I am not a literary giant

Ning Chunyan extended a snow-white finger, like the tip of a ballerina's foot, and gently tapped the hands-free key. Then, following her usual rhythm, she returned to the keyboard, trying to maintain her original typing rhythm.

A soft, melodious voice came from the phone:

"Xiaochun, are you really planning to start a magazine?"

The reason it's described as "deserving of praise" is because the owner of this voice didn't intentionally pursue gentleness. Her tone even carries a hint of discipline, but the resulting effect is incredibly soft and sweet. It's like shooting a sunset with the sharpness and shadows at their lowest possible level; the resulting black and white image has a soft glow and lacks any harshness.

Ning Chunyan, seemingly unconcerned, typed on her keyboard as she said, "Yeah, so what?"

The woman's voice sounded a bit anxious: "Don't you know what the current state of print media is? You're still stubbornly pushing your way in. Your little bit of money won't even cover three months of your wasted money."

Ning Chunyan gave a wicked smile: "That's because you don't know who my editor-in-chief is."

Who is your editor-in-chief?

"The first talented woman of the 21st century, winner of the 24th New Sprout First Prize, winner of the 35th Emerging Writers Award, queen of the poetic world, master of the rainy world..."

"Enough, enough," the woman's impatient voice sounded like a spoiled child. "You want me to be your magazine's editor-in-chief? Don't be ridiculous. You know I don't like taking risks. Let me ask you first, how's your preparation going?"

Ning Chunyan smiled slightly, pursing her lips.

Shen Qingfeng isn't the only one in this world with so many titles. Her best friend has them too.

The difference is that most of Shen Qingfeng's titles were packaged by his marketing team, while this best friend's titles were forcibly given to her by the media.

She herself doesn't care about these empty titles at all. Her writing style is eccentric and imaginative, unrestrained and expansive, but her personality is calm and cautious, money is paramount, and she is careful in every step. She doesn't have the kind of talented woman's demeanor that is touted on television.

In a sense, she was very similar to a certain "mature married man" she had met. Perhaps they were the same kind of person.

Ning Chunyan was not satisfied with those titles, especially the title "talented woman." "You're a talented woman, I'm a talented woman, it's like 'talented woman' is everywhere."

If she were to take charge, she would bestow upon this best friend the following titles: genius, money-grubber, monstrous abs, and someone whose face you just want to pinch.

Ning Chunyan replied, "I'm basically all set now except for you."

"I don't believe you. Where is your office located?"

"Donghai, I've found a good location." Ning Chunyan stretched, her supple waist easily encircled by one hand. "I'm planning to persuade my dad to sell that apartment in Sanya and buy one in Donghai. Even if we lose money, we might still break even on the real estate."

The woman on the other end chuckled angrily: "You haven't even started yet, and you're already thinking about losing money, huh?"

"I learned it from you."

The person on the other end of the phone said earnestly, "Tell me, Xiaochun, who exactly inspired you to want to start a magazine?"

Ning Chunyan didn't answer her question, but instead asked, "I told you to read 'The Little Prince's Love Letters,' have you read it?"

"I usually don't watch those trending things right away; I let them sit for a while."

"I knew it," Ning Chunyan said. "You haven't seen it, you don't understand."

"So you don't have anything in common anymore, huh?" the other person said with a hint of sarcasm. "Luckily, you're best friends. In the end, it's all because of men that you've become estranged."

After the two joked around for a while, Ning Chunyan suddenly remembered something and asked, "By the way, Qingluo, I have a question for you."

"ask."

"If you greatly admire and idolize someone, and one day you suddenly discover that they might be a married man, but you're not entirely sure, what would you do?"

"Ha, so you've got a bad reputation from chasing celebrities, huh?" A disdainful, gloating voice came from the other end. "Who are you talking about?"

……

"Isn't this Prince Xu?"

A familiar yet unfamiliar male voice came from behind. Prince felt a chill run down his spine and stiffly turned around.

A familiar face appeared before him. Xie Cong—he remembered the name. This was his high school classmate. They weren't close back then, but the fact that he could still remember his name after so many years showed that their connection wasn't shallow.

Wang Zixu hadn't run into any old friends for many years. He didn't like going out or socializing, and most of his old acquaintances had moved far away, so there was no chance of bumping into them. This was the first time in many years that he had met a high school classmate.

There was a time when he longed to reunite with his old friends, but as his life took a downward spiral, he became increasingly withdrawn. He was afraid of hearing news about his former classmates, especially that one person, and he didn't want them to know about his situation.

This small act of self-respect was the last bit of dignity he left for himself, especially since he hadn't washed his hair that day.

However, fate always plays tricks on people when they haven't washed their hair. It was at this moment that he unexpectedly bumped into his past.

"He really is Prince Xu," Xie Cong looked him up and down, "He's gotten fat."

The prince forced a smile and said, "It's been a long time."

Xie Cong was in a group of several people, both men and women, when someone in the crowd shouted, "Isn't that Raymond Lam?"

Lin Feng looked over and found that it was people from the Writers Association.

At this point, the two had no choice but to stand up and greet each other. Wang Zixu had underestimated the density of acquaintances in a small town. In Xihe, on average, one in three people you meet is likely an acquaintance.

Xie Cong came back to attend his classmate's wedding. He now works in the gay industry in Donghai and has some resources. Through an acquaintance, he organized a get-together for a meal and a chat.

Wang Zixu and Lin Feng were both claimed by the new table, and the host extended a warm invitation, so it was impolite not to share a table. The host seated Lin Feng and Wang Zixu at the head of the table, with Xie Cong right next to Wang Zixu.

After sitting down, the other person's first words sent chills down his spine:

"I just heard a while ago that there's this guy named Wang Zixu in Xihe who got into some kind of literary relay with CEO Lin Feng, and ended up drinking everyone at the table under the table. Could that be you? Ah, old classmate?"

Meeting Xie Cong's gaze, Wang Zixu could only nod. Xie Cong excitedly patted his shoulder hard: "So how are you doing now? Have you become President Lin's trusted confidant?"

Lin Feng quickly waved his hand: "What trusted confidant? This is my brother, Brother Zixu."

"Oh," Xie Cong replied casually. "A few years ago, I heard that Lao Wang became a civil servant, and it was all over our classmates' group chat. I didn't pay much attention to it. Is he still a civil servant now?"

Wang Zixu's heart skipped a beat: "When did this become such a hot topic? I haven't seen it anywhere!"

Xie Cong smiled and said, "It's a small group that we formed privately for other reasons. You're probably not in it."

Wang Zixu lowered his head and sipped his tea: "I'm still a civil servant."

Xie Cong asked, "Are you still in contact with Chen Qingluo?"

Upon hearing the name "Chen Qingluo," Wang Zixu's head exploded, buzzing loudly.