Shi Yin was absolutely livid.

Previously, she had thought she had neglected him and even planned to talk to him about it the next time they met. Now? She no longer cared. All she wanted was to pry open his skull and see what exactly was going on inside.

It felt like raising a child only for them to suddenly hit their rebellious phase. Talking to him would be useless—he wouldn’t listen, he’d fail his exams, and not only that, instead of reflecting on why he failed, he’d secretly run off to join some street gang like the “Divine Dragon Clan.”

In the serene and elegant private restaurant, outside the men’s restroom, Shi Yin crossed her arms and calmly stared at him. “You want to go to Yang Culture?”

Liang Qiushi remained silent, his gaze shifting uneasily.

The kettle on the stove simmered, the water boiling furiously. The lid rattled as steam spewed from the spout.

Shi Yin laughed bitterly. “You want to go to Yang Culture? Have you even done your homework on this company?”

“…”

“Do you know their scale, distribution channels, or platforms? Do you know what kind of resources they can offer you?”

“They promised me a color cover for my first serialized chapter and said they’d promote me heavily.”

Shi Yin paused. “What?”

“He said he read my submission for the newcomer contest, thought I shouldn’t be overlooked, and that Yang Culture has a gap in their lineup—no famous authors, so all the resources could be focused on me. There’s less competition, and they also assured me they’d consider publishing a collected volume.”

Liang Qiushi raised his head, his voice low. “I know Yang Culture can’t compare to Yaoguang Publishing, but they’re still somewhat reputable in the industry. And these past two years, they’ve been gaining momentum.”

“…”

Shi Yin spent over ten seconds processing his words.

“Gaining momentum? Do you even know why they’ve grown so fast? And that man just now—do you know what kind of person he is?” She stopped mid-sentence, realizing Liang Qiushi hadn’t been present during the newcomer awards ceremony. He didn’t know.

Forcing herself to remain calm, Shi Yin continued. “Just look at how sleazy he looks. Clearly untrustworthy.”

“…”

Liang Qiushi pursed his lips. “Even if he’s untrustworthy, how bad could it really be? He’s the manager of a listed company’s department. For someone like me, an ordinary person, having a publisher approach me saying they like my work—don’t you realize how rare an opportunity this is? Should I just give up because there might be risks?”

“Let’s say I understand that Yaoguang is better, but even if I were to follow your recommendation and join Yaoguang, the competition is fierce, and the resources are limited. As a rookie, what good opportunities could I possibly get? Could you guarantee me a color cover? Would Crimson Moon or any other weekly/monthly publication prioritize promoting me? Heck, I don’t even know if I’ll be able to serialize smoothly.”

Shi Yin was speechless.

Liang Qiushi’s eyes reddened. “You geniuses will never understand. Have you ever worked as an assistant? Day after day, doing nothing but miscellaneous tasks—scraping screen tones, drawing others’ stuff, unable to have your own thoughts. Do you know what that feels like?”

“Your debut manga won an award right away—you became a teacher the moment you entered the industry. Of course you wouldn’t understand what life is like for assistants.”

“Don’t assume opportunities come easily just because you’ve been lucky. Do you know how many people in this industry started helping others draw comics when they were teenagers, working as assistants for other mangakas, scraping by on meager monthly wages? Some spend their entire lives sticking screen tones onto other people’s works.”

Silence reigned.

No one spoke.

Liang Qiushi’s emotions were running high. He steadied his breathing, composed himself, then lowered his gaze in a defeated manner. “Teacher Shi Yi, every single one of us entered this industry because we loved it. We had dreams, passion, and ambition. No one wants to be an assistant forever. But reality is cruel. For people like us, being approached with an offer based on our work feels like winning the lottery. I don’t have the luxury or capital to be picky. Even if it’s a trap, I still want to jump in and try my luck.”

With those words hanging in the air—

Now that things had been laid bare—

Shi Yin suddenly found herself at a loss for words.

She wasn’t ignorant of how difficult the manga industry could be.

Things had improved significantly in recent years, thanks to the rise of anime culture and the resurgence of domestic manga. But just a few years ago, the Chinese manga scene was bleak. Occasionally, there’d be a breakout hit, but such successes were rare—countable on one hand.

The vast majority of mangakas earned little money while juggling heavy workloads, barely making ends meet. They suffered from occupational illnesses, struggled with uncertainty, and faced dim prospects.

Many couldn’t even call themselves mangakas because they couldn’t support themselves through their own creations. Instead, they eked out a living doing custom commissions—drawing whatever clients requested, never given the chance to create their own stories. Essentially, they were ghostwriters or hired hands.

A far cry from the dreamlike ideal of being a “mangaka.”

Everything Liang Qiushi said was true.

Everyone entered the industry chasing dreams, opening doors filled with hope, only to be crushed by harsh realities, left disillusioned and broken.

Shi Yin hadn’t experienced that dark era. By the time she started drawing manga, the domestic scene was already improving. She had been incredibly fortunate, meeting reliable editors and joining a solid company without taking detours. Her debut series, though never wildly popular, maintained steady serialization until its conclusion, never getting canceled.

As Liang Qiushi said, he wasn’t unaware of the risks, but opportunities like these were so rare. Even if it meant jumping off a cliff, many would take the leap, hoping for success.

Perhaps it would pay off.

She hadn’t lived through what Liang Qiushi described, so she didn’t know what to say.

All she knew was that she didn’t want to watch him blindly rush into something potentially destructive.

Too many careers had been ruined by impulsive decisions. Shi Yin didn’t know much about Yang Culture, but she was certain that sleazy deputy manager wasn’t someone who would guide others down the right path.

After a long pause, Shi Yin finally looked at him and spoke softly. “I admit I’ve never been an assistant, nor did I consider your feelings or notice that something was wrong with your emotions. That’s my failure as your friend.”

Liang Qiushi lowered his head, his shoulders trembling slightly.

“The next thing I’m about to say might make you uncomfortable, but I need to be clear with you. Though I’m still relatively new to this world, as your half-senior, I want to live up to the title of ‘Teacher’ you’ve given me. I can’t persuade you one way or another—I can only tell you that there are infinite possibilities in this world. You might feel like you don’t have opportunities now, but if you put in the effort, there will always be some kind of reward waiting for you down the line.”

Shi Yin paused, her tone calm. “You can feel anxious, but keep your head clear. Don’t rush for quick success, and don’t stray onto the wrong path.”

When Shi Yin returned to the table, Gu Congli had already finished eating and was sitting in his seat scrolling through his phone.

Seeing her approach, he glanced up. “I almost called the police.”

Shi Yin sat down dazedly, staring at him blankly. “Huh?”

“Or maybe the fire department—to fish you out of the toilet.”

Shi Yin: “….”

She listlessly picked up her chopsticks, grabbing a sliver of cucumber and slowly chewing it like a hamster nibbling on a seed—bit by bit.

Gu Congli glanced at her. “What’s wrong?”

Shi Yin’s gaze was unfocused. “I just ran into my assistant—the one you’ve met before.”

Gu Congli froze, his brown eyes darkening.

“He seems to be planning to leave.” Shi Yin continued.

“Oh,” Gu Congli’s expression turned indifferent again as he lowered his head back to his phone. The tension in the corner of his lips relaxed, and he even seemed somewhat pleased. “Did you get the keys back?”

Shi Yin blinked. “What?”

“He’s no longer your assistant. Shouldn’t he return your house keys?”

“…”

Shi Yin felt that his focus was slightly off.

Shi Yin: “Normally, wouldn’t you ask why?”

Gu Congli didn’t actually care about the reason. He just wanted her assistant gone—preferably today rather than tomorrow.

In a good mood, he humored her. “Hmm, then why?”

Shi Yin sighed sorrowfully. “He got poached.”

“Well done.” Gu Congli remarked indifferently.

Shi Yin: “?”

“I mean,” he calmly added, “Good eye.”

Shi Yin originally thought that Gu Congli was the jealous type. Whenever she mentioned Liang Qiushi, his gaze and demeanor would become terrifyingly intense, giving her the sense that continuing the conversation would lead to trouble. So, she had deliberately avoided mentioning him in the past.

But this time, she didn’t know who else to talk to. She was so frustrated. If Liang Qiushi ended up going to Yang Culture and things went well, then fine. But if he got scammed or something, she’d be devastated.

She briefly explained the situation to him. Gu Congli quietly listened with his head bowed, offering no comments throughout—she couldn’t tell if he was listening or not.

When she finished, he finally asked, “Yang Culture?”

“Yes, Yang Culture. I haven’t looked into them much, but they’re apparently gaining momentum recently, recruiting quite a few mangakas and authors?” Shi Yin wrinkled her nose in disgust, thinking of that stout man. Just picturing him made her skin crawl. “And that manager—the one from the newcomer awards ceremony, the fat and disgusting one.”

Gu Congli’s previously indifferent attitude shifted slightly. He narrowed his eyes. “The one from the newcomer awards?”

In an instant, a chilling aura emanated from him. Shi Yin blinked, startled. “He seemed like he really didn’t want to run into me. As soon as he saw it was me, he bolted.”

Gu Congli suddenly smiled faintly, his voice almost gentle. “Of course he didn’t want to meet you.”

His tone could even be described as tender.

But Shi Yin felt a chill run down her spine, unconsciously shrinking her shoulders slightly.

She held her chopsticks, lowering her head, and suddenly recalled the summer newcomer awards ceremony.

That man had casually broken someone’s wrist, dragging them away as though they were a lifeless object. His entire presence was chilling to the core.

At the time, Shi Yin hadn’t fully processed what happened. Later, when she thought about it, she instinctively avoided delving deeper into those matters, unwilling to step into that other side of his world.

Those unsettling things gave her the illusion that if she got too close, her perception of Gu Congli would be completely overturned.