Genshin Impact: Watch me turn the tables and kill my servants at the start!

When Ying and Paimon returned to their lodgings, most of the lanterns on the street were already lit. The room wasn't large, but it was quiet, and through the window, they could see the outline of the castle tower's roof in the distance, which shimmered with a faint dark gold in the twilight.

After entering the room, Paimon did not fly to the bed as usual, but landed on the table and took out her terminal, which she had been using for quite some time.

Paimon opened a blank document, tilted her head and thought for a moment, then turned to look at Ying, who was hanging her coat on the hanger: "I suddenly have an idea."

Ying hung up her coat and turned around: "What inspiration?"

Paimon sat on the edge of the table, his little feet dangling in the air: "I'm going to write a love story between a young executive officer and a blond traveler. The main plot is about a promising young Winterborn executive officer who meets a traveler from a foreign land during an international trade negotiation. The two meet at a tea stall in Liyue Harbor due to an unexpected rainstorm, and then keep running into each other by chance, eventually discovering a tacit understanding and attraction between them that goes beyond a business partnership. There can be some misunderstandings and regrettable near misses in the middle, and the ending can be open-ended or they can confirm their relationship—we'll decide based on market feedback. This book is sure to be a hit."

Ying stood there silently for a while: "...Are you deliberately trying to embarrass me?"

Paimon's terminal was still lit up. She tilted her head and said, "How could that be? I'll give you half later."

Ying looked at her for two seconds: "Bring me a pen."

Paimon blinked. "What?"

"I want to write too."

Ying walked to the other side of the table and sat down. "Otherwise, I won't feel at ease taking this money. Since there's a character based on me in the story, I should also have the right to participate in the creation and have my name credited accordingly. I at least need to make sure that when you write about me, you don't portray me as a one-dimensional character who only knows how to eat and take on commissions."

Looking at her serious expression, Paimon asked hesitantly, "I'm a little skeptical... Are you sure you can write it? Have you written novels before?"

Ying had already picked up the pen on the table and opened a new notebook: "Then you don't need to worry about it."

The lights in the room remained on for the next hour.

Ying buried her head in her notebook, writing several paragraphs, crossing out several, and rewriting several more, her brow slightly furrowed. Paimon hovered beside her, his terminal screen already displaying several pages of text. Occasionally, he would pause and glance at Ying's progress: "Ying, isn't what you're writing a bit too obscure?"

Ying looked up from her notebook: "Where is it obscure? I think it's written perfectly normally. I just kept the pace of the plot and the density of foreshadowing at what I consider a suitable level."

Paimon leaned over and looked at her page: "What does your sentence, 'His gaze lingered for a moment in the morning light,' mean? Who is he looking at? Where exactly did his 'gaze' linger? Was it because the other person's face was illuminated by the morning light, or because the circumstances genuinely warranted a second glance? You haven't provided any background information at all; you've simply extracted this sentence and placed it at the beginning of the paragraph. After reading this sentence, the reader will need to flip through several pages to find the subsequent explanation."

Ying glanced at the sentence she had written: "...Isn't this just leaving blank space?"

Paimon flew to her and said, "You have to leave blank spaces properly! The way you're doing it, the reader has no idea why they're lingering there. The editor might think your plot is moving too slowly, or that the information conveyed by the characters' interactions isn't conveying enough, and then ask you to revise the beginning, or even suggest you rewrite the whole paragraph."

Ying looked down at her page: "So, how do you think it should be revised?"

Paimon thought for a moment: "The opening sentence should clearly state the scene in which the two met. For example, 'The Traveler first met the boy in the rain in Liyue Harbor'—the reader immediately knows where they are and what happened. The details can be gradually developed later."

Ying added a note below her sentence: "The three lines of description originally used as a prelude have been combined into one sentence, while preserving the readability of the character's actions, so that the structure can be modified and adjusted later."

Paimon read it again: "It's fine now. But your sentence 'His gaze lingered for a moment in the morning light' is still too subtle. I suggest changing it to 'He glanced at her'—simple and direct, the reader will immediately know that there is interaction between the two."

Ying crossed out the original sentence in the notebook and wrote a new line next to it.

They revised it several more times, replacing some overly subtle descriptions with more direct expressions, shortening several sluggish dialogues, and rearranging the order of some background narratives to make the main storyline clearer. Finally, Paimon sent the compiled electronic version to Yangshizi.

Two days later, they received a reply. The screen displayed only one line: "The manuscript does not meet the current inclusion standards; we recommend revising and resubmitting."

Ying and Paimon stared at the line of text in silence for a long while, as if they were both absorbing the full weight of that reply in the same amount of time.

Paimon broke the silence first: "...It's not a big problem. If it really doesn't work, we can send it to Yaedo."

Ying sat on the edge of the bed, looking at her: "Didn't you say that signing a contract with Yaedo would be more troublesome?"

Paimon, holding his terminal, said, "But we can't waste a whole night of our writing time! Besides, that novel is actually quite complete; Yangshizi just doesn't suit its style. It might have a better market on another platform."

So they submitted the manuscript to Yaedo.

Two days later, they received a reply from Yaeko. The letter was written by Yaeko herself—she wrote a short reply in handwriting, the gist of which was that she had read the manuscript and decided to sign it.

At the end of her reply, Yae no Miko added a note: "The subject matter is novel, the characters are memorable, and the emotional conflicts are handled just right. I suggest that subsequent chapters maintain the same pace and avoid deliberately lengthening subplots or adding unnecessary screen time for the sake of the plot."

Paimon read the letter over and over again: "She said the work had a 'novel subject matter,' 'memorable characters,' and 'perfectly handled emotional conflicts'—she called it 'a masterpiece!'"

Ying also leaned over for a look: "When did she ever say the word 'top-notch'?"

Paimon pointed to the end of the letter: "She didn't say it directly, but look at the wording—'novel subject matter,' 'memorable character design,' 'perfect handling of emotional conflict'—all of these combined translate to 'excellent.' If she didn't like it, she wouldn't have written a separate letter; she could have just sent a standard reply. The fact that she was willing to write a handwritten reply and give specific evaluations and suggestions is itself a form of recognition."

Ying leaned back in her chair, watching the edges of the letter illuminated by the light from the window: "She used the word 'just right.' That means she felt we had a good grasp of the pace, without going too far."

Paimon carefully tucked the letter into the envelope: "So we're officially signed now! All we have to do is submit the manuscript on time! And according to Yaedo's revenue sharing, if this book sells as expected, we won't have to worry about our mobile phone loan next year."

Ying sat by the window, her gaze fixed on the envelope. She thought for a moment, then put down her pen: "Don't count mine. You can keep it yourself."

Paimon turned to look at her: "Why? I can give you mine too!"

Ying said, "Because you wrote that book first, I only participated in some revisions and additions later. And you did spend more time adjusting the structure and rhythm. If we really have to count the credit, your part is much more than mine. The money is yours too."

Paimon looked at her, his tone calm: "Then next time there's an opportunity like this, I'll ask you to write together again. Then you won't be able to refuse."

Ying said, "We'll talk about it next time. You should finish handing in this one first."

Paimon closed the notebook and put it back on the table. He glanced at the reply letter on the windowsill, which was tucked into an envelope and still had a faint water stain on the edge: "By the way, if you want to add a subtitle to this book, you can use something like 'An Unexpected Encounter During a Trip,' which will retain the appeal of the main plot without making the content feel too heavy for the reader."

Ying remained leaning back in her chair: "Then let's do it your way."