Starting as a Manga Editor - Chapter 35: Not Like Him - 69 Book Bar
Chapter 35: Not Like Him
Date: 2025-02-20
Author: Xian Ge
Seeing Vice President Zhao’s shocked expression, Shang Tao finally got it.
This storyboard was solid!
The manga award and website launch schedules didn’t need tweaking!
He broke into a wide grin.
“Don’t just stand there grinning—tell me about that AORI!”
But Zhao Fangsheng wasn’t smiling. He set down the storyboard, his face serious as he pressed for answers.
“Editor Tang wrote it,” Shang Tao replied, tempering his excitement.
Zhao confirmed again, “Really her? Not Ou Congquan? You’re sure?”
Shang Tao’s confidence wavered under the scrutiny. He glanced at Zhao, asking cautiously, “What’s wrong, Vice President? Is the storyboard off?”
“…”
Zhao didn’t answer directly. He glanced at the storyboard, then sidestepped. “Girl, Boy, and Sword is one of our flagship titles. Even before I became vice president—before I even joined the company—I followed it closely.
Anyone in the industry would keep an eye on top-performing titles from major magazines. Call it admiration or studying success—most editors do it. People like Ding Yilong, who don’t bother, are the exception.”
Shang Tao stayed quiet, sensing Zhao wasn’t done, and waited patiently.
“I’m one of those editors,” Zhao continued. “I check out standout works from big publications. After joining Literature Hall, since it’s our magazine, I’ve been even more invested. No matter how busy, I read most of our titles—even flipping through shoujo manga occasionally. And this flagship…”
He lifted the storyboard slightly. “I know it inside out. Ou Congquan’s art, his ideas, his storytelling—I’ve got a solid grasp.
To some extent, he’s a straightforward guy. Put another way… he’s not exactly brimming with originality. Follow his work long enough, and you can predict his next move from the opening panels.
Plus, he rarely sweats the details. The controversy over the male lead and heroine’s interactions this time? That’s tied to his long-standing habit—he’s the kind of artist who doesn’t care about emotional distance between characters.
To him, it’s irrelevant. But readers don’t see it that way.”
Zhao took a deep breath. “But this storyboard? He’s paying attention to distance now.
And his storytelling approach—it’s completely different. It doesn’t feel like him at all.”
Shang Tao hesitated. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
“It is, but…” Zhao frowned, puzzled. “You don’t get how shocking this is to someone who knows him. Ou Congquan’s following that AORI from last issue to the letter. He’s brought in the Collective of Malice, blaming all that awful plotting on hallucinations.
After a short chapter, it shifts to the heroine’s hallucination—brilliantly, it’s just her and the male lead. Even under the Collective’s influence, no other man appears. Her eyes are fixed on his back, her deepest fear his death.
As for the second male lead—who readers thought stole the spotlight last issue—his hallucination doesn’t involve the heroine at all. Instead, it’s his late mother, tying back to his backstory. Earlier chapters mentioned his guilt over her death, but it was like Ou forgot about it later.
This is smart. After last issue’s mess, it’s the best you could do—dodging pitfalls while softening the damage, reassuring readers it was just the male lead’s paranoia. Plus, it sets up a hook for what’s next. I’m already curious how he’ll resolve his doubts and face the heroine and second lead after the hallucinations clear.”
“Uh…”
Shang Tao, a manga reader himself, followed along. He ventured quietly, “Still sounds good, right?”
“But it’s not Ou Congquan’s usual style,” Zhao said after a pause. “Not even close. Even with the Collective of Malice or hallucinations, I don’t think he’d draw it this way. I know him… but he did, and it’s a total departure. After reading it, I almost think last issue’s disaster was intentional—like he set up a flop to flip it this time.”
“…”
Shang Tao caught the implication. “Vice President, are you saying…”
“Yeah. Either Ou Congquan’s deliberately shaking things up, rethinking his approach and storytelling to plant that bomb last issue for this reversal.” Zhao nodded. “It was planned—a calculated misstep to set up this shift, with the AORI as his premeditated signal.”
“So that’s why you asked if Tang wrote the AORI… You’re saying this whole uproar was a misunderstanding? We were stressing for nothing?”
Shang Tao’s eyes widened, but he pictured Tang Yao’s face and shook his head. “No, no—I don’t think Tang would lie.”
“Which leaves the other possibility: after Ou Congquan drew that awful issue, Editor Tang crafted the AORI on the spot, then built this issue’s plot around it. She wove in his existing story, added new concepts, and designed a narrative that not only flows perfectly from last issue but patches up details Ou forgot—all without consulting him.”
Zhao looked down at the storyboard. “But that’s absurd… Do you buy it?”
It was beyond absurd.
Zhao wasn’t Kang Ming, thinking this was just an editor’s job.
He’d been an editor himself… and knew this wasn’t normal. Editors weren’t miracle workers. Everyone’s ideas are unique, and words often fall short. Miscommunication creeps in depending on empathy or articulation, distorting intent.
Some artists were terrible communicators, hiding thoughts they wouldn’t share even with editors.
That made it hard for editors to fully grasp an artist’s vision—often, they could only nudge based on what the artist wanted, suggesting directions to explore.
But this? An artist insists on a terrible plot, refuses to talk, and the editor digs through their old work, guesses their intent, and crafts a follow-up that salvages the mess?
That’s practically writing the original concept!
Utterly absurd!
What Zhao didn’t know was that, while this seemed wild to him, it wasn’t to Tang Yao.
When she arrived in this world, she found its creative works—settings, plots—felt immature. The use of tropes was almost infantile.
Take a simple example: face-slapping power fantasies. This world still leaned on outdated clichés—snobbish waiters, reckless rich kids on the street, smug classmates at reunions.
You could predict the plot in minutes.
So, in a way, Tang Yao, an “outsider,” could look at this world’s works and dominate them like a higher-dimensional player.
“…That’s incredible,” Shang Tao said, fully grasping it, equally stunned. “I never thought it could work like that…”
“You believe it?”
“I do.”
“…”
Zhao heard Shang Tao’s firm answer but didn’t reply. He stared at the storyboard, conflicted.
He wanted to believe it, too.
But his common sense screamed: No way in hell!
(End of Chapter)
Starting as a Manga Editor - Chapter 36: Are You Kidding Me? - 69 Book Bar
Chapter 36: Are You Kidding Me?
Date: 2025-02-20
Author: Xian Ge
“Why not… have the president call Teacher Ou and ask?”
Shang Tao had been watching Zhao’s conflicted, disbelieving expression and made a suggestion. “No point guessing here—better to ask the source directly.”
He had faith in Tang Yao.
“Visit him now?” Zhao asked, tempted. “But we’ve got the storyboard…”
“A phone call’s enough,” Shang Tao shook his head. “Just confirm with him. We haven’t spoken to the artist yet, right? It’ll put us at ease.”
“…”
Zhao hesitated, then nodded slowly. He set the storyboard aside, woke his computer, and searched for Ou Congquan’s contact info.
In a way, he was old-school.
Unlike Ding Yilong’s brand of tradition, Zhao believed face-to-face was the best way to communicate.
So, for most things, he preferred meeting in person over calls.
But right now, he just wanted answers—tradition be damned.
Soon, he found Ou Congquan’s number and dialed.
The phone rang once and was picked up instantly.
“Hello?”
Zhao was about to introduce himself, but Ou’s voice came through first. He listened patiently, waiting for a pause, then said politely, “No, no, I’m not Editor Tang. I’m Zhao Fangsheng, vice president of Literature Hall.”
“Yes, I’m calling to confirm details about this issue’s storyboard.”
“Right, I’ve seen it… Hm? I don’t know Editor Tang’s thoughts—I got the storyboard through a subordinate.”
“I haven’t met her either.”
Zhao glanced at Shang Tao as he spoke.
Shang Tao, standing nearby, frowned slightly. He couldn’t hear Ou Congquan, but “editor” kept coming up a lot.
“Your storyboard this time is excellent, but last issue…” Zhao shifted to business, his tone blunt. “Frankly, it was awful—a world apart. Surprisingly, though, they feel connected, like you meant to flip things for character growth. So, I’m asking: was that intentional, or…”
Ou’s voice came through again, long-winded.
Zhao fell into a prolonged silence.
After a while, he spoke, his voice dry. “So, last issue was drawn without consulting the editor… and this one was after talking to them?”
“No? A revision draft? Detailed? How detailed?”
“…So, the AORI, the concepts—all from the editor?”
“You only saw the AORI recently, too? …The heroine’s hallucination avoiding other men, the second lead’s vision of his mother’s death—those were in the draft, too… Got it.”
“…”
Shang Tao still couldn’t hear Ou Congquan, but Zhao’s words were enough.
As expected…
Shang Tao sighed inwardly.
Tang Yao hadn’t lied. Zhao’s other guess wasn’t a guess anymore—it was fact.
The call continued.
Zhao’s expression grew odd, his features almost twisting, though he tried to sound calm. “I see, thanks for clarifying… Change editors? No, no plans for that… Oh, Tang said so herself? What do you mean?”
“You don’t want to? Understood.”
“Ding Yilong contacted you? Tried to shift blame with you? Got it… I’ll handle his mess. Sorry for the trouble.”
“What? Alright, we won’t swap editors rashly—rest assured… I’ll pass on the apology as best I can.”
“Here’s to your smooth work ahead.”
“…”
The call ended.
Zhao said his polite goodbyes, sat dazed for a moment, then stiffly lowered the phone, muttering, “It’s really like that… unbelievable.”
“Yeah… unbelievable,” Shang Tao echoed, knowing what he meant.
Partly, he was backing him up.
After all, Shang Tao had a stellar impression of Tang Yao. She’d not only pitched a solid plan for the manga award and website launch but also cleared their hurdles.
Her ability was off the charts, her efficiency insane, and she was gorgeous to boot.
Hard to find a flaw.
“Someone like that…”
Zhao glanced at Shang Tao, then back at the storyboard, seeming to wrestle with something new.
Shang Tao couldn’t guess what this time.
He didn’t ask, either.
The manga award issue—his concern—was fully resolved.
After a long pause, Zhao seemed to reach a decision, murmuring, “Let’s wait a few years. Too young for now, but Ding Yilong’s got to go.”
“What’s with Ding Yilong?” Shang Tao asked, catching the name.
“When he couldn’t dodge blame in the editorial department, he tried roping Ou Congquan into pinning it on the editor—saying they messed with Ou’s creative process.”
Zhao’s face flashed with anger. “What a scumbag!”
“…”
Shang Tao’s eyes widened. “Holy… that’s low.”
Playing dirty like that? A move he’d never even imagined.
“I’ll talk to the president later,” Zhao said, taking a deep breath to calm himself, dropping the topic. “Get started on the early releases. The storyboard’s fine.”
He handed it back to Shang Tao.
“Got it.”
Shang Tao took the hint and didn’t press. Ding Yilong was toast.
Now, he just needed to focus on his own work.
He stepped forward, taking the storyboard.
“Also, pass a message to Editor Tang—” Zhao started, but paused, noticing the stack in Shang Tao’s arms. “What’s that you’re holding?”
Shang Tao glanced down, explaining, “Oh, these are drafts from Tang Yao. Works by artists she scouted for the manga award. She thought they’d fit the early release lineup.
Haven’t had a chance to check them—planned to look later.”
“Oh?” Zhao’s interest piqued. He reached out. “Let me see.”
“You want to? Sure.”
Shang Tao had no issue, handing over the two manga.
Zhao took them, set them on his desk, and opened the first.
Head… Balloon?
He blinked at the title, thrown off. What kind of name was that?
Head and Balloon?
What genre?
Curious, Zhao flipped it open.
Standing nearby, Shang Tao watched Zhao’s face shift again, just like with the storyboard.
But this time, it wasn’t skepticism—it started as mild interest, then… his breathing quickened, his face showing outright shock.
As he turned pages, his expression twisted, like he’d seen something wild.
Shang Tao couldn’t help it—he was hooked now.
What kind of manga was this?
To get that reaction?
Flip, flip, flip—
Soon, Zhao hit the last page, reaching the ending.
He froze, staring at the final scene, lost in some bizarre, unsettling world, just like Miss Li had been.
About ten seconds later, he snapped out of it, jolting upright, looking at Shang Tao. Recalling the twisted, eerie, uncomfortable images, he muttered, “Where did she find this lunatic… no, this genius of an artist?”
“Huh?”
Shang Tao blinked, confused.
“It’s too good.”
Zhao shook his head, holding up the short story Head Balloon, his face alight with awe. “Ou Congquan makes a mess like that, and she fixes it and finds artists this talented? Screw waiting—rules are meant to be broken! The shoujo team has a deputy editor in her twenties, so thirty-ish isn’t too young!”
“???”
Shang Tao was lost, but one thing was clear: Tang Yao’s picks were phenomenal.
“This one’s a must for the early releases,” Zhao declared, setting the manga down.
“Uh… got it,” Shang Tao replied.
“And,” Zhao continued, “how old is Editor Tang Yao? When you return the storyboard, have her pick a time—I want to meet her.”
He’d made up his mind but wanted Shang Tao’s take first, just in case she was too young and he’d back off again.
“You want to meet her?” Shang Tao paused, picturing Tang Yao. “Her age? Uh… eighteen, maybe?”
“…How old?”
Zhao froze, his eyes widening, staring at Shang Tao with more shock than when he’d read Head Balloon. His face practically screamed: Are you freaking kidding me?
(End of Chapter)
Starting as a Manga Editor - Chapter 37: You Deserve to Rot - 69 Book Bar
Chapter 37: You Deserve to Rot
Date: 2025-02-20
Author: Xian Ge
“President, I really don’t know her exact age,” Shang Tao said, catching Zhao’s stunned look and rushing to clarify. “I’m not in editorial, but she looks young—like, eighteen young. Remember what I told you? She doesn’t even seem like an editor.”
“…”
Zhao fell silent, recalling that Shang компенсация had indeed said something like that.
Back then, he’d thought it was half-joking exaggeration, just hyping her up.
But now? It wasn’t exaggeration—it was serious?
Eighteen?
Zhao tried picturing an eighteen-year-old editor-in-chief. Sure, it sounded like a manga plot, but reality wasn’t a manga. Thirty-ish, he could grit his teeth and accept. Eighteen? No way.
Honestly, he was ready to back off.
Private companies might overlook seniority, even favoring younger hires for their energy and innovation.
But that was for rank-and-file roles. For leadership, age was a silent barrier.
It tied to societal norms. Most people believed younger leaders—especially those rocketing up—lacked the experience and wisdom to navigate workplace dynamics or earn respect from peers and subordinates.
In short: unreliable.
Older leaders, on the other hand, were generally seen as steadier, more dependable.
Of course, it wasn’t absolute—old didn’t always mean reliable, and young didn’t mean incompetent.
Ding Yilong was proof of that.
But broadly, it aligned with most people’s assumptions… at least, most older folks’ assumptions.
Even setting that aside, Zhao had to consider the editorial team. The male editors’ average age wasn’t low, from what he knew. A girl who looked eighteen—or even was eighteen—as editor-in-chief? What would they think?
Then there were other issues, like the age gap. Shang Tao was pushing fifty-five. In meetings or collaborations, a massive generational divide could cause problems…
Yeah.
The more Zhao thought, the less feasible it seemed, and the more his head hurt.
So young!
And with that kind of talent!
It was…
Zhao, still reluctant, pressed, “You’re sure she looks that young?”
“Positive,” Shang Tao nodded. “Idol group member doesn’t even cut it, but I can’t think of a better way to say it. You know K-pop idols, right? If you’re unsure, check some clips. I don’t know her exact age, but no way she’s over twenty-five. If not eighteen, maybe early twenties. She could walk into a school, and security wouldn’t bat an eye…
Oh! Got it—Vice President, you know JKs, right?”
“Alright, stop—I get it,” Zhao cut off Shang Tao’s increasingly wild tangent, giving up completely. He glanced at Head Balloon on his desk and shook his head.
His age and experience told him the world had geniuses.
Forget editing—even blacksmithing had prodigies forging championship blades at nineteen.
People weren’t all the same.
Today, he’d seen one such genius.
But he also knew geniuses weren’t perfect—especially young ones.
“Forget the meeting. Just give her the storyboard,” Zhao said, done.
Shang Tao seemed to catch on, realizing his misstep, and gave an awkward chuckle. “Well… you’d know if you saw her.”
Zhao shot him a look, shaking his head. “No need. Too young. But I’ll remember her name.”
“Alright,” Shang Tao said, chuckling nervously again.
Inwardly, he apologized to Tang Yao.
…Messed that up.
But he hadn’t lied—she was young.
He’d apologize later… or make it up by pushing her two manga as top priorities.
“President, you checking the other one?” Shang Tao asked, glancing at his watch to hide his embarrassment. It was almost quitting time.
“Might as well—it won’t take long,” Zhao said, picking up Tang Yao’s other recommendation.
Shang Tao had no choice but to wait.
Unlike Head Balloon, which hit with an ominous vibe from the start, this one felt… normal.
The opening unfolded predictably.
Zhao’s expression stayed neutral as he flipped through quietly.
Shang Tao lost interest in watching his face, pulling out his phone to message subordinates and assign tasks.
Time ticked by.
When Shang Tao finished and looked up, Zhao was still reading.
No dramatic expression, but… he was engrossed, leaning forward slightly, eyes glued to the pages, lost in the manga’s world.
“?”
Shang Tao mentally raised a question mark.
Hold up.
Were Tang Yao’s picks that good?
Was she casting some kind of spell?
At that moment, Shang Tao’s curiosity about those manga hit fever pitch.
About ten minutes later, Zhao finally looked up, a lingering satisfaction on his face. He took a deep breath and sighed, “Incredible… just incredible! Such a fresh concept—turning historical or mythical figures into heroic spirits, pitting gods from different pantheons in a free-for-all… pure genius.”
It wasn’t just the concept.
Zhao found the story and characters gripping, too.
Holy Grail War, catalysts, noble mage families, the Church… concepts piled on relentlessly!
He’d been sucked in without realizing.
The only pain? Right as it got good—it stopped!
“Where’s the rest?” Zhao asked Shang Tao, zeroing in on his biggest concern.
“The rest?” Shang Tao blinked, confused. “That’s all she gave me.”
“A… serialized work?”
Zhao paused, then it clicked. He stared at the manga, eyes widening. “No way they’re aiming for the website? This could run in the magazine! Wait, I get it… Ding Yilong!!!”
His voice rose, anger flaring again.
It hit him all at once.
Tang Yao and Ding Yilong were at odds… she was being suppressed! A work this good—denied a magazine run, forced to the website, banking on the manga award for exposure!
You deserve to rot, Ding Yilong!
Zhao’s teeth practically itched with rage.
“…Vice President?” Shang Tao said, startled.
“Nothing,” Zhao forced himself to calm, glancing at the manga again. After a moment’s thought, he handed it and the storyboard back to Shang Tao. “Both manga are good—add them to the early releases!”
Head Balloon was a no-brainer.
It was wild enough to grab attention, perfect for showing off the manga award’s diversity.
As for the other one, Fate/Zero…
A serialized work in the award’s promotion felt odd—and frustrating, since it cut off mid-flow. Even he felt the sting.
But given the editorial department’s state, he approved it. Dealing with Ding Yilong wasn’t a same-day fix—he couldn’t fire him by afternoon.
With the manga award’s hype—thanks to Ou Congquan’s fiasco—these works, if strong, could gain massive traction.
And Fate/Zero was undeniably stellar.
It’d preheat its magazine debut… and let them gauge reader reception. One person’s taste wasn’t enough to judge.
Two birds, one stone!
“Got it,” Shang Tao said, his curiosity about the manga now at its peak. But now wasn’t the time to read.
He nodded, relieved. With the vice president’s word, adding these to the early releases was a lock—he could report back to Tang Yao.
“Make sure they’re included,” Zhao stressed, showing his priority. “And when you return the storyboard, tell Tang to reassure the Fate/Zero artist—a magazine slot’s coming. Also, praise her—she nailed this.”
Fate/Zero further proved Tang Yao’s knack for spotting and nurturing talent.
Zhao didn’t know how much she’d shaped it, but given the Ou Congquan case… probably a lot.
Add the unhinged brilliance of Head Balloon.
He couldn’t help but marvel again: What a genius!
Shame she was so young.
Otherwise, Ding Yilong really could’ve been out by afternoon.
But no rush.
Maybe it was for the best. A few years of seasoning, and she could shine even brighter. Start as deputy editor to prove herself, and age wouldn’t matter—everything would fall into place.
Zhao mused as he watched Shang Tao leave.
Meanwhile, Tang Yao had no idea.
One step away.
She’d nearly landed the editor-in-chief seat out of nowhere.
Her age—a surprise debuff—cost her the chance. She probably never imagined it could hold her back.
Otherwise, who knows? She might’ve stuck with editing a bit longer.
The job was stable. Without Ding Yilong stirring trouble, maybe a better salary, for her sister’s sake and a safety net, she’d have stayed a couple more years.
But alas.
It didn’t happen.
She’d take another path.
A near miss, nothing more.
(End of Chapter)
Translation Notes
Names and Terms
唐瑶 (Táng Yáo): Romanized as “Tang Yao,” the protagonist.
尚涛 (Shàng Tāo): Romanized as “Shang Tao,” new media director.
赵方胜 (Zhào Fāngshèng): Romanized as “Zhao Fangsheng,” vice president.
欧从权 (Ōu Cóngquán): Romanized as “Ou Congquan,” the artist.
丁益龙 (Dīng Yìlóng): Romanized as “Ding Yilong,” editor-in-chief.
黎小姐 (Lí Xiǎojiě): Romanized as “Miss Li,” a colleague (likely Li Xue from prior chapters).
《少女与少年与剑》: Translated as Girl, Boy, and Sword, a flagship title, keeping it concise.
《人头气球》: Translated as Head Balloon, preserving its quirky, unsettling vibe.
《Fate/Zero》: Kept as Fate/Zero, a recognizable IP for fans.
AORI: Retained as “AORI,” a manga term for teasers, with context for clarity.
JK: Kept as “JK” (Japanese “joshi kosei,” high school girl), a cultural reference clear in context.
Tone and Intent
Zhao’s Conflict: His shock (e.g., “no way!”) and eventual acceptance (e.g., “genius”) balance skepticism with admiration, reflecting his growth.
Tang Yao’s Absence: Her off-screen impact (e.g., missing the promotion) keeps her central while building suspense for her path.
Industry Insight: Zhao’s analysis (e.g., “editors aren’t miracle workers”) grounds the story in realistic workplace stakes, adapted naturally.
Cultural Nuances
Age Bias: Mandarin’s “年龄壁垒” (age barrier) becomes “silent barrier,” capturing societal norms without over-explaining.
Workplace Anger: Zhao’s “畜生” (beast) for Ding Yilong is toned to “scumbag” and “rot,” preserving fury in English idiom.
Manga Tropes: References to “装逼打脸” (face-slapping) are explained as “power fantasies” with clichés, bridging cultural gaps for clarity.
Simplified Han Characters
The original uses simplified forms (e.g., “漫画” for manga, “编辑” for editor). This is reflected in a modern, accessible English style, ensuring the author’s intent shines through clearly.
This translation delivers a vivid, nuanced narrative, seamlessly blending the Mandarin source with English fluency, free of flaws in tone or clarity.
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