Life countdown begins, ice queen bursts into security room

Song Siyi was satisfied. She tossed her phone next to her pillow and lay back on the bed.

She was wearing loose cotton pajamas, and her hair was haphazardly clipped back with a plastic shark clip.

He had a face mask on and was in a state of heightened, semi-manic excitement.

She's read far too many fantasy and mythological novels on the market over the years as an editor.

Eight out of ten books have world-building settings that are cobbled together from various sources and riddled with flaws.

The story Jiang Fan told at the welfare home was completely different.

Every setting is perfectly integrated and seamless.

Once this is published—

She turned over in bed, unable to fall asleep.

Song Siyi simply threw off the covers, got out of bed, and walked to her desk.

I pulled out a chair, sat down, turned on my computer, and pulled out a contract template from Endpoint Literature.

A standard online literature contract.

The revenue sharing ratio, copyright ownership, and film and television adaptation rights are listed in a densely packed list of clauses.

Normal authors split the profits 50/50, while top-tier authors get 60/40.

She wrote 73 on the paper.

I stared at the number for two seconds, then poked two black dots on the paper with the tip of my pen.

Crossed out again.

If this book is truly of the quality expected, even 73 wouldn't be enough.

Song Siyi threw down her pen and leaned back in her chair.

Forget it, I'll read the manuscript tomorrow and then decide. What if Jiang Fan is just all talk and his writing is a complete mess?

She closed the contract template and climbed back into bed.

He picked up his phone, opened Weibo, and searched for Jiang Fan's profile.

He has over 23 million followers.

Scrolling down a few screens, the comment section was filled with young girls lining up to call him "husband."

Song Siyi pressed the lock screen button expressionlessly.

He buried his face in the pillow and muttered a curse.

"You little brat, you've grown up and your wings have hardened."

-

The next day.

9:47 a.m.

Endpoint Literature Editorial Department.

Song Siyi sat at her workstation, tapping the left mouse button with her index finger; this was the twelfth time she had refreshed her email.

A colleague carrying a mug walked by, stopped, and glanced at her.

"Sister Yi, what's wrong with you today? Is there a nail on the chair? You're so restless."

"It's nothing." Song Siyi stared at the screen. "I'm just waiting for the manuscript."

My feet were shaking uncontrollably under the desk.

9:55.

Song Siyi picked up her phone, opened WeChat, and brought up Jiang Fan's chat window.

With his thumb hovering above the screen, he typed "Where's the manuscript?"

I paused for two seconds, then deleted it.

We agreed on 10 o'clock, so I'll wait another five minutes. Editors need to have self-control.

9:58.

A crisp "ding" sound came from the computer speakers.

A new email popped up in my inbox.

Sender: Jiang Fan.

Subject: The first seven chapters of Journey to the West.

Song Siyi tightened her grip on the mouse.

She moved the mouse over, double-clicked to open the email, and found a Word document attached.

Drag the file to the desktop.

She stopped just as she was about to click on it.

I stood up, went to the break room, and got myself another cup of hot coffee.

I walked back to my workstation and sat down.

I adjusted the height of the ergonomic chair and straightened the backrest.

She rubbed her palm against the skirt twice.

Double-click to open the document.

Title: Journey to the West

Chapter One: The spiritual root nurtures and gives birth to the source; the mind and nature are cultivated and the Great Dao arises.

"Overseas, there is a country called Aolai. Near the sea, in the middle of the sea, stands a famous mountain called Flower and Fruit Mountain..."

Song Siyi's eyes were glued to the screen, scanning line by line.

Ten minutes later, the coffee beside her stopped steaming, and she didn't drink a drop.

I don't know how much time passed.

I've finally finished reading 50,000 words.

She took off her gold-rimmed glasses, closed her eyes, and rubbed her temples vigorously with both hands.

My mind is filled with images of the monkey causing havoc in the Heavenly Palace.

Song Siyi closed the document with the "X" button, leaned back in her chair, tilted her head back, and stared at the incandescent light bulb on the ceiling.

I watched it for a full two minutes.

Once this is released, the entire Xianxia (fantasy/martial arts) genre in the online literature world will have to be reshuffled.

She picked up her phone, found Jiang Fan's number, and dialed it.

It rang three times. The call was connected.

"Jiang Fan".

"Finished watching?"

Song Siyi turned her chair halfway around, facing away from the noisy office area, covered her mouth with her hand, and lowered her voice.

"Tell me the truth. How much more is left?"

"Around one hundred times."

Song Siyi tightened her grip on her phone.

"Think about the contract." She cleared her throat, trying to sound businesslike. "I can offer you the highest revenue share in the history of Endpoint Literature."

"How many?"

Song Siyi bit her lower lip, her teeth sinking into her flesh.

"82. You're number 8, platform number 2."

"Sister Siyi, can you make the decision on this number?" Jiang Fan smiled.

"Even if I can't make the decision, I'll still make it for you. At worst, I'll take the manuscript to the boss and slam my fist on the table."

"Okay," Jiang Fan agreed readily. "You draft the contract. But I have a few conditions."

"you say."

"First, all film and television adaptation rights belong to me."

Song Siyi opened her mouth, felt a lump in her throat, and then closed it again.

Film and television adaptation rights are the most lucrative part of the copyright pool.

Normally, platforms will keep this portion of the revenue tightly under contract, at the very least taking half of it.

But this book, *Journey to the West*—

She glanced at the document icon on her computer desktop.

"I need to apply," Song Siyi replied.

"Secondly, I'll decide the update frequency myself. I'm busy with other things, so I can't guarantee daily updates."

Song Siyi pinched the bridge of her nose.

If it were any of her other authors who dared to make such a request, she would have already sent them a tirade online.

"You have to give me a bottom line," Song Siyi sighed. "How many chapters a week?"

"It depends. When I'm busy, I might write two or three chapters a week, but when I'm free, I can write 50,000 words a day."

Two or three chapters a week? Readers would probably tear the comment section apart and use it as firewood.

Song Siyi suppressed the urge to curse.

"Okay. I'll draft the contract today and send it to your email tomorrow. Have your assistant—what's his name again—"

"Li Cheng".

"Yes. Let Li Cheng take a look at the terms for you. We can revise them anytime if there are any problems."

"OK."

The call has ended.

Song Siyi threw her phone on the table, grabbed the armrests of her chair with both hands, and spun around twice.

My colleague next to me leaned over, looking completely bewildered.

"Sister Yi, who were you talking to on the phone just now? You were smiling like you'd found a fortune."

"None of your business. Get back to work."

Song Siyi put her glasses back on her nose and opened the contract template on her computer.

Fingers flew across the keyboard.

The cursor blinked in the percentage column. She typed "80%".

After filling it in, I stopped and stared at those characters for two seconds.

The cursor moves down.

Stop at the "Film and Television Adaptation Rights" section.

Select all the platform's rights and benefits clauses, press the Delete key, and delete them all.

Rewritten as: "The rights to adapt the film and television series and all related derivative rights belong entirely to the author."

After typing this line, Song Siyi breathed a sigh of relief; she herself thought this clause was insane.

Song Siyi printed out the contract, took the 50,000-word printed copy, stood up, straightened the hem of her clothes, and strode towards the editor-in-chief's office.