Life countdown begins, ice queen bursts into security room

Chen Ping's gaze swept back and forth between Jiang Fan and Song Siyi twice.

The atmosphere was clearly off.

The usually decisive and efficient editor-in-chief, Song, had her ears turning red and felt uneasy, not knowing where to put her fingertips.

Jiang Fan leaned back in his chair, picked up his water glass, and took a sip.

"Mr. Jiang, you and Siyi..." Chen Ping tentatively began.

"Mr. Chen, it's really nothing." Song Siyi suddenly stood up, the folder in her hand falling to the table with a thud. "Jiang Fan was just joking."

"Oh?" Chen Ping adjusted his glasses. "What kind of joke could make you blush like this?"

Song Siyi opened her mouth, but then stammered.

We can't just publicly reveal the fact that Jiang Fan was photographed wetting the bed when he was eight years old.

She could only glare fiercely at Jiang Fan, her eyes conveying the message, "You just wait."

Chen Ping knew when to stop and quickly steered the conversation back on track.

"Mr. Jiang, since you've already rejected the initial offer, what else do we need to adjust? Conditions, resources, recommendation slots... just name your price, and we'll offer our utmost sincerity."

"Mr. Chen," Jiang Fan interrupted, "I signed a contract with you at the finish line not because you offered me more money."

Chen Ping was stunned: "Then why?"

Jiang Fan turned his head to look at Song Siyi, who was at a loss.

"Because Editor-in-Chief Song is like an older sister I grew up with."

The meeting room fell silent instantly.

Song Siyi's fingers tightened suddenly as she gripped the folder.

These words, coming from Jiang Fan's mouth now, carry a heavy weight.

Chen Ping's gaze lingered on Song Siyi for two seconds before he immediately adjusted his posture.

"Mr. Jiang, I understand. It was our luck that we were able to sign 'Journey to the West'."

Jiang Fan looked at Chen Ping, tapped his finger lightly on the table, and pondered his next plan.

Online serialization is just the beginning. For a powerful cultural IP like "Journey to the West," the path to monetization extends far beyond the words on the screen.

What he wants is to spread his influence to the maximum extent in the shortest amount of time.

"Mr. Chen, I have a new idea. Journey to the West is a very large work, and relying solely on online serialization will be too slow to generate revenue."

Chen Ping's expression turned solemn.

"I will finish the book this month and release a physical copy at the same time."

"Physical books?" Chen Ping and Song Siyi exchanged a glance. "Will this divert some subscriptions from online subscriptions?"

"No. The overlap between online novel readers and physical book buyers isn't that high. There are students, middle-aged and elderly people, and a huge general audience. Many people don't read online novels, but they will definitely buy this book."

Chen Ping tapped his fingers on his knees, weighing the pros and cons.

"Okay, I'll talk to the publisher. I'll try to start with a first print run of 500,000 copies."

"That's too little." Jiang Fan shook his head. "Print five million first."

Chen Ping abruptly stopped what he was doing.

"Five million? Mr. Jiang, an initial print run of five million copies, just in case there's unsold stock—"

"Don't worry, it'll sell out."

In its previous life, "Journey to the West" sold over 50 million physical copies. On this planet with its top-notch copyright awareness, 5 million copies is just an appetizer.

Chen Ping stared at the young face in front of him.

There was no arrogance in those eyes, only absolute certainty.

"Okay. I'll talk to the publisher." Chen Ping suppressed all his doubts.

Song Siyi, who was standing next to her, had no chance to interject.

She worked as an editor for five years, and the best-selling book she had was printed in 300,000 copies in its first print run. It took three reprints to break one million copies, and that was after the book had been serialized for three whole years before she dared to report the figures.

Less than a month after its release, the first printing of "Journey to the West" was five million copies.

Chen Ping stood up and shook Jiang Fan's hand firmly: "It's a pleasure to cooperate. I'll contact the publishing house now."

"Thank you, Mr. Chen."

The door was opened and closed again, leaving only the two of them in the conference room.

Jiang Fan walked back to the table, picked up the kettle, poured a glass of warm water, and handed it to her.

"Drink some water."

Song Siyi reached out to take the cup, her movements somewhat stiff.

"Jiang Fan".

"Um?"

"What you just said... is it true?"

Jiang Fan pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down.

"Sister Siyi, do you remember when I was ten years old and got sick?"

Song Siyi looked up: "I remember. I had a fever of 40 degrees Celsius, and Fang Ma and I were sweating with worry."

"You carried me to the hospital that time." Jiang Fan looked at her. "It was only two bus stops from the orphanage to the bus stop. I was delirious with fever while I was on your back, and all I remember is that your clothes were completely soaked with sweat on the back."

Song Siyi's lips moved slightly: "You still remember."

"You were only twelve years old then, and only half a head taller than me. When we got to the hospital and got a number, your legs were shaking the whole time you were sitting there."

Song Siyi chuckled softly, then pulled out a tissue and pressed it to the corner of her eye.

"You couldn't even write pinyin properly when you were little, but you remember these things so clearly." She sniffed. "When I was adopted, the thing I couldn't let go of the most was you."

Jiang Fan listened quietly.

"Before I left, I secretly left my phone number with Aunt Fang, telling her to contact me if she needed anything. Later, I heard that you had run off to work, so I took leave to go back to the orphanage to look for you, but you were already gone."

Jiang Fan didn't say anything.

The original owner was stubborn and always felt ashamed to live under someone else's roof, and would never turn back until he made a name for himself.

"Sister Siyi, I was immature before."

"What nonsense are you talking about?" Song Siyi crumpled the tissue into a ball and threw it into the trash can. "I'm happier than anyone else to see you where you are today."

She put her wire-rimmed glasses back on, regaining her editor-in-chief's competence.

"Alright, stop getting sentimental with me. Come on, let me treat you to dinner."

"What do you want to eat?"

Mala Tang (Spicy Hot Pot)

Jiang Fan chuckled: "The editor-in-chief of a prestigious listed company treats us to spicy hot pot?"

"What does the editor-in-chief owe you? Are you leaving or not?"

As dusk settles, the streets of Shanghai are illuminated by neon lights.

Song Siyi drove her BMW and skillfully turned into an old alleyway full of life.

The signboard is old and worn, and half of the light bulb for the words "Lao Zhang Mala Tang" is broken.

The proprietress, in her forties and wearing an apron, greeted him: "Little Song is here again?"

"Sister Zhang, the usual." Song Siyi pulled out a plastic stool and sat down, tilting her chin toward Jiang Fan. "Add another one for him, extra spicy."

The proprietress stared at Jiang Fan for several moments before wiping the table with a smile.

"Xiao Song, you brought your boyfriend? He's really handsome."

The heat that had just subsided in Song Siyi's ears flared up again: "No, Sister Zhang, he is—"

"Thank you, boss lady," Jiang Fan replied naturally. "She's shy."

The proprietress beamed, "I understand, Sister Zhang understands! I'll cook it for you right away!"

Song Siyi's eyes widened, and she slammed her hand on the table in a low voice.

"Jiang Fan! What are you doing?"

"It's just a meal, isn't it tiring to explain so much?" Jiang Fan unpacked the disposable chopsticks and passed them to each other.

Song Siyi snatched the chopsticks and shoved them forcefully onto the table.

"You've gotten so bold now, you even dare to take advantage of your older sister."