Compared to doing one good deed a day, doing one bad deed a day might actually suit Ye Zhen’s personality better.

Yet Ye Zhen never expected that, having finally done a good deed, he wouldn’t even be able to tell anyone about it — he had no choice but to keep it bottled up.

This was definitely society’s fault.

Ye Zhen threw away that copy of The One-in-Ten-Thousand Chance of Being Close to You the very same night, determined to put it out of sight and out of mind. Still, when he went to work the next morning, his mood remained sour, and even the sight of Li You’ai seemed more insufferable than usual.

Li You’ai had had several projects snatched away by Ye Zhen in a row lately, and by now the two of them regarded each other practically as sworn enemies, each wishing to fight the other to the death.

And yet Ye Zhen kept sitting there in the Project Incubation Department every single day, being a thorn in his side — Li You’ai was fuming with rage, and worse still, every time he’d tried to make life difficult for Ye Zhen, Ye Zhen had somehow deflected it effortlessly.

With nowhere else to vent his rage, Li You’ai went looking for something else to take it out on — and, as luck would have it, a scrappy little studio came in looking for incubation funding right into the line of fire—

“Just look at yourselves. You’ve got exactly one manga project, and it’s not even a platform-commissioned one. Every company you’ve approached so far has turned you down. There are only two people working at your entire studio — I’ve never seen such a ragtag operation in my life. Even a scam artist would put in more effort to look presentable! Do you think we’re some kind of charity for the destitute?!”

…

Li You’ai played completely to type, bullying the weak while fearing the strong, unleashing a torrent of abuse like a spraying inkjet printer, thoroughly venting his frustration. Once he’d chased the small studio’s head out the door, he turned to make snide, indirect jabs at Ye Zhen: “Who knows where all these wild pheasants keep coming from. Always trying to add their own drama to things. Maybe it’s because our department already has one wild pheasant in it — that’s why we keep attracting more. And a parallel timeline, of all things? Like being poor in one timeline just means you get to be rich in another? Low-class. Pure bottom-feeder wishful thinking…”

Ye Zhen had originally paid no mind to Li You’ai’s provocation, but the words “parallel timeline” successfully caught his attention. “What’s the name of that studio? Is it the one doing the parallel-timeline project?”

Li You’ai rolled his eyes. “Something called ‘Chuyuan’…”

Before he’d even finished speaking, he saw Ye Zhen set down the materials in his hand and, lips pressed tight, chase after them out the door…

—

Ye Zhen had quite an impression of Chuyuan, because he himself had once mocked the studio and its manga project using the exact same reasoning Li You’ai had just used.

Even now, Ye Zhen still felt his earlier judgment hadn’t been wrong — a studio with nothing to its name, lacking everything…

“Do you have a detailed five-year development plan? Have you projected the organizational structure for after the studio expands in the future? Do you have ideas for a development model once commercialization succeeds? What about hiring and expansion plans? Have you done any research into the target consumer demographic for your work? Besides the project on hand, do you have a reserve pipeline of other projects to draw from?”

Earlier, when Jiang Xiaoyi had submitted the “Chuyuan” project through the approval process, she’d attached detailed analysis materials. Ye Zhen hadn’t looked closely at the time — he’d merely skimmed the bolded headers in the report, glanced at Jiang Xiaoyi’s work performance, and swiftly rejected it, ending the process right there.

But Ye Zhen remembered clearly that in Jiang Xiaoyi’s report, even in those bolded headers he’d only glanced over, there had been a detailed breakdown of the five-year development plan, consumer positioning, and recommended reserve projects.

Ever since Ye Zhen himself had become a working employee in the Project Incubation Department, he’d gradually grown familiar with the workflow, and had come to understand that for every project, the person in charge needed to attach a detailed research and analysis report when submitting for approval — and the content of these reports was, for the most part, written and provided by the studios seeking incubation funding themselves.

So Ye Zhen had more or less assumed, from the start, that the bulk of the content supporting that earlier “Chuyuan” report had come from the studio itself. It was only now, flipping through the paper materials the “Chuyuan” studio head had brought with him, that he finally understood the attitude Li You’ai had shown earlier—

There was practically nothing here at all.

So naturally, anyone without patience wouldn’t be willing to spend the time carefully reviewing this studio’s manga, let alone provide the kind of hand-holding service of mapping out an entire development plan and business roadmap for free.

Those dozens of pages of analysis reports and PowerPoint slides had, it turned out, all been written by Jiang Xiaoyi herself, piece by piece.

The “Chuyuan” studio head didn’t seem like much of a talker. Faced with Ye Zhen’s barrage of questions, he pushed up his glasses, looking somewhat abashed. “I’m sorry, I’m just a manga artist. I don’t understand any of what you’re asking…”

At this, he hastily pulled out his manga manuscript. “But please, take a look at this manga — I really think it’s interesting, I think people will love it…”

He finished speaking and pushed the manuscript into Ye Zhen’s hands, his eyes almost pleading. “Could you please take a look?”

Ye Zhen had meant to refuse, but somehow, before he even registered it, he’d already accepted it.

But this had absolutely nothing to do with Jiang Xiaoyi, Ye Zhen told himself calmly — it was mainly because, given the subject matter of this manga, he himself had genuinely experienced a real parallel timeline, and so he was just a little bit curious, that’s all…

Only, Ye Zhen hadn’t expected that this “bit of curiosity” would end up lasting an entire afternoon — he’d opened the manuscript intending to just skim a couple pages, and then hadn’t been able to stop.

This was too good!

Whether it was the maturity of the world-building or the hard science-fiction knowledge woven throughout, the whole work had an impressively polished quality to it, yet without any of the off-putting, overly academic feel that sometimes came with it. Quite the opposite — the manga used a very small entry point and a wonderfully ordinary protagonist to rapidly close the distance with readers. Not only was the plot full of twists and turns, but the banter and dialogue between the characters were laced with humor, blending entertainment and substance beautifully.

Ye Zhen never expected that a mature, composed elite like himself would one day find himself utterly absorbed in reading manga. Jiang Xiaoyi hadn’t come home yet — maybe she was working overtime — so Ye Zhen skipped dinner and simply kept reading.

Half an hour later, if it hadn’t been for the somewhat loud sound of Jiang Xiaoyi returning to the villa, he really would have completely lost himself in the manga’s world, forgetting everything else.

But the moment Jiang Xiaoyi got home, Ye Zhen snapped back to his usual cool, composed self — his first move was to hide away the “Chuyuan” parallel-timeline manuscript.

Jiang Xiaoyi, however, didn’t seem to notice what Ye Zhen was up to at all. She was on the phone, her face flushed and radiant, her expression clearly happy, sounding as though she was making dinner plans with someone — it sounded like a man.

“Okay, sounds good, see you tomorrow night then.”

Once she hung up, she seemed only then to notice Ye Zhen sitting on the living room sofa, visibly startled. “You’re home?”

What kind of question was that? Ye Zhen felt a flicker of irritation. “Can’t I be?”

He glanced at his watch. “It’s way past dinner time!”

Jiang Xiaoyi paused for a moment. “I already ate. Haven’t you?” Suddenly she seemed to understand. “Were you… waiting for me?”

Ye Zhen denied it almost instantly. “No!”

He hastily explained, “I ate too much at lunch. I’m not that hungry.”

“Good, then.” Jiang Xiaoyi smiled and turned to head upstairs.

Ye Zhen cleared his throat, asking with feigned casualness, “Are you going out to eat again tomorrow night?”

“Mm, I’ve got plans.” Jiang Xiaoyi tilted her head. “I won’t be eating at home these next few days.”

“A work engagement?” Ye Zhen said, raising his teacup, his tone deliberately natural. “Even though I’m not exactly fond of being an assistant, now that I’m taking this salary, I still try to be a professional. As the boss, when you go out for work functions, you really should bring an assistant along — for things like fending off drinks or driving you home, these still require someone to handle them. These next few nights, I could just happen to…”

Unfortunately, before he could finish the word “have time,” Jiang Xiaoyi waved him off. “No need, it’s not a work thing, it’s my own personal matter. You go ahead and focus on your own work.”

Jiang Xiaoyi, looking rather pleased with herself, hummed a little tune and made to trot upstairs.

At that moment, without really thinking it through, Ye Zhen found he had already called out Jiang Xiaoyi’s name.

“Jiang Xiaoyi.”

Jiang Xiaoyi stopped, looking a little puzzled. “Hm?”

Ye Zhen wasn’t even sure himself what he wanted to say — he only felt a certain restlessness in his chest — but meeting Jiang Xiaoyi’s gaze, he kept his composure. “I want to discuss something about work with you.”

He looked away. “It’s about the manga project. I ran into something and wanted to ask you about it. Weren’t you a manga major? You know a lot about it…”

Though a little surprised, the moment she heard it was work-related, Jiang Xiaoyi immediately turned back from the stairs without a shred of doubt. “What don’t you understand?”

In truth, Ye Zhen had nothing in particular he wanted to ask about manga, but having already started down this road, he could only grit his teeth and keep going.

He really did have only a superficial understanding of manga, entertainment, and otaku culture, and many of his questions were pretty basic, even naive — yet, to his surprise, Jiang Xiaoyi answered patiently and in great detail.

Ye Zhen himself hadn’t quite known what had possessed him to stop Jiang Xiaoyi and start asking questions in the first place, but as she explained things simply and gave easy-to-understand examples, he found himself genuinely listening, genuinely absorbing it.

“When people think of manga, they usually think of Japan, but actually, over the past decade or so, domestic Chinese comics have developed incredibly fast too. Starting around five years ago, the paid revenue on major domestic manga platforms has already been able to cover the cost of acquiring content — meaning the industry entered a profitable era.”

“Actually, in recent years, awareness of paying for legitimate content has grown a lot, and paying subscribers have grown very quickly too. If anything, it’s the limited supply of quality content that’s holding the industry back, so the work Ruiyi does is genuinely important for the whole domestic manga industry. There are so many early-stage manga studios out there just waiting to be discovered and nurtured — I’ve always felt that what Ruiyi does is meaningful work.”

Jiang Xiaoyi’s eyes were bright, her gaze focused and full of passion, carrying a kind of single-minded devotion that made it hard to look away.

Ye Zhen felt almost spellbound. “So you really love the work at Ruiyi?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Jiang Xiaoyi nodded.

Honestly speaking, she really did love the work at Ruiyi — even back when she’d been an ordinary employee, that love was why she’d endured so many problems, setbacks, and unfair treatment along the way.

“I love manga. I studied a related major myself. I want to see domestic comics keep getting better — Ruiyi makes me feel like what I studied actually gets put to good use, and lets me help so many fledgling manga studios that are just starting out.”

Ye Zhen paused before continuing. “Between working in the Project Incubation Department and being my assistant, which do you like more?”

So the reason she’d reacted so strongly back when he’d promoted her to be his official assistant — she’d actually been genuinely unhappy about it?

At this point, Jiang Xiaoyi was quite candid, nodding. “Being your assistant does pay well, and it looks good on paper too, being around the boss every day, seemingly full of prospects — but the Project Incubation Department is what I really want to be doing. Being an assistant really does test someone’s overall abilities — coordination skills, stress tolerance, communication — but I prefer using my own professional expertise to help people directly.”

“With Li You’ai being like that, you still want to stay in the Project Incubation Department?”

“Mm. Even though Eunuch Li is pretty annoying, most of my colleagues in the department are actually really great. Everyone bands together against Eunuch Li — thinking back on it now, it’s actually a pretty fun memory.”

Jiang Xiaoyi smiled. “Besides, is there ever such a thing as a perfect job? Life’s the same way — you can’t have everything good. You just have to figure out what matters most to you, hold on to the big things, let go of the small ones — that way the job ends up feeling decent enough overall, and you can keep pushing through and hanging in there.”

Listening to Jiang Xiaoyi’s mature philosophy on being an employee, Ye Zhen realized she wasn’t nearly as naive as he’d assumed. Sure, she could be a little childish at times, but she lived with real clarity.

“That ‘Chuyuan’ project back then — did you really prepare dozens of pages of analysis materials all on your own?” Ye Zhen asked, feigning casualness. “But the market analysis and commercial value for that project looked pretty average at the time — was it really worth spending that much time preparing all that material?”

Bringing up this project still left Jiang Xiaoyi with a trace of regret, but her attitude remained unchanged. “Of course it was worth it. Good content is always worth the time.”

“It might sound a little naive, but I still think people should hold on to some kind of dream. My dream is for all the interesting content and souls out there to be discovered and loved by more people.”

“I don’t even know if ‘Chuyuan’ still exists in this timeline…” Jiang Xiaoyi sighed. “Back then, that studio was almost out of money to keep operating, held together purely by the two founders’ passion project spirit. I followed and prepared for that project for two years. I thought the report I wrote was quite thorough at the time, but looking back now, I still didn’t have enough experience with organizational structure and commercialization strategy — I didn’t really manage to put much substance into it.”

Though Jiang Xiaoyi understood manga content and its readers deeply, when it came to commercial operations, she was still a novice — even now, as Director Jiang, that remained a weak point for her.

Jiang Xiaoyi glanced at Ye Zhen. “Actually, a lot of manga artists carry this kind of all-in, dream-chasing mentality. A lot of manga artists have no money at all before they make a name for themselves, and it’s really tough rushing to meet deadlines. If Ruiyi can invest in these dark horses, it’s a win-win for both the company and the artists personally.”

Ye Zhen didn’t tell Jiang Xiaoyi that he was the one now handling the “Chuyuan” negotiations — he couldn’t quite bring himself to admit it, harboring some vague impulse to accomplish something first before telling her.

Fortunately, Jiang Xiaoyi didn’t press the topic further either, returning instead to their earlier subject, talking more about the state of the domestic manga industry.

After going into considerable detail, Jiang Xiaoyi finally smiled and explained, “Of course, besides manga project incubation, Ruiyi handles a lot of other entertainment incubation too — I just focus mainly on manga. Now that I’m the boss, I’ve realized being a boss is actually more exhausting — there’s so much to learn. I’ve been cramming on a lot of the other entertainment sectors too. Last time I had a meeting with Jiang Lin, he taught me a lot too…”

The atmosphere had been quite pleasant up until then, but the moment Ye Zhen heard the name “Jiang Lin,” his face darkened instantly. “Why are you learning from him?”

“?”

Ye Zhen pressed his lips together, his expression turning ugly. “Ruiyi and his company are competitors. How could you learn from him? Isn’t that like inviting the enemy in?”

“Then who am I supposed to ask?” Jiang Xiaoyi was stunned by his unreasonable logic. “I’ve already consulted every department head at Ruiyi who might know something, but they only know their own specific area — none of them have any real perspective on how to weigh the entertainment industry at the level of overall company strategy. Jiang Lin, on the other hand, having been steeped in this industry for so long as a manager, actually has a lot of insightful views on it.”

Ye Zhen was practically furious. “Look at you — you’ve clearly been brainwashed by Jiang Lin. There are no friends in business. You think you’re just having a friendly chat, but who knows if he’s not secretly pumping you for Ruiyi’s confidential information.”

“The entertainment industry as a whole thrives or falls together. A healthy ecosystem benefits even the leading companies. If Ruiyi does well and grows the whole market, that benefits him too, and vice versa. That’s exactly what Jiang Lin told me — he’s actually someone who’s quite open and likes sharing his thoughts. He’s nowhere near as underhanded as you’re making him out to be.”

At this, Ye Zhen was practically gritting his teeth. “Have you forgotten Jiang Lin’s illustrious track record with girlfriends and boyfriends galore? And you still think he’s a good person? I thought you’d already come to your senses.”

Jiang Xiaoyi shrugged. “I’m not dating him. I’m just exchanging professional insights with him — I don’t care about his personal life. But I have to admit, being a second-generation business heir, he really does know a lot about management…”

“Then can’t you ask some other second-generation business heir instead? Why does it have to be him?”

Jiang Xiaoyi blinked. “Where would I even find another second-generation business heir?”

Ye Zhen cleared his throat. “Isn’t there one standing right in front of you?”

“?”

“I’m a second-generation business heir too.” Ye Zhen straightened his back. “I know a lot more than Jiang Lin does. My education is higher than his, my experience running a company is broader than his, and my track record is far more impressive than his.”

That was true enough — Ye Zhen genuinely had exceptional business management skills… but…

“But you don’t understand the entertainment industry! Look, you’re still asking me questions right now.”

Not to mention Jiang Lin — Ye Zhen’s knowledge base on the entertainment industry probably wasn’t even up to Jiang Xiaoyi’s own level.

Ye Zhen wanted to argue back, but clearly had nothing to argue with. He could only press his lips together and glare at Jiang Xiaoyi.

This man, for whatever reason, had a stubborn streak of pride, and could only insist, unreasonably, “Ruiyi’s matters absolutely cannot be discussed with Jiang Lin. Doesn’t that make it seem like Ruiyi has lost?”

He thought it over and, as though suddenly struck with enlightenment, came up with a solution. “Don’t ask Jiang Lin.”

“Then who should I ask?”

Ye Zhen said calmly, “Just keep asking me.”

“?”

“Give me a week. I’ll cram entertainment industry knowledge immediately.” He looked away. “I’m smart, I learn fast, and I know Ruiyi’s operations inside and out. My other knowledge base is more than sufficient too — even though it’s a different industry, entertainment and other industries share plenty of similarities when it comes to commercialization paths. I’m good at applying knowledge broadly. Once I’ve studied up, you can just come ask me instead.”

Having said this, Ye Zhen finally turned his gaze back to her. “If a week from now I still can’t answer your questions and you’re not satisfied, then it won’t be too late to go back to Jiang Lin.”

Fine, then…

“So don’t go to your private dinner with Jiang Lin tomorrow night.” Ye Zhen cleared his throat. “That man isn’t any good. Who knows if he’d take the chance to get close to you just to pump you for Ruiyi’s information. Jiang Xiaoyi, business is like a battlefield — you need to be rational about this.”

That actually made sense, except…

“I’m not having dinner with Jiang Lin tomorrow.” Jiang Xiaoyi explained, “It’s my senior.”

She smiled at Ye Zhen. “I hear your concern about Ruiyi, but don’t worry — Jiang Lin’s actually away on a business trip right now, so I won’t be seeing him for the time being anyway. Tomorrow night really is just a purely personal thing, no need to worry.”

Ye Zhen really should have felt reassured hearing this — but instead, his mood only soured further.

He actually felt the urge to press her further about who exactly she was having dinner with. If it wasn’t Jiang Lin, then who?

Jiang Xiaoyi, completely unaware of Ye Zhen’s shifting mood, glanced at her watch. “Anything else you want to ask about manga? If not, I’m heading upstairs.”

Though Ye Zhen had let go of a fair amount of his bias against manga because of the “Chuyuan” project and had picked up a bit of understanding along the way, his knowledge base on the subject was still pitifully thin, and he couldn’t come up with many more questions.

If this dragged on, the conversation would only grow awkward — but for some reason, Ye Zhen just didn’t want Jiang Xiaoyi to go upstairs yet. After a moment’s thought, he asked what might have been the least substantive question of his entire life—

“So what manga do you like best?”

The moment the words left his mouth, Ye Zhen already regretted it, but there was no way out now, so he could only push forward to cover himself. “What you just told me about the manga industry was actually pretty interesting. I’d like to look into a few specific titles too.” He looked away. “Since you’re clearly the expert and you’ve read a lot, why don’t you recommend me a few of the really essential ones — the kind you personally like — and I’ll go check them out.”

Without thinking much of it, Jiang Xiaoyi enthusiastically launched into recommending her favorite manga titles. “Let me recommend a few shonen titles — there are several domestic comics that are really well done, and they weave in a lot of classical Chinese elements, with a lot of our own historical depth. Like Palace Walls, and Beauty in the Jianghu, and also…”

Ye Zhen had never heard of a single one of the titles coming out of Jiang Xiaoyi’s mouth, and had no idea what stories they told. And yet, simply watching Jiang Xiaoyi’s face flush slightly as she talked about the manga she loved, her eyes bright with a smile, he found himself naturally swept up in her mood — that vibrant, lively happiness.

Perhaps manga, as a medium of expression, really could convey a great deal on its own — otherwise, why would Ye Zhen feel so genuinely pleased just from listening to Jiang Xiaoyi talk?

Once she started talking about the manga she loved, Jiang Xiaoyi couldn’t stop — after that, Ye Zhen no longer had to rack his brain for topics; she naturally kept branching off in every direction, explaining to Ye Zhen what a “ship” was, what paneling meant, how to judge the quality of a script, which platforms currently dominated the domestic manga scene, which works were especially popular…

Everything was going wonderfully — if not for that phone call.

Right as Jiang Xiaoyi and Ye Zhen were in the middle of discussing a funny running gag from one of her favorite manga, laughing uncontrollably, her phone rang.

“I’ll take this call.”

Ye Zhen watched her stand up, a lingering trace of the smile from their conversation still on her face, and answer the phone in a gentle voice. “Senior.”

Senior?

Jiang Xiaoyi quickly walked away from Ye Zhen, moving further off to take the call, and Ye Zhen couldn’t make out what came after.

But…

Senior?

Where had this “senior” suddenly come from? Since when did she have a senior? How did he not know about this? Was tomorrow night’s dinner with this senior?

Ye Zhen had a string of questions, but Jiang Xiaoyi wasn’t going to answer them — not only that, she walked back over, still on the phone, waved goodnight to Ye Zhen, and headed upstairs with a smile, clearly settling in for a long phone conversation.

When I was the boss, I was always so busy! Who had time for long phone calls at night!

If Jiang Xiaoyi kept this up, how was Ruiyi supposed to keep progressing!

Ye Zhen figured it must be because of all this that he now felt this knot of frustration in his chest.