Chapter 119: I Absolutely Will Not Change It
When Yu Linna woke up, it was already evening. She sat up, gazing around the room, the lamplight illuminating every corner. A few minutes later, the door opened, and Fang Jiangning, her guardian angel, entered with a bowl of porridge.
“You’re awake! The porridge is ready. Come and eat. You must be starving.”
“…I don’t want to eat.”
Honestly, Yu Linna had no appetite.
Fang Jiangning’s face fell. A foodie refusing food? That meant she was seriously ill.
“No, you have to eat it!”
“Geez… are you my mom…?”
“No arguing! Eat! Come on, open wide. Ah~”
“I’m not a child. I can feed myself.”
Taking the bowl, Yu Linna ate slowly, one small spoonful at a time. After being sick, her stomach was empty, but she had no desire to eat. Though she usually loved food, she couldn’t muster any interest now, a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time.
“Here’s some more.”
Worried she wouldn’t eat enough, Fang Jiangning refilled the bowl. She watched Yu Linna finish every last bit before taking the bowl to the kitchen to wash. Once done, she returned to check on Yu Linna.
“Feeling better?”
“Much better.”
“Good! Remember to take your medicine on time. No oily or greasy food, no eggs. I’ll come back tomorrow. And since you’re alone, call me if anything happens. You can rely on me!”
Now that things had calmed down, Yu Linna didn’t know what to say.
She was genuinely touched by Fang Jiangning’s care. The wall she had built around herself began to crumble.
Without realizing it, she had made so many friends, people who cared about her. Ye Zhiyun, Fang Jiangning, Dai Wenqian – all friends she had met this past year, friends who had changed her life.
Could she really be this happy?
She had never known life could be so joyful.
But…
Even the best of friends weren’t always forever. Even in the closest friendships, who could truly remain themselves when faced with personal gain? The thought made Yu Linna’s expression darken.
Regardless, Fang Jiangning had helped her, and she owed her a debt of gratitude.
“Jiangning, thank you.”
“Um… you don’t have to thank me.”
Perhaps it was the first time she had been thanked, especially by Yu Linna, but Fang Jiangning blushed, feeling shy. Did this mean she had finally earned Yu Linna’s approval?
She had been trying to get close to Yu Linna since the beginning of the school year, only to be constantly rebuffed. It wasn’t until she discovered the power of food that she finally had a chance to connect with her. Now, half a year later, she couldn’t believe their friendship had lasted this long. Back then, simply exchanging a few words with Yu Linna would have been enough.
“Linna, if anything happens, you can always call me. You’re alone now, and… you can rely on us. After all, all you have is us.”
It was true. She only had them.
Those words weren’t unfamiliar to Yu Linna. On the contrary, they were all too familiar.
Nangong Ying had once said the same thing to her.
(“Linna, if you have any problems, anything you can’t handle, you can always come to me. You’re alone now, but you still have me.”)
Anyone could say pretty words. But what did they mean in the end? Nangong Ying had ultimately pushed her into the depths of hell.
Even if those words had been sincere at the time, people changed. Without you even realizing it, they changed, becoming strangers.
Yu Linna wouldn’t easily trust anyone again, not even Ye Zhiyun. She had never truly trusted her. Scarred by betrayal, she was hesitant to trust anyone.
But…
At least Fang Jiangning’s sincerity felt genuine.
“Yes, thank you.” It was all she could say.
Fang Jiangning chatted for a while longer, leaving late in the evening after saying goodbye. Yu Linna smiled, seeing her to the door, but as the door closed, her expression dimmed.
She wished this friendship could last forever.
But she didn’t dare to hope, didn’t dare to expect. After Nangong Ying’s betrayal, she was afraid to hope, afraid of losing another friend.
Even though she knew it was only a matter of time.
At the editorial office, Shion’s Ballad of the Enchantress continued to spark debate, its genre defying easy categorization, dividing the staff. But one thing was undeniable: the novel was exceptional.
If it hadn’t been good, they would have simply rejected it.
It was precisely because of its quality that they were struggling to categorize it.
The current market was saturated with similar works, and Wenqing was struggling to find truly good manuscripts. Submissions ranged from formulaic stories to attention-grabbing fluff, with few genuinely well-written narratives that offered thought-provoking endings.
Simply put, good books were rare.
And when a good book appeared, they wouldn’t let it go.
Chen Xi, after much debate, finally secured everyone’s agreement and became Shion’s editor. Many commented that she had unearthed another gem, but no one disputed her claim; no one in the editorial department was better at nurturing authors.
Chen Xi found the email address Shion had provided and added them on QQ. She wondered if Shion was male or female, assuming, based on past experience, that it was likely a man. Most commercial fiction writers were male, but Shion’s ability to craft emotionally charged scenes was exceptional.
She found Shion’s QQ account. The nickname was “Salted Fish Just Wants to Eat,” incredibly unrefined. She imagined the owner must be struggling financially, even calling themselves “salted fish,” a term suggesting someone who had given up on life.
She sent a friend request, waiting for a response.
Yu Linna, recovering at home, opened Ye Zhiyun’s computer in her pajamas, logged into QQ, and looked for a group chat to join. A new friend request notification popped up.
It was from “Wenqing Editor Chen Xi.” Seeing the words “Wenqing,” she immediately perked up. She had submitted her manuscript just a day ago. Had they already responded?
◆ Salted Fish Just Wants to Eat: “Hello.”
◆ Wenqing Editor Chen Xi: “Hello, I’m Chen Xi, an editor at Wenqing. Are you Shion?”
◆ Salted Fish Just Wants to Eat: “Yes.”
◆ Wenqing Editor Chen Xi: “We’ve reviewed your manuscript submitted yesterday, and there’s some debate here. Your story might not be suitable for commercial publication. Would you be willing to revise the content?”
Revise the content?
What did that mean?
Change her story?
Yu Linna felt a wave of resistance.
Staring at the screen, her hands clenched.
“Your story is quite good, the writing is excellent. But the ending is weak. If you’re willing to revise it, change the ending for the male and female protagonists, we would consider signing you.”
This was Chen Xi’s tactic. She knew they wanted to sign Shion, but the ending was problematic. Worried that Shion wouldn’t agree to revisions, she applied some pressure, hoping to gain the upper hand.
If Shion was a newcomer, they should be easy to handle.
“I won’t change it.”
“What?”
Yu Linna’s response was concise: I won’t change it. This was her work, poured over day and night, and she wouldn’t change a single word.
Changing the ending would diminish its impact, disrupting the foundation for the planned sequel and undermining the foreshadowing. It would alter the story’s trajectory, making it mediocre.
She refused to do that.
“Shion, please reconsider. I’m trying to help you.”
“I won’t change it. Changing the content is non-negotiable.”
Yu Linna was stubbornly attached to her work, unwilling to compromise, even if it seemed foolish.
It was just a slightly melancholic commercial novel, not a full-blown tragedy. Couldn’t they handle a bit of angst? There were far more depressing stories out there!
Yu Linna felt a sense of injustice, of frustration.
“Sorry, gotta go.”
With that, she logged off QQ, ignoring the editor.
Leaning back in her chair, staring at the ceiling, she felt a wave of anxiety. Had she been too blunt? Wenqing had shown interest in her work; it was an opportunity. But she had just thrown it away.
Now, her novel had no chance of being selected.
Such an unconventional, non-commercial work wouldn’t be popular with readers.
It was over…
Another failure…
But she felt so unwilling to give up.
Biting her lip, she shook her head. Standing her ground for her work… this would probably be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
Meanwhile, Chen Xi was utterly frustrated. She had expected a smooth process, but this Shion was so uncooperative, refusing to change the ending. Was the ending that good? Even the author wouldn’t budge. Who was this person?
But in her years as an editor, she had encountered authors fiercely protective of their work, unwilling to allow any alterations, any changes to their vision. It was the writer’s prerogative.
Ignoring the opinions of others, writing solely for themselves.
Such authors were, in a way, admirable. Of course, that was assuming their books sold.
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