#78: The White Dove Fairy Tale (7)

The scandal surrounding Li Nian came at a very opportune time—just as her magazine’s full-color cover illustration was set to boost her popularity rankings in a week.

Congyang Culture’s manga department currently had only one star author: Li Nian. Coupled with her carefully crafted persona, the connection between her and the scandal was unmistakable. It might as well have had her name plastered across it.

Online feuds like this were common across various circles. Although there was some overlap between game illustrators and manga artists, they essentially belonged to different industries. Illustrators focused on precision in their artwork, while manga artists prioritized storytelling over intricate drawings.

Shi Yin had initially thought the matter would end there. But unexpectedly, Li Nian herself stepped forward to claim responsibility.

The two exchanged heated arguments on Weibo for what seemed like hundreds of rounds. Throughout, Li Nian maintained her gentle, cute image, speaking politely with honorifics and apologies sprinkled liberally into her words.

Shi Yin knew this tone all too well—their private chat records still lay untouched. On the other hand, the illustrator involved was someone who spoke bluntly and directly, exuding an air of authority that left Li Nian stunned.

After finishing her tirade, the illustrator began dropping bombshells.

Congyang Culture’s manga division had only taken shape at the beginning of last year. They first targeted the online manga market, followed by print media, launching their own original manga website and app. They aggressively recruited relatively well-known manga artists, propelling rapid growth.

Li Nian, packaged entirely by Congyang, was a complete newcomer with no prior reputation. Yet within just a year, she amassed 200,000 followers on Weibo—a feat Shi Yin hadn’t achieved even after four years of working on ECHO .

What the illustrator posted wasn’t anything else—it was art.

One character design after another, rendered with exceptional skill. Every detail, from shoelaces to strands of hair, was meticulously crafted.

This was typical of illustrators, especially those working in video games. Given simple textual descriptions of characters and settings, they could create entire fantastical worlds and legendary figures.

And these backgrounds and characters? They were all lifted directly from the series Li Nian had just started serializing. Many were traced from these designs, redrawn in her style, and used verbatim in panels.

Congyang purchased these character designs from other illustrators and repackaged them as Li Nian’s work, including secondary creations such as scripts and assistants—all resources provided by Congyang.

The final image in the Weibo thread was a confidentiality agreement filled with hefty compensation clauses.

All of this, Shi Yin had heard before from Liang Qiushi.

Shi Yin began to feel sorry for the money.

This illustrator had just exposed Li Nian so blatantly—how much would she have to pay in damages?

That evening, Shi Yin eagerly shared the story with Gu Congli.

“Li Nian’s character designs and such are all outsourced.”

Gu Congli: “Hmm?”

Shi Yin dramatically added, “Even the script.”

“…”

“She and her assistant seem to have reversed roles.”

“Her assistant draws the main characters, and she just adds screentones.”

“Imagine how nice that must be—only needing to add screentones every day.”

“…”

Suddenly inspired, Shi Yin grew excited. “Hey, do you think her assistant gets paid a lot? Could I apply to be her assistant?”

“Oh,” Gu Congli said nonchalantly without looking up, engrossed in a book titled A Room with a View , its cover minimalistic and cold.

Shi Yin climbed onto the sofa, rubbing against the edge until she reached him, poking his cheek discontentedly. “Are you even listening to me?”

His skin was flawless, with a peculiar texture. Shi Yin blinked, raising her hand to poke and pinch, becoming oddly addicted.

Gu Congli caught her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing her fingertips. “I’m listening.”

Shi Yin pouted. “Why aren’t you surprised?”

Gu Congli glanced at her. “Surprised about what?”

“Do you know how much Congyang’s confidentiality agreement costs?” Shi Yin’s face scrunched up in anguish, as if the money were hers. “Ten times the royalties.”

Gu Congli chuckled softly at her reaction.

Shi Yin tried to pull her hand away but failed, allowing him to tug her closer into his embrace.

She nestled obediently against him, still looking troubled. “Ten times… Though I really dislike Li Nian, I still feel sorry for this illustrator.”

Gu Congli gently nibbled on her fingers, his soft tongue brushing over her fingertips. His voice was low and calm. “You should feel sorry for yourself.”

Shi Yin turned her head in confusion, tilting it back to look at him. “Huh? Why?”

“Because that tenfold payment came from your man.”

“…”

Shi Yin: “Say that again—?!”

The girl sat in his lap, staring at him incredulously, her eyes wide as if they might pop out any moment.

Gu Congli smirked, casually placing the book aside. He spun her around, seating her astride him, and began kneading her earlobes.

Her earlobes were thin yet sensitive; with the slightest touch, she melted into a puddle, compliantly letting him do as he pleased.

Gu Congli’s fingers slid downward, leaning in with clear intent.

Shi Yin shrank back, wriggling like a small animal to escape. “I’m talking seriously here! Stop being so handsy!”

Gu Congli’s hand slipped under her pajama hem. “Go ahead, talk.”

Shi Yin swatted his hand away. “You’re the one who paid the confidentiality breach penalty?”

Gu Congli calmly hummed, unperturbed as he undid her buttons one by one despite her attempts to stop him.

Shi Yin bent her leg and kicked at him.

He grabbed her ankle, pressing her foot upward, and lightly kissed the top of it.

She was slender, her bones faintly protruding, her toes smooth and pale like jade.

The coolness of his lips made her toes curl involuntarily. She tried to pull away but couldn’t escape. Her face flushed red, trembling as she stammered, “What are you doing—you pervert!”

Gu Congli raised his gaze, hooking her leg around his waist while deftly sliding her half-unbuttoned pajama off her shoulders.

Looking at her, the fabric hanging loosely on her delicate arms, his gaze was silent and steady. “That’s how it goes in those domineering CEO novels.”

Half of Shi Yin’s body went numb. She shrank into him, sniffling, her voice soft and confused. “… What?”

Gu Congli raised a finger, tracing her soft lips. “The male lead helps the female lead get revenge, and she repays him physically.”

The scandal surrounding Li Nian blew up significantly. Both parties involved had some level of fame, and Congyang’s PR department quickly issued a statement.

Congyang admitted that their character designs did reference submissions and works from several renowned illustrators but claimed it was limited to just the designs. The actual creation was Li Nian’s personal work, and they sincerely apologized.

The response was lukewarm.

Not everyone was easily fooled.

Li Nian also posted a tweet, recording a tearful video. Her tears were pitiful, evoking sympathy even before she spoke. The gist of her message aligned closely with Congyang’s official statement.

She did have some fans, and many who had genuinely liked her in the past believed people weren’t perfect and could change after acknowledging their mistakes.

Others argued that regardless of how an author’s work came to be or their moral standing, liking the work was enough—even if it wasn’t entirely original.

But often, the truth was more complex. The more heartfelt the admiration, the harder it became to forgive such betrayals. The pain of having one’s genuine affection squandered was simply too difficult to bear.

Shi Yin didn’t dwell further on the matter. After learning that Gu Congli had paid the confidentiality penalty, she felt a pang of regret but moved on. Her energy was limited—she had a collected volume in circulation, next month’s serialization to draw, and a freelance illustration job on the side. She had no time to waste on this.

Liang Qiushi, upon hearing about it, still felt indignant. “Teacher Shi Yi, are you just going to let that poster incident go?”

Shi Yin peeked out from behind her computer screen. “Hmm? What else can I do?”

“You could clarify everything on Weibo. Timing is perfect now—that was your hard work.”

“She’s already been criticized enough.”

Liang Qiushi frowned slightly. “These are two separate matters.”

“I know what you mean,” Shi Yin paused, setting down her pen to look at him. “But it’s too troublesome. If I post on Weibo, I’ll need to gather evidence, craft my words carefully, and handle follow-up issues. Do you know how much time that would take?”

Her pen tapped on the tablet. “I’m a manga artist, not someone who spends their days fighting over trivial matters online. Priorities matter. It’s just a poster—she copied me, so I redrew it. Thanks to her, I ended up creating something better than before. Isn’t that a silver lining? Maybe I even gained from this.”

Shi Yin placed her pen between her lips and nose, holding it there briefly before removing it. “I have so much to draw, my eyes are practically bleeding. How could I waste time on this? Besides, my collected volume is selling well, while she’s in such a mess. Karma always finds its way.”

Once again, Liang Qiushi was left speechless. This reminded him of another instance when Shi Yin had similarly lectured him, sounding like a strict school principal.

Liang Qiushi’s gaze was both worried and admiring. “Teacher Shi Yi.”

Feeling particularly suave, Shi Yin flicked her bangs, picked up her water cup, took a leisurely sip, and sighed lazily. “Hmm?”

Liang Qiushi: “I feel like your mindset is reaching new heights. Are you dating some wise old man?”

“Pfft—”

Shi Yin tilted her head, spraying a mouthful of water onto the carpet.