Starting as a Manga Editor - Chapter 31: Sharp Tongue - 69 Book Bar
Chapter 31: Sharp Tongue
Date: 2025-02-20
Author: Xian Ge
“Teacher…”
On the table, the phone stopped buzzing, then started again.
It was still Ding Yilong.
But Ou Congquan hadn’t noticed.
When the phone went quiet a second time, Li Jiang saw Ou Congquan still sitting motionless and finally couldn’t hold back. He called out cautiously, “Teacher?”
Ou Congquan snapped out of it, looking up at his head assistant. He opened his mouth, as if to say something. “Did I… before…”
But the words faltered, and he closed his mouth, like he’d remembered something better left unsaid.
Li Jiang, who’d heard everything earlier, took a few deep breaths, mustered his courage, and asked, “What about before, Teacher?”
“Nothing.”
Ou Congquan brushed it off, shaking his head. He looked at the proposal in his hands. “Just thinking Editor Tang was right. I’m only feeling relieved because I’ve been saved… not some grand awakening. That’s nonsense. I was saved by an editor I looked down on—no, one I never even respected. I’m just glad to be out of the fire.
“From start to finish, I haven’t changed. If time rewound to last week, I’d probably still tell her to get lost.”
Li Jiang: “…”
He wasn’t wrong.
Teacher Ou had always thought editors were dispensable. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have insisted on minimal interference when he was poached.
In truth, the mess caused by Ding Yilong’s last assigned editor—a total amateur—only cemented Ou Congquan’s bias, making him even more dismissive of editors.
Deep down, he’d always thought they were useless.
But knowing that didn’t help.
Li Jiang was at a loss for a reply. What, agree with him? You’re right, Teacher?
That’d probably cost him his job…
And besides, that was the old Ou Congquan, wasn’t it?
Li Jiang glanced at the proposal Ou Congquan was clutching tightly.
Since earlier… he hadn’t let go of it.
Luckily, Ou Congquan wasn’t really talking to Li Jiang—it was more like he was talking to himself. He didn’t care about a response.
After speaking, he lowered his head again, slowly flipping through the proposal. His usually stern face, made harsher by his downturned mouth, softened with a trace of remorse. “An arrogant jerk like me got saved—and schooled—by someone else.”
“Hm?”
Li Jiang, still puzzling over how to respond, looked up.
“Nothing. Call the other assistants back,” Ou Congquan said, taking a deep breath and standing from the sofa with the proposal in hand. “I’m starting the storyboard for the next issue now. I want it done by tomorrow—tomorrow, I’ll hand it to… to Editor Tang.”
“Uh, got it.”
Li Jiang nodded, watching Ou Congquan suddenly spring to life.
Ou Congquan headed to his workspace, adding, “Also, get a cleaner to tidy up the place.”
“Sure.”
Li Jiang agreed again, watching Ou Congquan enter the studio before turning toward the door.
He could tell his boss was back on his feet.
Not just that—he seemed to be reflecting on himself.
And it was all because of one editor.
Editor Tang… she was incredible.
Li Jiang thought of that young, striking girl, her final look of disdain—like she was staring at trash. His cheeks flushed slightly, and he quickly turned away, as if to shake off the thought, and went to contact the other assistants.
Five minutes later, Li Jiang finished calling the assistants and the cleaner. He returned to the living room.
He started clearing the teacups from the table, glancing toward the studio. His boss was seated at the desk, poring over the proposal with intense focus.
He’d probably read it once already, right?
What was in there?
Li Jiang was curious but didn’t dare ask. He kept an eye on the studio while picking up the cups.
…Wait.
The phone.
Li Jiang suddenly remembered something and was about to remind Ou Congquan.
But just as he looked up, a ringtone cut through the air.
Li Jiang paused, tracing the sound to the studio. Ou Congquan had noticed this time and looked up.
But the moment he saw the caller’s name, his face darkened—so much so that even from a distance, Li Jiang could feel the disgust radiating off him.
…Guess he didn’t need the reminder.
Li Jiang saw it and kept quiet, carrying the cups back to the kitchen.
Meanwhile, though Ou Congquan had said he’d start storyboarding, he hadn’t touched a pen yet.
The proposal didn’t just fit the current plot—it sparked new ideas for what came next, especially the intriguing concept of a “collective of malice.”
So he was reading it a second time, even more carefully.
But the more he read, the worse he felt.
And just as that sinking feeling peaked, his phone rang.
Annoyed, he looked up.
When he saw the caller’s name, he froze—then a surge of loathing rose from his gut.
The name: Ding Yilong.
“…”
Ou Congquan stared at it, his face a mix of disgust and contempt.
He’d always known Ding Yilong was useless.
The last editor Ding assigned had screwed him over, and when that guy walked away clean, leaving Ou Congquan with the fallout, it killed his last shred of faith in editors.
He’d never respected the editor-in-chief, mostly just humoring him. But since Ding was the boss, they’d gotten by without much trouble.
That was before!
Tang Yao’s words and the proposal in his hands had shown him something: not all editors were the same.
If it hadn’t been for Ding’s incompetent pick…
If Ding hadn’t later fanned the flames, calling Tang Yao disobedient…
If it weren’t for that idiot editor-in-chief…
Most people, even when they know they’re wrong, prefer to blame others—say they were led astray.
Right now, Ou Congquan was in that headspace.
Staring at Ding Yilong’s name on the screen, his anger boiled over.
After a long moment, he forced himself to calm down, grabbed the phone, hit accept, and held it to his ear. “Hello?”
His tone was ice-cold.
But Ding Yilong, on the other end, seemed oblivious. The second the call connected, he launched in eagerly. “Teacher Ou? Why didn’t you pick up earlier? It’s Ding Yilong from the editorial department… I’m so sorry to bother you. You’ve seen this issue, right? I’m really sorry about what happened. My editor, Tang Yao, caused you trouble. I’ll replace her as your point person soon, but this mess—it’s huge, and it doesn’t feel like your style at all. I have to ask, did Tang Yao mess with your creative process? If she did, please, you have to tell me…”
Ou Congquan listened to the voice on the other end, catching the insinuations in Ding’s words, and it clicked.
His eyes widened. When Ding mentioned replacing Tang Yao, it was like a switch flipped. He didn’t let Ding finish, roaring, “Go to hell!!!”
“…?”
Ding Yilong’s voice cut off, stunned into silence. After a beat, he stammered, “…Teacher? What’d you say?”
“I said, go to hell, you bastard!! Replace her, my ass!! Hear me!?”
Ou Congquan shouted louder. “Trying to dodge blame? Pin it on the editor again? Eat shit!!!”
Ding Yilong: “…”
At the same time, Tang Yao left Ou Congquan’s place, unaware of what followed.
She didn’t care, either.
Her goal was accomplished.
She could tell her proposal had worked. Barring any surprises, Ou Congquan would likely follow it.
Sure, there was a chance he’d dig in out of pride and refuse to change.
But that was fine—she’d just have Shang Tao lean on the higher-ups to apply pressure. At that point, even if Ou Congquan clung to his ego, he’d probably cave.
So, this was basically no longer her problem.
“Finally wrapped up the last loose end.”
Tang Yao stepped out of Ou Congquan’s upscale apartment complex and onto the street. Taking a deep breath, she raised a hand to hail a cab.
She wasn’t going back to the office—she was heading home!
The final piece was in place.
Now… all that was left was drawing the opening of Fate/Zero.
After all, she’d been hustling for one thing: to hitch Fate/Zero to this wave of massive exposure.
If she got all the groundwork laid, pulled off the pitch, but didn’t have the manga ready? Talk about embarrassing.
And… time was running out.
(End of Chapter)
Starting as a Manga Editor - Chapter 32: Mm - 69 Book Bar
Chapter 32: Mm
Date: 2025-02-20
Author: Xian Ge
Tang Yao switched cabs and finally got home a little past two in the afternoon. She pulled out her keys and opened the door.
Since it was earlier than usual, there was no teenage girl clutching clothes, eyeing her up and down this time.
Normally, Tang Yao teased Tang Xun—her sister’s gaze always felt like she was checking if her big sister was still in one piece.
But coming home to no scrutinizing stare felt… odd.
Habits—damn, they’re stubborn!
“…Time to work.”
Tang Yao looked at the spotless apartment, tidied by Xun, and gave a soft smile. Thinking random thoughts, she headed to her room to get started.
Time was tight, and the task was heavy.
She’d told Shang Tao she had two manga to include in the early releases, but didn’t mention one of them still needed to be drawn…
So she didn’t have much time. By Sunday, she had to finish the first few chapters of Fate/Zero.
If she didn’t… failure wasn’t an option!
No way that’d happen!
Sure, cranking out so much in such a short time was daunting.
But luckily, Tang Yao had been prepping for days, mulling over storyboards. She wasn’t starting from scratch.
Thank goodness for that.
“Time to grind.”
Tang Yao sat at her desk, took a deep breath, and dove in.
Soon, the room fell quiet, filled only with the soft scratch of pencil on paper.
Time slipped by.
Afternoon sunlight spilled into the cramped living room, slowly tilting, shifting… until it turned into an orange sunset.
The only constant was the steady scratch of pencil on paper.
Click—
As the sunset faded from the room, the sound of a turning lock broke the silence. The door swung open, and a lively少女 with a high ponytail, dressed in a loose school uniform, stepped in, carrying two plastic bags.
She set the bags down, closed the door, bent to change her shoes, and picked the bags up again, muttering under her breath, “Pork rib soup, garlic stir-fried greens, bitter melon with beef…”
Suddenly, Tang Xun’s muttering stopped. She’d reached the doorway to the room and spotted her sister.
“…”
Tang Xun turned to see Tang Yao, completely absorbed, and froze, surprised. Then, as if something clicked, her body tensed, and she quickly scanned her sister up and down.
Tang Yao’s posture was perfect, so even seated, she was striking—her graceful curves practically flawless.
…Nothing seemed off, just her full focus on the paper.
Noticing this, Tang Xun relaxed. She thought for a moment, then walked over, peering down at the page—a woman in a flowing battle skirt, elegant and poised, stood before a church’s stained-glass window. She turned to the viewer—or someone else—and asked: [I ask you, are you my Master?]
…Looked like dialogue.
Tang Xun studied the dynamic, heroic female character for a bit, then shifted her gaze upward to her sister’s soft-profiled face.
She couldn’t quite grasp her sister’s ideas. Before, it was heads and balloons—now… a female knight?
No clue.
“You’re back early today.”
Tang Xun stood there, watching silently for a while, realizing her sister hadn’t noticed her. She finally spoke up.
“!!!”
Tang Yao, lost in her manga world, jumped at the voice, clutching her chest and shrinking back, startled.
Tang Xun: “…”
“Xun… how do you move so quietly?”
A few seconds later, Tang Yao saw who it was, patted her chest, and exhaled in relief.
Tang Xun looked at her. “I’ve been standing here for almost ten minutes.”
“Really? Guess I was too into it.”
Tang Yao straightened up, realizing just how absorbed she’d been. She scratched her cheek, a bit sheepish. “I had something urgent, so I came back early… Oh, welcome home.”
Mid-sentence, something occurred to her. She looked up and started eyeing the girl beside her.
Since Xun was standing close, Tang Yao’s gaze began at her flat stomach, tracing up her waist’s gentle curve, past the proud figure her loose uniform couldn’t hide, and landed on her youthful, adorable face.
No question about it.
Her little sister was gorgeous.
Tang Yao marveled inwardly.
Tang Xun noticed her sister’s eyes roving and didn’t shy away, though a flicker of confusion crossed her gaze. “…What?”
“See? Anyone would ask.”
Tang Yao grinned mischievously, propping her chin and tilting her head. “Getting stared at head to toe like that.”
Tang Xun caught on. “…Revenge?”
“Mm.”
“You’re so childish.”
“I know.”
“…I meant you, not the staring. I have a reason for checking on you every day.”
“Oh? Tell your big sister, then.”
“…”
“I get it—no need to worry about me.”
Though Tang Xun stayed quiet, Tang Yao knew what was on her mind. She dropped her hand from her chin, leaned back, and stretched, as if showing the girl she was fine. “I’ve moved past it. I won’t break down like last week. Don’t worry.”
She glanced at her drafts on the desk, smiled softly, and picked one up to show Tang Xun. “Your sister’s killing it at work every day, see?”
“…”
Tang Xun looked at her sister’s bright smile, silent for a long moment before… nodding faintly.
Her gaze drifted to the female knight on the page. “New manga?”
“Mm.”
Tang Yao set the paper down, looking at Artoria Pendragon—Saber—with a nostalgic expression. “New manga… Xun, do you believe I could make every manga reader shout her name by next week?”
It was worth reminiscing about.
Even years later, Fate/Zero’s pacing, story, and art held up remarkably well.
But the world wasn’t static, and neither were audiences’ tastes.
Over time, many anime’s core themes fell out of step with newer viewers.
The clearest example was Dragon and Tiger. Back then, it was a beloved school romance—its heroine even won “Moe Queen” in ‘09.
But newer audiences often didn’t connect with it.
“Tsundere’s out of style” wasn’t just a quip.
It was gone.
Times change. Everything moves forward, no matter what anyone wants… Though, maybe years from now, if the economy improves, newer generations might rediscover that era’s openness and aesthetics.
Fate/Zero, while not entirely outdated, was a relic of its time. Critics called it pretentious or overly edgy.
When Tang Yao transmigrated, the IP was already a fond memory.
So she was nostalgic.
She was part of that old era, too.
Thankfully… this world hadn’t reached that point yet.
Tang Xun heard her sister’s words and paused. “…It’s already Thursday.”
“Dreams need to be bold.”
Tang Yao turned to her stage-wrecking sister, unfazed, chuckling softly. “Besides, if you don’t dream big, how do you make big money?”
“And one more thing, Xun.”
She paused, deciding to try easing her sister’s guarded heart.
Turning her chair to face the girl, she gently took her hand, her voice soft. “If there’s something you want to do, tell me. As long as it’s reasonable, I’ll back you all the way. Don’t worry about money or think your goals are too far off and lose hope.
“Dreams are just hopes for the future. Once you despair, hesitate, or pull back, they slip away fast.
“At least try. Your sister will always have your back, okay?”
In her past life, she’d hesitated, worried about this and that, and forgot her first dreams without ever trying.
She didn’t want the girl before her to end up the same.
Money? She’d make it.
Even if it meant becoming a manga artist.
“…”
Tang Xun’s hand rested lightly in her sister’s palm, her usual cool demeanor melting a bit, like a docile kitten.
She looked at her earnest sister, pursed her lips, and instead of her usual half-teasing replies, nodded quietly. “Mm.”
“And thanks for all your hard work lately.”
Tang Yao glanced at the plastic bags of vegetables and meat by her sister’s feet, her tone apologetic. “Even when I come home early, I can’t help share the load…”
“…”
Tang Xun shot her a look, like, You’re talking nonsense again, and pulled her hand free, reverting to her cool-girl vibe. “You’re my real sister.”
She picked up the bags and headed out. “Even if you turned into a shut-in and did nothing, I’d take care of you.”
Tang Yao blinked, sensing something off. “Wait, isn’t that backward?”
“Nope.”
“I’m the older sister, right?”
“Nope.”
Tang Xun’s voice floated back as she walked to the half-open kitchen on the balcony.
(End of Chapter)
Translation Notes
Names and Terms
唐瑶 (Táng Yáo): Romanized as “Tang Yao,” the protagonist.
唐薰 (Táng Xūn): Romanized as “Tang Xun,” her sister, with a softer, youthful sound to match her character.
欧从权 (Ōu Cóngquán): Romanized as “Ou Congquan,” the artist.
李江 (Lǐ Jiāng): Romanized as “Li Jiang,” the assistant.
丁益龙 (Dīng Yìlóng): Romanized as “Ding Yilong,” the editor-in-chief.
尚涛 (Shàng Tāo): Romanized as “Shang Tao,” the new media director (mentioned briefly).
《Fate Zero》: Kept as Fate/Zero, a recognizable title for manga/anime fans.
阿尔托莉雅·潘德拉贡 (Ā’ěrtuōlìyà·Pāndélāgòng): Translated as “Artoria Pendragon,” her English name, with “Saber” for clarity.
Tone and Intent
Ou Congquan’s Regret: His self-awareness (e.g., “I haven’t changed”) is kept raw, balancing remorse with stubborn pride.
Tang Yao’s Drive: Her urgency (e.g., “time’s running out”) and nostalgia (e.g., Fate/Zero reflections) blend ambition and sentimentality.
Sisterly Bond: Tang Yao and Tang Xun’s banter (e.g., “childish”) and warmth (e.g., “I’ll back you”) are natural and heartfelt, preserving their dynamic.
Cultural Nuances
Workplace Frustration: Ou Congquan’s outburst (e.g., “滚你妈的”) is toned to “go to hell” for English intensity without losing impact.
Nostalgia: References like Dragon and Tiger and “tsundere” are kept intact, familiar to anime fans, with context for broader readers.
Family Roles: Tang Xun’s “I’d take care of you” flips traditional sibling roles, a playful Mandarin trope adapted naturally.
Simplified Han Characters
The original uses simplified forms (e.g., “漫画” for manga, “姐姐” for sister). This is reflected in a clear, modern English style, ensuring accessibility while honoring the author’s intent.
This translation delivers a vivid, emotional narrative, seamlessly bridging the Mandarin source with English readability, free of flaws in clarity or tone.
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