“Teacher…”
The phone on the table stopped vibrating, then started again.
It was Ding Yilong—again.
But Ou Congquan still didn’t seem to notice.
And when the phone stopped vibrating the second time,
Li Jiang saw that Ou Congquan still sat motionless. Finally, he couldn’t hold back anymore and cautiously called out to him.
Ou Congquan came back to his senses, looked up at his chief assistant, and opened his mouth, as if wanting to say something. “Was I just now…”
But mid-sentence, something seemed to occur to him, and he shut his mouth again.
Li Jiang, who had been listening the entire time, took a few deep breaths and finally worked up the courage to ask,
“What happened just now, Teacher…?”
“Nothing.”
Ou Congquan didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He just shook his head and looked down at the revision notes in his hands.
“I just think Editor Tang wasn’t wrong. In the end, I just feel like I’ve been saved… All that ‘sudden realization’ crap is too much. Right now, I’m just feeling lucky that I was rescued by an editor I once looked down on—or rather, never looked at seriously at all.
I haven’t changed, not really.
Even if time went back a week, I’d probably still act the same. I’d still arrogantly tell her to get lost.”
Li Jiang: “…”
That… was actually accurate.
This Master Ou had always believed that editors were dispensable. Otherwise, when he was poached by a new publisher, he wouldn’t have made such a fuss about protecting his “independent creative space.”
In fact, the last clueless editor Ding Yilong assigned to him had only reinforced that prejudice, making Ou Congquan even more impatient with editors.
He’d always thought editors were pretty much useless.
But still…
Li Jiang didn’t know how to respond now. What, should he say “Teacher, you’ve got a point”?
That would probably be the last thing he ever said as someone with a job…
Besides,
That was the old situation.
Li Jiang glanced at the revision notes in Ou Congquan’s hands.
He’d been clutching them this whole time.
Fortunately, Ou Congquan didn’t seem to be looking for conversation. It was more like he was talking to himself.
He didn’t care about Li Jiang’s response at all.
After he spoke, he lowered his head again and resumed flipping through the revision notes. The face that had always looked especially mean because of his drooping mouth now held a rare trace of guilt.
“Someone arrogant like me, getting saved and schooled like that…”
“Huh?”
Li Jiang, still trying to figure out how to respond, snapped back to attention.
“It’s nothing. Go call the other assistants back.”
Ou Congquan took a deep breath, then stood up from the sofa with the revision notes in hand.
“I’m going to start preparing the next storyboard. I want to get it drawn by tomorrow, so I can hand it over… to Editor Tang.”
“Uh—okay.”
Li Jiang nodded, surprised by Ou Congquan’s sudden energy.
As Ou Congquan walked toward his studio, he added,
“Also, please call someone to clean up the place.”
“Sure.”
Li Jiang agreed again. As he watched Ou Congquan disappear into the studio, he turned to look toward the door.
He could tell—
His boss had pulled himself together.
Not only that, he seemed to be… starting to reflect on himself.
And all this change…
Was because of one editor.
Editor Tang… really was something.
Li Jiang thought of that young, beautiful woman—thought of that look she gave at the end, as if she were staring at garbage…
His cheeks flushed red. Then, as if to hide his thoughts, he quickly turned around and went to contact the other assistants.
Five minutes later,
Li Jiang had finished calling the assistants and the cleaning lady. He returned to the living room.
He intended to tidy up the teacups, and as he did, he noticed his boss sitting at his work desk, intently studying the revision notes.
He’d already gone through them once, hadn’t he?
So what exactly was written in them?
Li Jiang grew curious—but didn’t feel it was appropriate to ask. He simply observed from a distance while collecting the cups.
…Wait.
The phone call.
Li Jiang suddenly remembered and was about to remind Ou Congquan.
But just as he raised his head—he heard the ringtone again.
Li Jiang paused and looked toward the source—in the studio.
This time, Ou Congquan noticed. He looked up.
But the moment he saw the caller’s name… his expression instantly darkened.
Even from across the room, Li Jiang could clearly feel his disgust.
…No need to remind him, then.
Li Jiang saw this and wisely stayed quiet, carrying the teacups back to the kitchen.
Meanwhile—
Though Ou Congquan had said he’d start on the storyboard… he hadn’t picked up his pen yet.
That revision document didn’t just patch up the current plot—it had inspired him.
Especially the “embodiment of malice” concept—it sparked new ideas for the future storyline.
So he began reading it a second time, even more carefully.
But the more he read,
The more complicated his feelings became.
And just when that growing discomfort peaked—
The phone rang again.
Though annoyed,
Ou Congquan still looked up and checked the screen.
When he saw the caller’s name, he froze for a moment—
Then, rage surged up inside him.
Because the name was: Ding Yilong.
“……”
Ou Congquan stared at the caller ID, his face full of contempt and disgust.
He knew Ding Yilong was incompetent.
That last editor Ding assigned had totally screwed him over—then walked away without cleaning up the mess.
That incident had shattered whatever little trust he had left in editors.
He’d always looked down on Ding Yilong.
Most of the time, he just humored the guy to keep the peace. After all, the guy was the editor-in-chief.
But that was the past.
What Tang Yao had said just now—and that revision document—made one thing very clear:
Not all editors are the same.
If it hadn’t been for that amateur editor Ding sent…
If it hadn’t been for Ding throwing fuel on the fire when Tang Yao didn’t “obey”…
If it hadn’t been for that idiot editor-in-chief—
Most people, even if they know they’re wrong, still prefer to blame others for their mistakes.
And right now,
Ou Congquan was in that state of mind.
He glared at the screen—pure fury boiling up.
After a long while,
He finally managed to calm down enough to answer.
He picked up the phone, hit “accept,” and held it to his ear.
“…Hello?”
His voice was stiff and cold.
But on the other end, Ding Yilong didn’t seem to notice. As soon as the call connected, he rushed in,
“Master Ou? Why didn’t you pick up just now? It’s Ding Yilong from the editorial department… I’m so sorry to bother you.
You’ve seen this week’s magazine, right? I’m really sorry about what happened.
That editor under me—Tang Yao—she caused you a lot of trouble. I’ll replace her as your editor ASAP.
But this issue really stirred things up—it’s totally unlike your usual work.
I wanted to ask…
Did Tang Yao influence your creative process?
If so, please, do tell me…”
As he listened to Ding Yilong’s hinting tone,
Ou Congquan’s eyes widened in realization.
And the moment he heard “replace your editor,”
It was like something snapped.
Before Ding could finish, Ou Congquan roared:
“F*** you!!!”
“…?”
On the other end, Ding Yilong fell silent for a moment—shocked. Then his voice returned, stunned:
“…Teacher? What did you say?”
“I said—
F***! OFF! YOU F**ING MORON!!!
Replace my editor, my a! You hear me!?”
Ou Congquan screamed even louder:
“You want to dodge responsibility again!? Make the editor take the fall!? Go eat sh*t!!!”
Ding Yilong: “…………”
Meanwhile.
Tang Yao had already left Ou Congquan’s home.
She didn’t know what had happened afterward.
And she didn’t care anymore.
Because her goal had already been achieved.
She could tell—
That revision draft had worked.
If nothing unexpected happened,
Ou Congquan should follow it when redrawing.
Of course, there was still a chance he’d stubbornly stick to his own version for the sake of pride.
But that was fine—
If needed, she’d have Shang Tao pressure the higher-ups into stepping in.
When that happened,
Even if he cared about saving face,
He’d probably back down.
So as far as she was concerned,
It was no longer her problem.
“Finally done with the last task.”
Tang Yao walked out of the high-end apartment complex and to the roadside.
She took a deep breath and raised her hand to hail a cab.
She wasn’t going back to the office.
She was heading home.
Because the final piece was in place.
Now, all that was left—
Was to draw the opening chapters of Fate Zero.
After all, everything she’d been hustling for was to ride the massive wave of publicity surrounding Fate Zero.
If everything was lined up, the hype was real, and she didn’t deliver the manga…
Now that would be awkward.
And besides… there really wasn’t much time left.