Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
Love's Betrayal
墨書 Inktalez
Let me tell you about myself first.
After graduating from university, I confidently joined Jiangcheng Urban Daily as an intern reporter. With my experience as the Campus Writer and Student Press president, I thought I would thrive there. However, the once-glorious print media had already been stripped bare and ground down by the internet.
The Newspaper Office was barely scraping by: salaries were paid every three months, and each time we received only 40% of our basic salary of 2800 yuan. The remaining 60% was exchanged for space in the paper—whether it was hard ads, soft ads, or special features, anything that could be turned into money counted as income. If you couldn't make any money, you were left to fend for yourself.
Performance? If you created benefits for the Newspaper Office, you could get a 30% increase in your quota. But if you couldn't generate any benefits, what performance could you possibly have? Nowadays, aside from a few industries and specific units that still had submission tasks and promotional quotas, who even regarded print media as relevant anymore?
After a year, I nearly lost my job as a reporter. Then I decided to try my hand at self-media. I opened accounts on various platforms and often stayed up late writing. The things I posted either went unnoticed or drew cold mockery from readers:
"Wow, is there still someone writing poetry these days?"
"Is the author a newly unearthed Terracotta Warrior?"
I even submitted a long novel to several online literature platforms, but most rejected it: "Your work does not meet current reader demands!"
I was indignant; they clearly had no eye for talent! After all, I was a member of the Jiangcheng Writers Association! Eventually, one website signed me on, but aside from revenue sharing, there were no guarantees or full attendance bonuses… After uploading 580,000 words, my earnings were in single digits, and due to insufficient reading reviews, I didn’t even get a rating!
When I took the campus beauty Jiang Xiaoli to the movies and complained about my unrecognized talent, all she said was, "Whatever!"
The editor I was in contact with suggested that I check out the trending genres on major online literature platforms. After some digging, I discovered that what was popular now were "time-travel stories," "farming stories," and "misery stories"… Traditional literature had become utterly irrelevant!
I recalled a phrase that was quite fitting, yet painfully poignant in this context: "The brush and ink should follow the times!" Thus, writing short drama scripts became my new endeavor.
What with time travel, dragon lords, and reincarnation... I could unleash my imagination to the fullest. Strangely enough, every script I wrote became a hit. Each script consisted of 100 episodes, with around 500 words per episode. In a month, I could write three scripts. Each one sold for twenty to thirty thousand, which meant I could easily make sixty to seventy thousand a month. I didn’t have to watch anyone’s face, didn’t have to clock in and out, and there was no commute. I could write at the dining table, on my bed, or even while using the restroom.
Was this divine favor or just a stroke of luck?
I was practically creating in a "cheat mode," and I took the opportunity to register my own company, "Yun Cheng Cultural Communication Company." I wrote my own scripts and produced my own shows. Starting with low-budget productions, each episode was about two minutes long, and I finished filming all 100 episodes in just a few days. They became wildly popular on various short video platforms.
The company thrived and grew larger. To ensure sustainable and healthy development, Cloud City gradually phased out "mindless" themes and began producing stories centered on urban life and local culture—narratives that resonated strongly with the public. Over time, those intellectually insulting short dramas faded away, and our proactive transformation proved to be a great success.
In Jiangcheng, there were countless cultural companies producing short dramas like mushrooms after rain, but I would say we were second; no one dared claim the first spot.
Along the way, not only did the company make money, but it also received strong recognition and support from the cultural and publicity departments of Jiangcheng City and Jiangbei Province. With financial stability came confidence; after four years of trying to win over Jiang Xiaoli in college and another year post-graduation without saying much more than pleasantries, she finally agreed to define our relationship as boyfriend and girlfriend!
From then on, our relationship heated up just like our business did. She became my vice president, overseeing the daily operations of the company.
With tangible achievements backed by endorsements from the publicity department, I received an invitation from the renowned director Brother Hua of the Hua Media in Beijing to discuss collaboration! Although our statuses in the industry were worlds apart, he was interested in my newly written script "Time Leaves Its Mark." We had a delightful conversation and signed a cooperation agreement.
Cloud City Cultural Communication would partner with the Hua Media to produce an annual blockbuster!
I couldn't wait to fly back to Jiangcheng a day early to share this monumental news with my dearest loved ones. I reserved a table at the best restaurant in Jiangcheng and meticulously prepared a candlelit dinner along with an engagement ring!
Collaborating with one of the top directors in the country while proposing to my college crush! Here I was—a kid from a rural area in Annan—what incredible luck!
Comment 0 Comment Count