Linna, where are you going? Do you have a place to go?”

“I didn’t before, but I do now.”

She smiled, turned, and walked away without looking back. This was probably the last time she would return here. There would be no more “afters.”

Back home, leaning against the door, an idea formed in her mind. Perhaps she would never become a celebrity, never reach Nangong Ying’s heights, never become as courageous as Ye Zhiyun.

But so what?

Her life was her own. She didn’t need to be a copy of someone else. She would always be Yu Linna, not a second Nangong Ying.

Chen Xi had said she had the talent to be a novelist.

She checked the deadline for the Wenqing New Talent Awards. Only a week remained. Producing a collection of short stories in such a short time was practically impossible. Yu Linna had already wasted too much time.

But…

She didn’t want to live a mediocre life.

She still wanted to chase her dreams.

Fame didn’t require becoming a celebrity, putting her face on display. As long as she could use her abilities to bring joy to others, that was enough.

She took a deep breath. It seemed her life wouldn’t remain calm after all. She remembered the time she had spent working for Chenghe, the repeated efforts that ultimately yielded no results. Perhaps this time would be the same. No matter how hard she tried, how much she struggled, she might achieve nothing.

But she still wanted to succeed.

So…

One more time. Just one more time. She would give it her all, expend all her energy, even if it meant failure.

Hard work didn’t guarantee success, but without hard work, there was no chance at all.

She opened Ye Zhiyun’s computer. This computer would be her new starting point. She typed a few words. From this day forward, she would set off once more.

Yu Linna was finally on her way again.

---

Chapter 115: Burning Little Linna

The day after returning to her father’s company, Ye Zhiyun was far from happy. She initially thought her father had called her back for actual negotiations, only to discover it was a ruse to introduce her to the son of a Chinese-American business tycoon.

This tycoon had brought his son along for the project discussions, and Ye Zhiyun’s father, seeing the son wasn’t much older than Zhiyun, decided to use this opportunity to play matchmaker. In other words, Ye Zhiyun had been tricked.

“Seriously, Dad? You’re trying to sell me off? What kind of father does that?”

Whenever Ye Zhiyun was alone with her father, she glared at him, her displeasure evident.

“It’s called networking. Young people should connect with other young people. Besides, that designer also has a daughter. I’d love to meet her if I get the chance. Zhiyun, you’re all young. Take this opportunity to interact. You are the next generation of leaders.”

Despite her annoyance, her father had a point. In this era, networking was crucial. Future collaborations depended on these connections. Ye Zhiyun sighed in resignation.

“Fine, but I’m telling you upfront, I’m not interested in that guy.”

“Hahaha, don’t worry, I’m not planning to give you away that easily. If I really wanted to marry you off, would I have waited until now? Relax, my dear daughter, I’m not going to sell you.”

“Good. I don’t like him anyway.”

She had only ever been interested in one man, but that was in the past. Now, she had no interest in men whatsoever.

She just wanted to finish this work quickly and return home, to her real home, to see Nana.

She wondered how Yu Linna was coping alone. She had left money, so it shouldn’t be a problem.

“Speaking of which, Zhiyun, didn’t you spend eighty million on that girl? When are you letting your old man meet her? What kind of girl has such power, making my shrewd little businesswoman willingly get scammed?”

“Oh, don’t worry, that day will never come.”

“That hurts your old man’s feelings…”

Ignoring her father, Ye Zhiyun gazed out the window, homesickness washing over her.

She wondered what Yu Linna was doing.

If Ye Zhiyun knew what Yu Linna was up to, she would be surprised. Yu Linna wasn’t following Ye Zhiyun’s advice to eat properly. What was she doing?

She was writing.

In the quiet room, illuminated by a desk lamp, the glow of the computer screen reflected on her face. The only sound was the clicking of keys. Her slender fingers danced across the keyboard, never ceasing. Occasionally, she paused for a few seconds, grappling with a thought, then resumed typing, filling the screen with Chinese characters.

With only five days left until the Wenqing New Talent Awards deadline, she had been in this state for two days straight, writing from morning till night. Not daring to waste a single moment, she had prepared a box of instant noodles, eating them whenever hunger struck, finishing within five minutes. She had endured harder times, subsisting on instant noodles during her years of poverty. This was nothing.

She had never written fiction on a computer before. Though she kept a diary, creating a story was a first. Yet, her thoughts were clear; she knew what she wanted.

She practically lived in the computer room, typing day and night, unable to stop. She slept only three or four hours a day. While she managed to endure the first few days, by the third, she had a splitting headache, her mind blank. But looking at the manuscript on the screen, the black and white text, she gritted her teeth and continued typing. By the fourth day, she was numb.

After all, she had endured worse hardships.

During her working days, she had often slept only three or four hours, juggling multiple jobs, sometimes as many as six in a single day. Those times had been incredibly difficult, but to afford a decent meal, she had no choice. How many nights had she spent gnawing on stale bread, gazing at pictures of delicious food in books, then at her empty wallet, tears of helplessness welling up? Back then, she yearned for a good meal.

Years of hardship, of relentless work, had given her hypoglycemia, making her prone to fainting if she missed a meal. Due to malnutrition, she hadn’t grown much, wearing the same clothes from the age of eleven or twelve until she met Ye Zhiyun.

If someone asked her why she was pushing herself so hard now that she no longer had to worry about food or clothing, wouldn’t it be meaningless?

She would simply reply, “Because of a dream.”

Nangong Ying could do it, Fang Jiangning could do it, Ye Zhiyun could do it, Dai Wenqian could do it, so she could too.

She remembered, remembered the child within her who held onto a dream.

She was someone who refused to settle for mediocrity. Her heart held a yearning, a desire to soar.

How disheartened she had been, filled with hope only to be met with disappointment time and time again.

Accompanying Nangong Ying to the singing competition, she had been eliminated in the preliminary rounds, while Nangong Ying went on to win the championship.

She tried acting, thinking it was a fresh start, but remained a background extra.

She auditioned, believing it was another opportunity, only to have Nangong Ying snatch the leading role.

She met Chenghe, thinking it was her chance. With Nangong Ying’s encouragement, she signed the contract, hoping to take flight. But it ended in another devastating failure, betrayed by Nangong Ying, almost forced into a compromising situation, driving her to the brink of suicide at the train station. If it hadn’t been for Ye Zhiyun, she might have actually left this world.

So many attempts, so many failures.

She had even believed she would never have a chance to climb higher.

But she refused to give up. She wanted to try again.

Even if it meant more pain, even if it meant another failure, she wanted to try. Because her heart still held a dream, a dream of soaring to greater heights.

Yu Linna’s world had narrowed, oblivious to the changing day and night, the bustling world outside. There was only the screen, her fingers, her consciousness detaching from her body.

How much time had passed? One day? Five days? She couldn’t recall.

She had lost track of time.

All she knew was that she had to write this story.

She had never written a story before, never shared the stories within her heart. But this time, she would take that brave step.

She was so tired, so exhausted, so hungry, wanting nothing more than to stop. But…

Seeing the characters on the screen increasing, she gritted her teeth and continued typing. Gradually, her fingers went numb, fatigue forgotten, but her head grew hotter, her body burning. She had heard that when someone was “in the zone,” their inspiration flowed fiercely, everything else fading away.

She didn’t know if this was what it felt like, but seeing the growing number of words on the screen, she assumed it was. She never expected to experience such a surge of inspiration while writing.

She grabbed a bag of ice from the freezer, placing it on her head to cool her feverish brain. She knew her body wasn’t healthy, that in normal terms, she was ill from exhaustion.

But she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t give up. She had to keep writing.

The story in her heart had to be brought to life, had to be shared. She had to tell the story of the male and female protagonists, convey her feelings to others.

“How much longer…”

Her voice was hoarse, her body dehydrated from insufficient water intake, her system strained from days of instant noodles. She felt like her body wasn’t her own anymore.

Sometimes, giving everything you have to something was incredibly difficult. But it was often in those moments that memories were made.

Nothing came easy. To gain something, you had to give something. Without effort, there were no results.

This was Yu Linna’s first attempt at writing a story. She didn’t know if she could do it well, having never tried to create and share a story before. When Chen Xi said she had the talent, she hadn’t believed it.

But even a sliver of hope was enough. She wanted to try again. Just once. Just one more chance… to let her fly again.

(“Get lost, foreigner! This isn’t for you. Here’s some money, buy your own food!”)

She didn’t want that kind of life anymore…

(“You’re useless anyway, might as well just marry someone.”)

She would prove she wasn’t worthless, that she was capable.

(“A fatherless, motherless brat dares to fight me? Get lost, gweilo!”)

Even though she had no family in this world… she wanted to fill that void in her stories.

Having suffered for most of her life, she hoped for a different kind of existence. She remembered Ye Zhiyun’s kindness, the eighty million she owed her.

She would repay her, bit by bit.

(“Linna, I’ll protect you from now on. I’ll always be by your side. Here, have some ice cream.”)

That ice cream had been the sweetest she had ever tasted, yet also the most bittersweet in retrospect. The memory, so beautiful, so poignant.

Nangong Ying, her best friend.

Once upon a time.

Now, it was just the past, a memory.

She had to let it go.

She had to move on.

Her parents had given birth to her, then disappeared. If she never found out where they were, so be it. Yu Linna would embark on her own journey, towards higher, farther places.

Wait for me, Zhiyun. I will reach for the stars.

As her fingers typed the final line, they came to an abrupt stop…

[“I didn’t get to say… I love you. Where are you going? Don’t leave me…”]

The story ended. A novel of over one hundred thousand words, finally complete.

She had spent seven days writing her first novel, a total of one hundred and ten thousand words.

But her work wasn’t over. She still needed a title and a pen name…

Chapter 113: That Pain

With only a week left before the New Talent Awards deadline, Chen Xi had given up on Yu Linna. Though she recognized Yu Linna’s talent, a week wasn’t enough time to write a whole book. A publishable manuscript needed at least one hundred thousand words.

Even if Chen Xi wanted to help her advance, it was simply impossible now.

Without Yu Linna’s own willingness, no amount of pushing would make a difference.

“Chen Xi, weren’t you planning to scout that girl, Yu Linna, the one you had your eye on?”

Huang Jinglin brought up the topic during their coffee date that day.

“I’ve abandoned that idea. If she’s not interested, I can’t force her. It’s a shame, though. She’s a promising talent. I wish I had discovered her sooner.”

Regret flickered across Chen Xi’s face. Over the years, she had unearthed numerous talents and nurtured many successful authors, yet she had failed to recognize Yu Linna’s potential early on, missing the optimal time to recruit her. Had she approached her initially, Yu Linna would have likely agreed. Now, it was too late.

She felt frustrated. An editor known for discovering new talent had let such a promising prospect slip through her fingers.

Chen Xi recalled the last time Luo Nan submitted a manuscript to Wenqing. She had tried her best to sign him, but he ultimately went to Qidian, a lost opportunity. She didn’t want to repeat that mistake.

Perhaps it was a small consolation that Yu Linna wasn’t working for anyone else and wouldn’t become their competitor. Chen Xi tried to see the positive side.

So, what was Yu Linna doing now?

Since Ye Zhiyun’s departure, she had returned to her solitary life. Today, dressed and ready, she went out to run some errands. Ye Zhiyun had left her enough money to last a month.

But a sense of uncertainty lingered. She had been alone from a young age, never quite sure what to do or where to go, drifting through life. Her dreams had been driven by the simple desire for food and warmth.

Now, with those basic needs met, she felt an emptiness, a void.

This wasn’t the life she wanted.

Being cared for was pleasant, but it wasn’t what she truly desired.

Looking up at the bustling street, her gaze fell upon a large screen on a commercial building, displaying an advertisement. It was for a novel adaptation.

“This year’s bestseller, showered with accolades, ‘The Rich Man’s Game’ officially announces its anime adaptation, with the manga version releasing next month! Also, Air’s new work, a collection of short stories, will be published by Wenqing next month!”

*T/N: Here, the author uses 空气 (kōngqì), which means “air.”*

The screen was filled with fireworks and balloons, the words “anime adaptation” particularly prominent, taking up a third of the display. It was clearly a big deal.

Air was the winner of last year’s New Talent Awards, achieving recognition with her novel “The Rich Man’s Game.” Since publishing her first full-length novel, she had released at least five collections of short stories, a format she excelled in. Her short stories always captured the readers’ attention. Crucially, Air was female, a fact that intrigued many readers.

Yu Linna knew Air. She had met her; it was Zhao Yuyan.

Someone so young, yet already so accomplished. It was somewhat enviable.

Yu Linna looked up at the advertisement, sighing.

Everyone had their talents, their own pursuits. Fang Jiangning was a vlogger, Ye Zhiyun a businesswoman, Dai Wenqian a cosplayer, Zhao Yuyan a writer, and Nangong Ying a celebrity.

Only she was nothing.

She had been searching, striving, trying to climb higher, but something always held her back. She longed to know where her path lay, where her destination was.

Pulling her scarf tighter, Yu Linna left. This place didn’t feel right.

Suddenly, amidst the crowd, a flash of blue hair caught her eye. The girl, wearing a mask, sunglasses, and a coat, was trying to blend in, to conceal her identity. But she couldn’t fool Yu Linna. Her figure, no matter how disguised, couldn’t escape her notice.

“Nangong…”

She uttered the name that brought her so much pain, her voice laced with bitterness.

Nangong Ying turned, spotting the blonde hair in the crowd. She froze, then lowered her head. They had finally met again.

Pulling up her scarf and shoving her hands into her pockets, she walked towards the park. Yu Linna understood the silent invitation.

She followed, even without seeing Nangong Ying in the crowd, she knew the way. The park, a place they used to frequent. Back then, Nangong Ying often bought her skewers after school and took her to the park to eat.

“Nangong…”

Nangong Ying stood in the park, her back to Yu Linna. She removed her sunglasses but didn’t dare look at her. Her eyes were filled with guilt.

Towards Yu Linna, she felt nothing but guilt. She had betrayed her to gain her current status, a fact she was acutely aware of. She knew she might never be forgiven.

“Why?”

Yu Linna’s voice trembled as she addressed Nangong Ying’s back, finally voicing the question that had haunted her.

“Why did you do that to me? Why…”

Yu Linna desperately wanted to know, had always wanted to know, why she had been betrayed.

Was their friendship so fragile in the face of opportunity?

Hadn’t they promised to be friends forever? Why…

Nangong Ying bit her lip, clenching her fists, refusing to turn around. She was afraid that if she did, she wouldn’t be able to control herself.

She was a terrible person.

She had hurt her best friend and couldn’t face her.

The person she once cherished most was the one she had hurt the deepest. She was responsible for it all.

“Because… of my dream.”

She uttered the words softly.

And in that moment, Yu Linna’s heart shattered.

“Because of your dream! So you could just sell me out? How could you be so selfish, Nangong? Answer me! How could you be so selfish!”

Head lowered, fists clenched, she roared, her anger intertwined with an unbearable heartache.

Just because of a dream, she could be treated like this. Just because of a dream, she deserved to be betrayed. Why?

Was their friendship so insignificant compared to a dream?

“I’m sorry…”

“I don’t want your apology! I don’t…”

They couldn’t go back.

From that day forward, everything had ended, their paths diverging.

They were never meant to be.

“If you’re not content, then climb higher. The path up is far more complicated than you think. I can only keep going.”

“What about me? What about me… Where do I stand, Nangong?”

“…I’m sorry.”

Putting on her mask, Nangong Ying left without looking back. From beginning to end, she hadn’t faced Yu Linna directly, perhaps out of guilt, or perhaps shame.

Tears streamed down Yu Linna’s face as she stood alone in the park, watching the receding figure, her heart aching. The feeling of betrayal, of abandonment, was incredibly painful. Just because of a dream, she had been treated like this.

It was too much. Why her?

Just as Nangong Ying had said, there was no going back.

Yu Linna didn’t know how long she stood there. When she finally checked the time, her phone displayed 3 PM. She had no idea how long she had been standing there.

Dreams, such a beautiful word, yet it had brought her so much pain.

Because of dreams, she had ended up on the streets, almost taken away.

Because of dreams, she had been betrayed.

Because of dreams, she had nothing.

She remembered Tang Yumeng’s words, her unwavering pursuit of her dream.

Some people could struggle for their dreams their entire lives, while others would ruthlessly betray their loved ones for them. So, were dreams truly that important?

Yu Linna walked, not knowing where she was going. As she thought about the word “dream,” she followed her intuition, eventually finding herself in front of Zhao Yuyan’s house. She stood there, tears long dried, but her heart still cold.

She pressed the doorbell.

“Coming… Linna? Hi! Are you here to hang out? I just finished a PUBG match. Do you play? I have two computers.”

Zhao Yuyan was in her usual loungewear, headphones around her neck, looking like she had just finished gaming. If Chen Xi saw her like this, she would be furious. Wasting time playing games instead of writing; she deserved a scolding.

“Zhao Yuyan… Please tell me, what should I do?”

“What’s wrong? Did someone bully you? I’ll help you teach them a lesson!”

“No… I want to know, what does the word ‘dream’ mean to you?”

Although Zhao Yuyan didn’t understand why Yu Linna had come to her, she invited her in. She turned off her game and offered her guest some pastries from the fridge, but Yu Linna had no appetite, simply sitting there.

Her eyes were filled with confusion, her appearance haggard, her eyes still red.

Nangong Ying’s appearance had shaken her, leaving her with a suffocating pain.

She didn’t understand. What were dreams, really? Could they truly crush a person?

“Linna, although I don’t know what happened, you can tell me if you’re troubled.”

“…I want to know your perspective on dreams.”

She wanted to know how this author, hailed as the “New Talent King,” viewed the concept of dreams.