“Forgive my bluntness, but without the cover, I would have assumed I was reviewing a general's revenge saga set in an imaginary dynasty.”
Cold air seeped through the spacious, brightly lit editor-in-chief's office. Lu Chen, the newly appointed chief editor, adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. His cool, perceptive gaze left the computer screen and landed unerringly on Shen Miaomiao.
She perched on the edge of the sofa, back rigid, her palms covered in red crescent marks from her fingernails.
“Mr. Lu... What's wrong with this passage?” She tried to make her smile professional and composed. “The male lead is expressing how possessive he is of the heroine. Isn't that dominant, forceful feeling exactly what readers want these days?”
Lu Chen tapped the desk twice in a measured rhythm. Pulling the printed manuscript toward him, he picked up a red pen and drew a heavy circle around a passage.
“Ms. Shen, listen to this line of dialogue: ‘She is the woman this prince has chosen. None beneath the heavens shall defy me. Should anyone dare harm a hair on your head, I shall raze the capital!’” He looked up at her. His voice was utterly flat, yet precise as a scalpel. “Please come back to reality. Your new book is contracted as contemporary urban romance. Your hero is the thirty-year-old CEO of a publicly listed technology company, not a realm-defending general with armies at his command. If he says this in an office tower in Lujiazui, the heroine's first reaction won't be to swoon over his dominance. It'll be to call a psychiatric hospital and have him taken away.”
The corner of Shen Miaomiao's mouth twitched. “It's an endearing contrast,” she muttered. “A domineering CEO with an old-fashioned romantic streak...”
“That isn't an endearing contrast. It's a character in the wrong story.” Lu Chen cut her off without mercy. He turned the page and slashed another red line across it. “And this part in Chapter Five: ‘Their eyes met, each discerning a hint of deadly resolve in the other. They clasped fist in palm and bowed, recognizing a kindred spirit.’”
He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. For once, profound exasperation seeped into his voice. “Ms. Shen, they're supposed to be feeling a spark in the corner of a noisy bar, not exchanging martial-arts techniques on Bright Summit. You're writing romantic tension between a man and a woman, not the Peach Garden oath of brotherhood. They aren't becoming sworn brothers. Tell me, what normal people bow with their fists clasped when they're flirting in a bar?”
Shen Miaomiao drew a deep breath and struggled to maintain her stiff smile. In her head, she had already dismembered this new editor from hell ten thousand times.
“To be frank, Mr. Lu, I've always specialized in historical fiction, time-travel stories, and BL.” She straightened, trying to salvage a little of her dignity as a bestselling author. “I have three completed million-character hits in the historical section, and I've topped the annual rankings three years in a row. Switching to contemporary romance takes time. I need to adjust my style and ear for dialogue...”
“The company contracted you to make this transition because sweet urban romance currently has the largest readership, and you've demonstrated excellent plotting and prose.” Lu Chen put his glasses back on; the cold lenses caught a sharp glint of light. “But the market won't wait for you to adjust your ear, and the company's time is limited. You don't have much time left with me.”
He slid the manuscript, covered in red circles, back across the desk and delivered his ultimatum without a trace of warmth. “By nine next Monday morning, I want a completely new first chapter in which people sound as though they're actually falling in love. If you hand in more of this murderous sworn-brotherhood literature... we'll consider replacing you on this priority contemporary-romance project. Or canceling it outright.”
Five minutes later, Shen Miaomiao returned to her seat in a daze, clutching a manuscript that had been battered by the red pen until it looked like a domestic-violence scene.
Under the pen name Miaobi Shenghua, she was one of the pillars of the renowned web-fiction platform Moxiang Literature. In her historical worlds, she could write immortal battles that shook mountains and rivers, or tragic romances that broke hearts. She commanded legions of devoted BL readers, and her male leads had been crowned the pinnacle of historical romance.
Yet this editor from hell, Lu Chen, had parachuted in a month ago, launched sweeping reforms armed with market data, and dragged her out of historical fiction to insist she write a sweet contemporary urban romance!
Contemporary romance?! Flirting?! Sugary everyday couple moments?!
Shen Miaomiao buried her face in her hands and let out a feeble wail. She had been single for all twenty-six years of her life. She hadn't even held a man's hand. Where was she supposed to find a feel for modern dating?
In historical fiction, she could get by on grand declarations like “one glance, ten thousand years” and “bound as husband and wife.” In BL, she could develop a relationship through the unspoken understanding of two powerful men fighting side by side. But contemporary romance depended on tiny, exquisitely subtle details of everyday life! The warmth of a hand in yours, the racing heartbeat when eyes met, the push and pull of teasing banter... For a homebody who barely had any men in her WeChat contacts, this was harder than getting into National Taiwan University!
The more she thought about it, the more wronged—and frantic—she felt. She grabbed her phone, opened WeChat, and tapped a private anonymous group of just over thirty contracted authors: “Web-Fiction Flops' Mutual Support Group (All Anonymous).”
Everyone used automatically assigned anonymous nicknames. No one knew whether the person on the other side of the screen was a superstar or a beginner.
Shen Miaomiao hammered at her keyboard, pouring her fury into words.
[Anonymous User 9527]: I'm furious! Losing my mind! Screaming at the sky! Our new editor from hell isn't human! He's forcing a historical and BL writer to write contemporary urban romance! Then he complains it sounds like an oath of brotherhood!
[Anonymous User 9527]: I've been single for TWENTY-SIX YEARS! I've never even held a man's hand! Where am I supposed to conjure up all that flirting and romantic tension?! Out of thin air?! Can you summon a love scene through a séance?!
Plenty of people usually slacked off in the group at this hour. A few night-owl authors quickly emerged to reply.
[Anonymous User 1008]: Ouch... Contemporary romance is all about everyday details and a sense of being in love. Without dating experience, the dialogue really can sound dry. Like reciting a textbook.
[Anonymous User 3341]: Why not download a dating app, 9527? Swipe around, chat with a handsome guy, get a feel for it?
[Anonymous User 8872]: Or hire a boyfriend for a day? Aren't there services where someone goes shopping with you and keeps you company? Find out what being looked after feels like?
These impractical suggestions only made Shen Miaomiao more frantic.
[Anonymous User 9527]: Renting a boyfriend costs money! I haven't even been paid yet! Dating apps are full of fraudsters and romance scams. I'll lose my savings before I find any inspiration! I don't even know how my leads are supposed to make eyes at each other in a bar. Everything I write sounds like two martial-arts masters debating swordsmanship!
[Anonymous User 9527]: And the editor from hell says if I can't hand in something that sounds like actual romance by Monday, he'll axe my project! He has no idea what lifelong singles suffer! Easy for him to say!
Amid the sympathetic sighs and consolations, an anonymous account that rarely spoke suddenly posted a singularly cold message. Its avatar was simply a white capital L on a black background.
[L]: Never dated, therefore can't write romance? By that logic, science-fiction writers need to visit an alien planet, and mystery writers need to murder someone first.
The words threw fuel on Shen Miaomiao's already raging temper. Her blood pressure shot up.
[Anonymous User 9527]: Listen, L, easy for you to say! Science fiction and mysteries rely on worldbuilding and logical deduction. Contemporary romance needs DETAILS! Do you understand details?! A heartbeat when your eyes meet! Tension in a conversation! Do you know what it's like to have a nitpicking editor draw heavy red circles around every single line of dialogue?!
[L]: Not only do I understand, I also know your dialogue deserved those circles. If I were your editor, I'd reject it on page one.
[Anonymous User 9527]: ??? Who the hell are you?! Big talk! Let's see you write it, then! Armchair critic!
[L]: I won't write it. But I can teach you.
Shen Miaomiao froze, her fingers suspended over the keyboard.
[Anonymous User 9527]: Teach me? How?
[L]: If you need details and romantic tension, find someone to act it out with you. Spend half an hour a day on the everyday interactions of a contemporary-romance couple. Treat it as research and dialogue practice.
She stared at the screen, almost laughing at the sheer arrogance of this anonymous stranger.
[Anonymous User 9527]: Find who? You? You do realize I'm a woman? I don't even know whether you're a man or a woman. What if you're some fifty-year-old guy?!
[L]: Male. Twenty-nine. Single. Clear thinker. Better informed than you about the appeal and details of contemporary romance. Who I am doesn't matter. This is purely a writing experiment.
[L]: Of course, if you think you can summon an acceptable manuscript out of thin air and get it past your editor from hell, forget I said anything.
A direct hit to her weakest point. Next Monday! The deadline! Lu Chen's cold, stern face rose in her mind again, along with the threat to cancel the project outright.
If it got axed, a failed genre transition wouldn't be her only problem. This month's mortgage payment and cat-food budget would go up in smoke!
A desperate case called for desperate measures! They were anonymous, separated by a screen. Neither knew the other. What was there to be afraid of?!
[Anonymous User 9527]: Fine! Let's act! I'm not scared of you! But let's be clear: this is purely an experimental fake online relationship for writing purposes. Research and dialogue practice only. No obligations! No asking for private information, and no meeting in person!
[L]: Agreed. Entirely logical.
[L]: Then, as your experimental fake online boyfriend, my first training recommendation is this: by midnight tonight, eliminate every archaic habit from your speech. No more “this gallant hero,” “this maiden,” or any other historical expressions.
[Anonymous User 9527]: ...
Shen Miaomiao glared at her phone and ground her back teeth. Strange... Very strange. Why did this anonymous L's infuriatingly sharp tongue, his lofty insistence on logic, and his peremptory tone bear such a damned resemblance to Lu Chen, the editor from hell who had just torn her apart in his office?!
Even that way of deciding someone's fate with a single sentence, that mouthful of logic—it was exactly like Lu Chen tapping his desk twice...
No, no, no. She'd been so thoroughly traumatized by him today that she was hallucinating. How could a workaholic demon like Lu Chen have time to hang around an anonymous writers' chat?!
She drew a deep breath and typed her acceptance.
[Anonymous User 9527]: Fine, I'll change it! Midnight tonight. Online combat... I mean, online experiment. Whoever chickens out is a loser!
[L]: Excellent. I look forward to it.