Chapter 159: Hopes and Worries
Date: 2025-03-25
Author: Xian Ge
Truth be told, online serialization held strong appeal for smaller-scale mangaka.
So far, few had serialized online—web platforms weren’t mainstream. Tang Yao’s former employer, Wenxin Pavilion, had a half-dead online reading platform, only briefly thriving when Fate/Zero and Human Head Balloon debuted.
They barely invested in online reading, focusing on their print magazines.
Without support, traffic and pay were mediocre.
Big mangaka scoffed at it.
Smaller mangaka aimed for print magazines, hoping to break out.
In the end, only hobbyists bothered with the platform.
Meanwhile, Wenxin Pavilion’s editorial team didn’t value the site, neglecting to scout promising works.
Low pay, little attention, and worst of all, no breakout opportunities—these factors doomed the platform.
Hardly anyone submitted.
In fact, Shang Tao at Wenxin Pavilion was livid, fuming over the site’s state.
But even telling Zhao Fangsheng, a higher-up, changed nothing. The company wouldn’t shift its direction.
Not everyone had the guts to ditch their cash cow for a gamble on the future.
Especially when that future was unclear.
Mangaka wouldn’t abandon print for online serialization, and magazines wouldn’t ditch print to heavily back web platforms.
But ANF? It was different!
It had nothing to lose.
Originally a niche anime video platform, manga was just one section. Focusing on web manga, it carried no baggage. Its manuscript fees outstripped Wenxin Pavilion’s online platform, with only a minimum page count, and most crucially—it was backed by the rising gaming titan, Avalon.
For IP development, Avalon’s edge was clear. FGO was proof.
Better yet, standout works could license to Avalon’s games, earning royalties and sales shares.
Sure, this likely didn’t apply to most submitting mangaka, but it signaled breakout potential.
Most importantly, even ignoring that, the fees and ANF’s recent surge—amassing a core anime fanbase—were enough to tempt many smaller mangaka!
Of course, this applied to mid-to-lower-tier mangaka.
For top-tier mangaka, the draw wasn’t enough. Their royalties already stuffed their wallets. As for games, magazines were pushing licensing too, though none had succeeded yet. They weren’t desperate enough to jump to ANF.
But in any industry, the bulk isn’t the elite—it’s the mid-to-lower tiers.
Their interest alone could shift the landscape.
Still, alongside excitement, smaller mangaka had worries…
Everything has two sides.
ANF, a new player with no baggage, offered great terms but lacked a track record.
With all this fanfare, who knew how far ANF’s manga section would go?
What if it fizzled out?
What if works languished, ignored?
What if ANF’s core users rejected online manga?
What then?
ANF had no prior manga business—it was a video platform.
That sparked concern.
If Wenxin Pavilion pulled this, mangaka would flock over, given their print success.
That’s a track record!
Though, sure, their online platform flopped hard…
This was the downside of new entrants.
Luckily, ANF’s manga section wasn’t just about events—it had a new serial!
The mysterious Sanliu-sensei’s Chainsaw Man.
For some reason, instead of continuing the red-hot Fate series, they started a brand-new story.
Its style diverged completely from past works.
Though not a rookie, this fresh tale was perfect for testing ANF users’ acceptance of the manga section.
So, many mangaka began tracking Chainsaw Man’s performance.
They wanted to see just how far this manga—and ANF’s manga section—could go…
Meanwhile, “Chainsaw Man? Events?”
Rumi, in her studio, stared at her computer screen, question marks swirling like other mangaka.
After a while, she snapped out of it, first checking the manga section’s event.
Then, she skimmed the released chapters of Chainsaw Man, her face thoughtful.
A bizarre world, a bottom-rung teen surviving by hunting demons… driven by raw, simple motives, an anti-hero protagonist?
Why’d she suddenly pivot to this genre?
And wasn’t she focused on games? Why push manga so boldly?
Rumi was puzzled.
She still occasionally chatted with Tang Yao… mostly about FGO, which she’d grown to love. Manga topics never came up.
As a mangaka herself, she avoided discussing it with Tang Yao.
As for their plan—designing FGO servants and drawing artwork—it fell through.
Rumi was swamped, and during that time, she got hooked on the game… so it fizzled.
She felt awful about it.
But her editor’s pressure was intense, forcing her to prioritize serialization.
By the time she wrapped up, the game’s testing phase had ended.
The event couldn’t launch.
She apologized to Tang Yao repeatedly.
Tang Yao brushed it off, as the game outperformed expectations, not needing the extra event.
But because of this, Rumi felt too awkward to meet Tang Yao in person. They stayed online friends, chatting sporadically.
Avalon’s meteoric rise, though, stunned her.
It was unreal.
FGO’s first-day revenue reportedly hit over 90 million yuan.
Then came the ANF investment, events galore—people said their games and site were printing money! Magazines, Rumi knew, were green with envy, practically tearing their hair out!
Rumi had once offered to invest in Tang Yao, only to be declined.
Seeing this now, she felt even more awkward reaching out.
Not jealousy or regret.
A bit of regret, sure, but not much.
Rumi wasn’t short on cash. Her main worry was Tang Yao misunderstanding—thinking she was cozying up now because of Avalon’s success.
Plus, she hadn’t believed in mobile games at first… which made it more embarrassing.
So, their chats dwindled.
But now, seeing Tang Yao push ANF’s manga section and release a new work, Rumi suddenly wanted to ask about her plans.
No conversation starter, though…
After some thought, Rumi grabbed her mouse, opened her messaging app, and dug up a mangaka group chat.
She’d joined it ages ago, pre-fame.
The members had turned over.
She’d never spoken.
With her current fame, speaking up was tricky.
The group didn’t know her identity.
Though silent, she occasionally lurked, gauging other mangaka’s thoughts.
Opening the chat, sure enough—everyone was buzzing about ANF’s manga section events!
“Guys, heard about ANF’s event?”
“Yup! So tempting! High pay per page! Only a minimum page count! Also, some tried Wenxin Pavilion’s platform, right? Heard web serialization has way lower rejection rates than print. This week’s fees alone are decent cash!”
“True, but the real kicker’s the promise—FGO tie-ins! I’ve sunk 2,000 yuan into that game… If my work tied in, how much would that rake in?”
“Tempted? Go for it! Print magazines are dead!”
“I want to, but I’m worried about the platform’s vibe. Print’s tough to break into, but at least it has readers. If you serialize steadily without tanking, you can make a living. ANF? Who knows what’ll happen. Wenxin Pavilion’s online platform’s a prime example, right?”
“Fair. Let’s see how Chainsaw Man does. If it blows up, I’m in!”
“Blow up? Doubt it… ANF’s an anime site, but its manga reader base might not even match Wenxin Pavilion’s. Plus, Sanliu-sensei’s not doing Fate with its fanbase—it’s a new work.”
“Yup, it’s about commercial value! Wonder how much an FGO tie-in could earn…”
“Hey! Thinking tie-ins already? Too soon!”
“What if?”
“…”
Messages zipped by.
Rumi could barely keep up.
Clearly, most mangaka were intrigued by ANF’s manga section.
But also wary.
After skimming, Rumi found her opening. She grabbed her phone and messaged Tang Yao: “You’re pushing manga big-time lately…?”
(End of Chapter)
Chapter 160: Collaboration Card Pool
Date: 2025-03-25
Author: Xian Ge
At Avalon, Li Xue had been closely monitoring ANF, especially after the flurry of events and manga launches.
The anime acquisition event sparking user frenzy wasn’t surprising.
But the manga section’s event caught her off guard.
Originally, Li Xue’s plan was to leverage Tang Yao’s new work, Chainsaw Man, to hype the manga section. Simply put, Chainsaw Man was a spark to draw readers’ eyes to the section, signaling to mangaka that ANF was doubling down on manga.
And it worked—readers and mangaka noticed.
But Chainsaw Man wasn’t just a spark…
It became a litmus test for the manga section’s viability.
Mangaka eyeing ANF were all watching Chainsaw Man’s performance.
Realizing this, Li Xue frowned—not out of doubt in Tang Yao.
As a seasoned editor, she knew the future shouldn’t rest on one person’s shoulders. It wasn’t fair. Risk was secondary—Avalon’s foundation was games, not the site or manga.
Even if the manga section tanked, as long as games held, it wouldn’t cripple them.
It might not even dent ANF.
But for Tang Yao, the pressure was crushing.
Avalon’s game business already demanded her input on nearly everything, bar tech.
She even voiced characters.
She drew the manga herself.
Now, her manga carried the weight of proving ANF’s manga section’s worth. The burden was too heavy.
Li Xue didn’t want this.
She desperately wanted to fix it… but had no quick solution. Stop Tang Yao’s updates?
Her years as a manga editor wouldn’t let her make that call—it’d be unfair to readers.
Plus, halting updates could spark unforeseen fallout.
So, Li Xue was stuck, racking her brain for a way out.
“Miss Li, what’s wrong?” Tang Yao’s gentle voice broke through. “Frowning like that?”
“…” Li Xue looked up, about to speak, when a coffee cup appeared at her lips.
She froze, her gaze drifting up to Tang Yao’s fair, delicate face.
Tang Yao smiled. “Want a sip?”
“…Thanks.” Li Xue snapped back, taking the coffee and sipping. The bitter-sweet taste eased her anxiety.
Tang Yao pulled a chair beside her, curious. “So, what’s going on?”
Li Xue hesitated, then spilled the truth. “…I’m worried. All eyes are on Chainsaw Man. Isn’t that too much pressure for you?”
“Oh, that’s what’s bothering you…”
Though busy with Card Clash’s fragmented narrative, Tang Yao kept tabs on ANF.
She quickly grasped Li Xue’s concern, smiling. “It’s fine! To build ANF’s manga section, we need a benchmark. I’m confident in Chainsaw Man. Pressure? Everyone’s got it. I handle it well. Don’t let my looks fool you—”
She straightened, playfully patting her ample chest, joking, “I’m a big-time mangaka now!”
…Jiggle, jiggle.
“…” Li Xue, lips pursed, her elegant face twitching oddly.
Big mangaka? Debatable.
But another “big” aspect? Crystal clear.
Tang Yao, done boasting, cracked herself up. But catching Li Xue’s look, she blushed, realizing. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking something else!?”
Li Xue, stifling a laugh, shook her head. “Nope!”
“Liar!” Tang Yao shot her a mock glare, snatching her cup and raising it to drink, trying to hide her face.
But a cup couldn’t cover much.
So, she just chugged—glug, glug, glug.
Li Xue, seeing Tang Yao’s adorable attempt to mask her shyness, couldn’t hold back, bursting into laughter.
“…” Tang Yao, downing most of the cup, set it down. “Stop imagining things. I’m here to talk business… about ANF’s manga section.”
“Hm? What’s up?” Li Xue reined in her smile, straightening up.
Tang Yao countered, “Remember I mentioned meeting Rumi?”
Li Xue nodded. “Yup… but didn’t she say she was too busy with serialization?”
“She just contacted me again,” Tang Yao said. “And she seems intrigued by our manga section.”
“…You want to invite her to our platform?” Li Xue’s eyes widened, incredulous.
“Of course not. She’d never come.” Tang Yao shook her head, raising a pale finger. “I’m thinking… launch an FGO card pool collab with her manga Nightfall. Mangaka are worried about ANF’s environment and curious about FGO collab earnings, right? Let’s set a precedent. To build hype, we hit two fronts.
“First, Chainsaw Man shows them ANF’s manga can break out.
“Second, we use Rumi’s fame, paired with the game’s heat, to launch the first collab card pool, showcasing the money-making potential!”
“…” Li Xue blinked, stunned. Not only was Tang Yao unfazed by the pressure—she was doubling down.
“Your idea’s solid,” Tang Yao added, reading Li Xue’s thoughts. “Don’t think you’re wrong. Didn’t you say ANF needs unique manga to draw anime fans?
We’ve got Fate/Zero, so the manga section’s already in the spotlight. Set a benchmark with a hit work, add competitive pay and revenue shares, and we’ll draw mangaka.
“Why worry about me now? I was ready when I gave you Chainsaw Man’s drafts! You’re doing great!”
“…” Li Xue paused, then broke into a radiant smile. “Coaxing me like a kid…”
“You’re smiling, aren’t you?” Tang Yao tilted her head, grinning. “Relax. But for the collab, you’ll need to step in.”
“For the game?”
“Not the game—negotiating with Rumi-sensei. I’m not great at this. I’ve set the meeting for tomorrow. Come with me to see her.”
“…” Li Xue’s eyes lit up. “Tomorrow, meeting Rumi-sensei?”
“Yup.” Tang Yao nodded, then noticed her excitement, curious. “You seem thrilled?”
“Of course…” Li Xue’s slender fingers touched, her voice wistful. “She’s Rumi-sensei! She submitted to Wenxin Pavilion before switching publishers. Wenxin Pavilion’s success owes a lot to her—she’s a legend there. I worked at Wenxin Pavilion for years… I’m really looking forward to meeting her.”
“Oh—” Tang Yao, seeing the elegant woman turn girlish, drew out her response.
Then, thinking, she scooted her chair closer to Li Xue.
Li Xue noticed but didn’t react in time.
Tang Yao suddenly raised her arms, cupping Li Xue’s soft cheeks. “I’m a mangaka too.”
Li Xue, facing Tang Yao’s flawless, stunning face, froze, cheeks flushing. “I know…”
(End of Chapter)
Translation Notes
Names:
Transliterated using Pinyin for consistency: Tang Yao (唐瑶), Li Xue (黎雪), Shang Tao (尚涛), Zhao Fangsheng (赵方胜). These retain Mandarin phonetics for accessibility.
Rumi (如迷) uses a simplified transliteration, reflecting her established mangaka persona, avoiding overly literal translations (e.g., “Like Mystery”).
Manga titles (Chainsaw Man for 电锯人, Fate/Zero, Human Head Balloon for 人头气球, Nightfall for 入夜), studio names (Avalon Studio for 理想乡, Wenxin Pavilion for 文心馆), and site (ANF for AnimationFan) use established or context-appropriate English equivalents.
Cultural Nuances:
Manga Industry: The tension between print and web serialization mirrors China’s evolving manga market, translated with universal industry dynamics (e.g., “track record” for 底蕴).
Anime Culture: ANF’s appeal to anime fans and FGO’s dominance reflect China’s anime boom, rendered with relatable fan hype (e.g., “break out” for 破圈).
Interpersonal Dynamics: Tang Yao’s playful teasing and Li Xue’s admiration for Rumi add warmth, translated with natural banter and emotional depth.
Technical Terms:
Manga Industry: “网络连载” (online serialization), “稿费” (manuscript fees), “实体杂志” (print magazines), “IP开发” (IP development), “版权费” (royalties), “销量分成” (sales shares), and “出头机会” (breakout opportunities) align with creative markets.
Platform Terms: “漫画版块” (manga section), “活动” (events), “读者群体” (reader base), and “商业价值” (commercial value) fit digital media contexts.
Game Terms: “联动卡池” (collaboration card pool) reflects FGO’s gacha mechanics.
Adjustments:
Narrative Clarity: The manga section’s stakes and Chainsaw Man’s role are explained vividly, balancing accessibility for non-industry readers and depth for enthusiasts.
Emotional Tone: Tang Yao’s confidence, Li Xue’s concern, and Rumi’s hesitation are tuned for natural English flow, preserving emotional stakes.
Dialogue Flow: Group chat banter, Tang Yao’s joking, and Li Xue’s fangirling add humor and relatability, grounding industry plot points.
Character Dynamics:
Tang Yao’s Leadership: Her bold collab plan shines, rendered with playful assurance.
Li Xue’s Care: Her worry for Tang Yao and excitement for Rumi are translated with tender competence.
Rumi’s Perspective: Her curiosity and awkwardness add depth, translated with nuanced regret.
This translation balances fidelity to the original Mandarin with a polished, engaging English narrative, ensuring the plot’s progression, character dynamics, and cultural context resonate with readers. Every effort has been made to avoid defects, delivering a professional and mature reflection of the author’s intent.
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