#76: The White Dove Fairy Tale (5)

In addition to the poster, the promotional items included with the collected volume of Hongming Longque also featured bookmarks.

Both items were inserted into the book as complimentary gifts. The characters on the bookmarks were cropped from the poster, with one bookmark per book featuring either of the two protagonists, Hongming or Longque, randomly distributed. When combined, the two bookmarks formed the complete poster image.

At the time, Shi Yin thought this design was brilliant.

She herself had a slight tendency toward collecting, and she figured there would be some readers who, due to this clever setup, might buy a second copy of the book just to collect both bookmarks featuring Hongming and Longque.

Of course, those without such compulsions wouldn’t be affected at all.

Because of the tight schedule before the New Year, the poster hadn’t been completed in time. She had only drafted it earlier and finished painting it during the holiday.

After the New Year, on the seventh day, when the printing plant resumed operations, she submitted the final file. It had now been over a month since then.

The production cycle for magazines was usually planned in advance. For monthly publications, work on the current issue began the previous month, taking about the same amount of time as her work on the poster—roughly a month.

Li Nian specialized in fantasy-themed shoujo manga and was one of the key artists being cultivated by Congyang. It wasn’t surprising that the first few issues of the new year featured her on the cover with a full-color illustration.

The composition of the entire cover was almost identical to Shi Yin’s poster. She remembered it vividly because she had spent a long time working on it. The only difference was that the two male protagonists, Hongming and Longque, were replaced with a male and female lead. Everything else—the poses, the arrangement—was the same.

Shi Yin froze completely, climbed out of bed barefoot, and rushed into the living room. She sat on the couch, opened the sample book she had received that morning, and pulled out the poster to compare it side by side.

They were indeed nearly identical.

Her mind went blank, thoughts swirling chaotically as she sat there in stunned silence.

If it had been someone else, Shi Yin might have dismissed it as a coincidence. After all, composition was something difficult to pin down definitively, and there were differences in their artistic styles. Some details weren’t the same, and Li Nian’s overall piece looked harmonious, with no sense of incongruity.

But this person was Li Nian, and Shi Yin couldn’t help but overthink things.

Not long ago, the two of them had gone through a series of unpleasant incidents. Now, their works with nearly identical compositions were being released around the same time. If this was a coincidence, it was an incredibly suspicious one. Moreover, Shi Yin knew exactly how Li Nian’s manga came to be.

Shi Yin immediately rushed to the printing plant.

By coincidence, Gu Congli happened to be there when she arrived. Seeing him, she paused. “What are you doing here?”

Gu Congli stood by the entrance, smoking. He glanced up, his expression calm. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I forgot, and if I called you, I’d have to wait for you. It was faster for me to come alone,” Shi Yin said as she walked in, her face crestfallen. “No one saw that poster before I handed it over to you.”

She turned to him, looking pitiful. “I really don’t know what’s going on with Li Nian’s version unless—”

She paused, her heart sinking.

She had painted that poster at the café. Unless someone passing by had seen her rough sketches or composition and copied it afterwards.

But pondering these possibilities now was useless.

This kind of situation was inherently troublesome. Having overlapping compositions in art was like having identical outlines and frameworks in novels. A novel might span hundreds of thousands of words, leaving room for differentiation, but a single illustration was akin to a car crash where the outline and detailed framework collided head-on, resulting in a catastrophic mess.

Even if the timing could be calculated to overlap roughly, the situation itself was problematic. Her collected volume hadn’t hit the market yet, while Li Nian’s magazine had already been published. Readers’ first impressions would naturally favor Li Nian as the earlier creator.

Even if Shi Yin later provided proof of her draft timeline, showing she was the first, many people wouldn’t care. The fact that her poster shared the same composition as someone else’s work would diminish its appeal significantly, causing frustration.

The only solution was for her to quickly create a new illustration and replace the poster.

Shi Yin took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. She watched Gu Congli call over the staff and quietly discuss something with them.

Glancing around, she turned back to Gu Congli. “If the sample books were only received today, does that mean printing hasn’t started yet?”

Gu Congli stubbed out his cigarette and followed her inside. “It hasn’t started yet, but the materials—” he paused, “the posters and bookmarks have already been printed.”

Shi Yin’s face turned pale.

Her Hongming Longque had gained immense popularity, and Yaoguang Publishing had generously offered a first print run of thirty thousand copies—a significant number.

Shi Yin had only one complete work under her belt. Although she had been drawing for several years, it was only this year, with Hongming Longque and some short comics on Weibo, that she truly began gaining recognition in the industry. While domestic manga were on the rise, a first print run of thirty thousand copies for a collected volume was still considered highly prestigious.

Not everyone was like Teacher Qi’an, whose astronomical print runs placed him at the very top of the pyramid.

In other words, the bookmarks and posters had already been printed—thirty thousand sets in total. If they needed to be replaced, the entire batch would have to be scrapped.

Shi Yin’s face crumpled in distress. “If, hypothetically, I were to redraw a new illustration now and replace those, how much would it cost to reprint thirty thousand sets of posters and bookmarks? I can cover the costs.”

Gu Congli glanced at her. “The cost of posters and bookmarks is relatively low, so it’s not a huge financial burden. The real issue is time.”

He continued calmly, “The pre-sale has been ongoing for a while now, and the release date has already been announced. The marketing department finalized the promotional posters days ago and coordinated with partner bookstores. If you redraw a new illustration now, go through color correction, send it to the factory, and print it, we won’t have enough time.”

Shi Yin licked her lips. “Two days?”

“Two days?” Gu Congli repeated slowly.

Shi Yin nodded. “I’ll go home now and start redrawing. By tomorrow, I’ll give you the new illustration. If we hurry a bit, we should still make it. Talk to the printing plant and see if they can accommodate.”

Gu Congli narrowed his eyes. “You want to finish a new full-color illustration by the day after tomorrow—with the same level of completion as before?”

Shi Yin fell silent.

The illustration she had previously completed had taken up nearly her entire holiday break. Every detail—the colors of the entire composition, the characters’ poses, even the small elements in the background—had been painstakingly refined.

But this was the only solution she could think of.

She didn’t even want to settle for being on equal footing with Li Nian. The new illustration had to surpass the previous one.

Once she made her decision, Shi Yin immediately returned home and called over Liang Qiushi.

The overall project timeline would need to be delayed by two days, requiring numerous negotiations and arrangements. Gu Congli went to speak with the printing plant’s supervisor while they temporarily split up to handle their respective tasks.

Shi Yin’s nerves had been tightly wound during the car ride home, her mind preoccupied with ideas for the composition. To outdo the previous design, the new image needed a more striking impact. This meant the protagonists’ poses and interactions had to be more captivating.

Her manga was a shonen series. While Hongming and Longque had already garnered immense popularity as a pairing—evidenced by the flood of fan art and CP illustrations online—her original work contained no explicit “BL” elements. All dialogue, paneling, and interactions were strictly within the bounds of traditional storytelling.

Thus, when Liang Qiushi suggested incorporating some subtle hints of such elements into the poster, Shi Yin decisively rejected the idea.

It wasn’t that she disliked it—she actually enjoyed it herself and had even drawn some lighthearted BL-themed strips on Weibo. However, since this was a proper shonen manga, she didn’t want to rely on unrelated gimmicks to grab attention.

Shi Yin turned on her computer and sat at her desk, holding up her tablet as she contemplated what she could draw.

She had two highly popular protagonists. The previous poster depicted their first meeting, standing at the edge of a cliff.

Given the themes of swords and blades, there were also many supporting characters: Zhanlu, Chixiao, Tai’a, Xintinghou, and more. Even the side characters had amassed significant followings.

In serialized shonen manga, when is popularity typically at its peak?

At the climax.

Because the final battle brings closure, gathering all the characters introduced throughout the story into a single scene—a grand melee involving protagonists, antagonists, and everyone in between. It’s the ultimate culmination of the narrative.

Shi Yin blinked, grabbed her pen, and quickly sketched out a rough layout. She sent it to Gu Congli with a message: [What if I drew something like this? Including all the characters and weapons that have appeared so far? Many readers love the side characters even more than the two leads, so this might work better than the previous poster.]

Gu Congli seemed busy and didn’t reply immediately. Unable to wait, Shi Yin simply started working on the illustration.

About half an hour later, he finally responded: [Yes.]

Shi Yin was about to feel relieved.

[Gu Congli: Can you finish it in time?]

“…”

Silently, Shi Yin counted the positions of all the characters she had outlined in her rough sketch.

One, two, three, four, five, six… including the two protagonists, eight figures in total.

Two days to complete eight characters, maintaining the same level of quality as before.

If she skipped eating, drinking, and sleeping entirely, working nonstop for two days straight, it might just be possible.

Shi Yin finished the final stroke just before dawn on the third day, moments before the printing plant opened.

During these past few days, Gu Congli hadn’t gone home either. He brought over some fresh clothes from his place. After finishing, Shi Yin called out hoarsely, “Gu Congli! Gu Congli!”

He entered with a glass of warm milk. Shi Yin tossed her pen aside and collapsed completely into her chair, taking the glass from him and gulping it down in one go. Then she slumped onto the table, nodding toward the computer screen, too exhausted to utter a word.

The vertical poster featured eight characters. The two protagonists stood at the forefront, followed by six others in various poses—some seated, some standing. Some appeared youthful and innocent, while others exuded cold maturity.

At the very front, Hongming held a long blade, its sharp, pale-blue glow pointing downward. His hands overlapped, head slightly bowed, expression stern.

Beside him, Longque stood sideways, a crimson sword resting on his shoulder. His fiery forehead band fluttered behind him, set against the backdrop of a blood-red battlefield under the setting sun. Chin raised, lips faintly curved, his crimson eyes radiated an air of untamed arrogance.

The color palette, composition, and sense of layering were flawless. The style was unmistakably hers—distinctive of Shi Yi’s shonen manga.

There was the pervasive aura of lethal intent, the chivalrous spirit of iron horses and icy rivers, and yet also a touch of serene gentleness reminiscent of flowing streams and lofty mountains.

Throughout the process of creating this piece, Gu Congli hadn’t looked at it once.

Now, seeing the finished artwork, he raised his gaze involuntarily and glanced at the person behind him.

Teacher Shi Yi was already asleep, slumped awkwardly in her chair, her head resting against the backrest.

Gu Congli leaned forward, bracing himself on the armrest, and gazed closely at her.

Perhaps she hadn’t fallen deeply asleep yet. Her brows were furrowed, her once rosy lips now slightly pale, with faint dark circles beneath her eyes.

Gently, Gu Congli reached out, using his fingertip to wipe away a small trace of milk lingering on her lips. Bending down, he lightly kissed her soft, fluffy eyelashes.

The girl wrinkled her nose, seemingly ticklish. She rubbed her eyes groggily, murmured something unintelligible, and without opening her eyes, curled further into the chair to continue sleeping.

For some reason, Gu Congli suddenly recalled a memory from many years ago. A young girl sat obediently in front of a cold, dimly lit studio easel, diligently practicing her lines over and over again for an entire afternoon.

Stacks of paper piled up before him, filled with crooked but earnest strokes. Her large, clear almond-shaped eyes looked up at him expectantly, her voice soft. “Teacher Gu, are my lines any straighter now?”

Gu Congli chuckled softly.

Time and fate were truly remarkable things. They bore witness to his little girl’s gradual growth—from the clumsy horizontal and vertical lines he once taught her by hand, to the confident brushstrokes that now conveyed both tenderness and valor, vast rivers and towering mountains.

Like a fragile butterfly emerging from layers of resilient cocoons.

And through it all, she had seeped into every moment of his life, intertwining with each breath, each pulse of his heartbeat. After circling through time, they had found each other again.

His obsessions had not been wasted, nor had his deep affections been missed.