“Director Li, Manager Bai asked for a week’s leave. No matter how many times you call to check, the answer is always the same,” Assistant Liang said helplessly over the phone.
Director Li was extremely anxious. This time, the company’s investment in the ‘Dawn Project’ was of utmost importance. They had signed five novels for film and TV adaptations, which would directly influence the company’s main investment direction for the next five years.
And damn it, every adaptation in the plan was vetted by that punk kid.
Director Li was unconvinced. Director Li wanted to get involved. Director Li could only hold it in.
His eyes darted around, and he lowered his voice. “Guess what would happen if that guy surnamed Bai found out you accidentally leaked the ‘Seeds’ matter last time?”
The Dawn Project had layers of strict selection, ultimately picking out twelve ‘Seeds’.
Before the meeting, someone had leaked those twelve ‘Seeds’, along with the rumor that ‘these were all the selected titles for the Dawn Project’.
In fact, the final five novels had been carefully chosen from those twelve, leading every author of those twelve books to believe their work was a done deal. It had caused quite a bit of trouble.
As Director Li spoke, the young man eavesdropping nearby involuntarily held his breath, waiting tensely for the response from the other end.
Assistant Liang fell silent. There was the sound of a chair being pulled back on the other side of the line—he seemed to have stepped away.
Moments later, Assistant Liang picked up the receiver again and replied, “The manager is free tonight. Check your work account for the exact time.”
“Good! Thanks, Little Liang. We’ll go out for a proper drink sometime!” Director Li slapped his thigh in delight.
After hanging up, Director Li’s expression gradually relaxed. He grinned and patted the young man beside him on the back. “Cheng Chong, you head back first. Don’t worry—this project is in the bag for me.”
The young man, Cheng Chong, was one of the authors who had learned his work was a ‘Seed’ through back channels and firmly believed it.
He had a secret hobby: small gambling for pleasure, using brief thrills to spark inspiration.
One day, after indulging, he went home and crashed. He dreamed of a bizarre world. When he woke, his face flushed with excitement, and he furiously wrote down the story.
This book, Creation Martial God, brought him unimaginable popularity. When he heard through the grapevine that his work would be selected for further investment and become a hit, he was overjoyed and believed it without hesitation. Carrying that empty promise, he went big, getting lured into massive debt.
He had tried guiding fans online to curse the company, only to face legal repercussions. He had tried inciting a crowd to protest at the company gates, only to be chased off by security. Finally, he turned to Director Li, someone he had collaborated with before.
He was skinny, with prominent dark circles under his eyes—unclear if they were natural or from staying up late. He seemed extremely timid. Cheng Chong clenched his fists and said, “Director, why don’t you take me with you? I’m the original author—I can give that manager a more detailed explanation of my novel and make him change his mind.”
“This… might not be convenient,” Director Li said. When he smiled, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes were especially prominent, carrying a hint of reluctance.
At that point, the amusement in his eyes faded a bit. “After all, this is company business. Bringing you along would make some things hard to discuss.”
After some polite exchanges, Director Li stood up and left.
Cheng Chong settled the bill and nodded and bowed as he saw the man out the door. His heart uneasy, his phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket.
He pulled it out for a look. The screen showed a chilling debt collection message.
Remembering the collector who had wielded a knife at his door earlier, Cheng Chong shuddered, his lips paling. Money—he needed money!
Cheng Chong hurriedly chased after Director Li, tailing him all the way until he personally saw Director Li enter a restaurant.
After confirming the room number, he ducked into a print shop. He had prepared in advance: a file with his novel’s summary, themes, character analyses, and more, all to persuade them.
He printed three neat copies—a thick stack with real weight. Hugging it to his chest, his frail frame bent under the load, clearly showing he wasn’t one for exercise.
Afraid of missing their conversation, Cheng Chong rushed toward the restaurant. At the corner, without watching his path, he bumped into a man, and the files scattered on the floor.
“You fucking blind?” Cheng Chong exploded, hopping mad.
The man paused, then turned sideways. He had the good looks to be a celebrity, taller than Cheng Chong, his downward gaze alone imposing great pressure.
The man’s icy gaze sized him up, lips curving in a mocking half-smile. “Impressive. Does your head grow eyes in the back?”
Feeling in the wrong, Cheng Chong’s lips twitched. He didn’t dare meet the man’s eyes. His temper vanished under that intimidating stare. He muttered curses under his breath and squatted to pick up his things.
The files had landed by the man’s black leather shoes. As Cheng Chong bent to grab them, the man leaned against the wall and suddenly ‘hmm’ed.
Cheng Chong looked up oddly at the sound, only to see the man holding a briefcase in one hand and his phone in the other, making a call.
He heard the man say gravely, “Ship it back first. The matter of burying her with Dad later… I’ll need you uncles to help with that…”
Noticing Cheng Chong eavesdropping, the man raised a brow and nudged one of the files with his toe. Thinking the man meant mischief, Cheng Chong panicked, snatched the file, and hurried off.
Cheng Chong knocked with a smile and squeezed in despite Director Li’s sour expression. He washed cups, brewed tea, and placed the printed materials on the table, finally earning tacit permission to stay.
A long time passed. Just as he wondered if Director Li had been stood up, Director Li, fiddling with his phone, suddenly said, “He’s here.”
The door was gently pushed open as the words fell.
Cheng Chong’s eyes widened.
In his imagination, a manager in that position, such a tough nut to crack, would be some sleazy elite type—a mature, refined degenerate.
But he hadn’t expected the manager to be so young—and someone he recognized.
It was that strange man!
The newcomer wore a loose white shirt and black pants, sleeves rolled up to reveal faintly bulging veins on his forearms, a briefcase tucked under his arm—utterly ordinary attire, nothing special.
He perfectly fit Director Li’s description of a young manager nearing thirty.
The only standout was his face—not like an office worker, more like a celebrity. His hair was longer than most men’s, reaching his shoulders, with a hollow earring in his left ear. His looks and demeanor were extraordinary, blending seamlessly with the antique Chinese restaurant.
It was over. He had just snapped at this guy.
The door closing snapped Cheng Chong back. He dazedly watched Director Li stand and quickly followed suit.
“Director Li, sorry to keep you waiting,” the man said with an otherworldly face, but he shook hands familiarly with Director Li, smiling like a spring breeze—none of the earlier coldness.
His words dripped with worldly savvy. In short, corporate slave vibe.
Bai Chen Zhu said, “Assistant Liang told me. If not for some family matters lately, I would have come earlier for tea and a catch-up. Traffic jammed me up on the way—really sorry to make you wait. Put it on my tab later.”
What traffic? He had been on the phone. Cheng Chong didn’t dare speak.
“No, no. I didn’t expect it to be so last-minute either, or I wouldn’t have dragged you out to work overtime.” Director Li wore an amiable smile and simply introduced, “Cheng Chong, this is our company’s Manager Bai. Manager, this is Cheng Chong, a great prospect I recently found. His novel is perfect for adaptation.”
He patted Cheng Chong’s shoulder, signaling his strong endorsement.
Seeming surprised to see Cheng Chong there, Bai Chen Zhu’s smile faltered, stiffly nodding at him. “Sit, everyone. Let’s talk sitting down.”
The young head honcho glanced at the files on the table, then at the uninvited Cheng Chong. He steepled his fingers and said bluntly without hiding, “Director Li, I’m in a rush, so I’ll be direct. The five original works have already been announced. The ‘Dawn Project’ concerns the company’s future plans—it’s not up to me alone.”
Bai Chen Zhu was as tough as ever. Director Li’s face wasn’t great, but he seemed accustomed to Bai Chen Zhu’s style.
Director Li scratched his head, playing dumb, chatting casually. “I saw one in there—something, what was it? Oh right, Creation King, was it? That title’s too plain—easy to misremember or mistype. Better double-check carefully.”
Bai Chen Zhu’s gaze cooled slightly.
Director Li slapped his thigh. “Oh man, those two titles are so similar! Maybe it missed a sequel, a crossover, or an upper-lower series—what do you think? I’ve been idle nearly a year now. The company hasn’t assigned me any projects—I’m just eating for free. No other meaning, just wondering if there’s any work for this old-timer to stretch his legs and keep shining?”
Bai Chen Zhu glanced at Cheng Chong’s excited face and cut straight to it. “The company does need your help. But… let’s talk about this book first. During the meeting, Creation Martial God didn’t pass the vote. I know you collaborated happily with Mr. Cheng before. The Immortal Soldier King you adapted back then was novel and created a miracle for a time, but trends have changed now.”
This was clearly trying to drive a wedge between him and Director Li! The little punk before him was targeting him everywhere. Cheng Chong gnashed his teeth and couldn’t hold back. Filled with resentment and anger, he demanded, “Did the manager even read my novel?”
“Looks like you’re pretty satisfied with your work.” Bai Chen Zhu turned to Cheng Chong, speaking with that thorny edge again. “What do you want to say? Clichéd progression flow, niche apocalyptic backdrop, simplistic skill setups, and an antisocial protagonist’s world-ending finale—which part gave you confidence?”
Cheng Chong’s eyes bulged. He jabbed the table furiously, arguing, “Apocalyptic stuff is rare right now—that’s exactly when it’s hottest! Do you know how many bookmarks or readers I have on my site?” By the end, his voice grew shrill.
Director Li fell into thought, saying nothing, showing no intent to smooth things over.
