Starting as a Manga Editor - Chapter 29: What’s That Got to Do with Me? - 69 Book Bar
Chapter 29: What’s That Got to Do with Me?
Date: 2025-02-20
Author: Xian Ge
Half an hour later, Tang Yao stood once again in front of Ou Congquan’s apartment door on the 20th floor of Building C in a certain residential complex. She pressed the doorbell.
This time, it took much longer for someone to answer.
About a minute passed before the door creaked open. A weary-looking man with round-framed glasses appeared—Li Jiang, Ou Congquan’s assistant.
Li Jiang held the door, his expression shifting the moment he saw Tang Yao. He glanced nervously behind him and said in a hushed, urgent tone, “Editor Tang… this isn’t a good time. The teacher’s in a terrible mood. Maybe come back later…”
“Is he free right now? I need to confirm something with him,” Tang Yao replied, shaking her head as if she hadn’t caught his hint. She kept her tone polite. “Could you ask him for me, please?”
Li Jiang grew more anxious, opening his mouth to protest further.
“Here to laugh at me?”
A voice cut in from behind him.
Li Jiang’s body stiffened instantly.
Tang Yao’s gaze moved past Li Jiang to the figure standing a short distance away.
Ou Congquan’s eyes were bloodshot as he stared at her. “You were right, so you’re here to gloat?”
He looked like a wreck. Just yesterday, he’d probably been well-rested—after all, the magazine hadn’t hit stands yet. But in less than twelve hours, he’d transformed into this red-eyed, near-hysterical mess.
Clearly, something had hit him hard.
It seemed that, despite his outward confidence, he was far from unshakable inside.
This was an author whose bravado masked fragility, deeply swayed by reader feedback.
Tang Yao knew some manga artists were advised by their editors to avoid social media, especially around release dates.
For a certain type of artist, reader comments could be a rollercoaster. Praise sent them soaring, but criticism made them spiral into self-doubt, disrupting their rhythm and sometimes even derailing their story entirely.
And Ou Congquan, this arrogant, self-assured man, was clearly one of those—worse, his mental resilience was paper-thin.
Wait…
Tang Yao’s thoughts shifted. After accepting her role here, she’d gone through Ou Congquan’s past work. She’d felt it was unprofessional to edit an artist without knowing their catalog.
His older serials showed flashes of pretentiousness but were mostly solid. There were highs and lows—weak chapters, strong ones—but he’d always stayed within a reasonable range. He’d never taken a break, never gone so far off the rails.
This was his first major misstep.
And yet, his mental fortitude was this brittle?
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“What? Here to laugh but too shy to do it?”
Ou Congquan spoke again, noticing Tang Yao’s prolonged silence and unwavering stare.
“Laugh?”
Tang Yao snapped back, her face impassive as she met his bloodshot gaze. “I’d love to mock your idiotic plot, but sadly, I don’t have the time. I’m an editor, representing the magazine and its readers. What, you want to be laughed at? No need for me to bother—just log into your social media. Plenty of people are already doing it.”
“…”
Ou Congquan’s eyes reddened further, his breathing growing sharp and uneven.
Li Jiang, standing between them, gaped at the girl before him, his pupils practically shaking with shock.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t ask such a stupid question,” Tang Yao continued. “If I wanted to mock you, I’d just drop a ‘serves you right’ on your socials—because you do deserve it. Why show up in person?”
She pressed on, her voice steady. “So, can you drop the attitude? Have you finished storyboarding the next issue?”
“…No!”
“Then can the great manga artist finally listen to his editor’s advice?”
“…”
Ou Congquan glared at her, his eyes boring into hers.
Her words echoed the ones she’d said on her first visit—only now, they dripped with sarcasm.
Yet, he saw no trace of gloating or vindication on her face.
She was calm, just as she’d been that first time.
His expression grew complicated. He took a few ragged breaths, then turned and stormed back into the apartment.
Li Jiang glanced behind him, then at Tang Yao, at a loss for what to do.
“Could you step aside, Assistant Li?” Tang Yao prompted.
Li Jiang hesitated, then moved with a bitter smile. “Editor Tang, the teacher’s really upset today. Honestly…”
You shouldn’t have come.
“It’s fine.”
Tang Yao shook her head, thanked him for his concern, and stepped inside.
Nothing would stop her from earning money to support her little sister.
The living room was a disaster—items strewn everywhere. The workspace facing the room was littered with crumpled, torn drafts, further proof of Ou Congquan’s fragile psyche.
Apparently, he’d sent all his other assistants away.
Li Jiang was the only one left.
“What do you want to say?”
In the chaotic living room, Ou Congquan sat on the sofa, head bowed, hands propping up his forehead. He tried to project dignity, but his hunched posture radiated defeat.
Tang Yao sat across from him, placed her documents on the table, and began, “This issue’s plot has caused a huge uproar.”
She barely started before Ou Congquan’s head snapped up, his bloodshot eyes and downturned mouth making him look harsh and intimidating. “You came just to tell me that?”
“What else?”
Tang Yao met his gaze unflinchingly. “To say it’s fine? To spew nonsense about ignoring reader criticism? Why don’t you check your social media? If you want flattery instead of solutions, call Ding Yilong—he’ll shower you with enough hot air to fill a balloon. Want to play ostrich? Go bury your head in your pillows and pray for a miracle.
“We’re in this mess, and you’re still posturing, refusing to listen? I’ve barely started, and you’re already acting like this. What, did I personally offend you?”
“…”
Ou Congquan’s breathing quickened, his chest heaving with anger.
But soon, it slowed, and he lowered his head again, curling in on himself.
Deep down, he’d let Tang Yao in because he was at a loss.
His mind was a mess.
And the only one who’d shown up was this editor—the one he’d dismissed.
He wanted to fix this, but he didn’t know how.
And now, it seemed the only one he could turn to was her.
“I’ve got a problem with all you editors,” he muttered, staring at the reflective tabletop, his voice low. “The last arc turned into a disaster because of one of you.”
“The summer vacation arc?”
Tang Yao’s eyes narrowed.
“…”
Ou Congquan froze, caught off guard that she’d named the exact arc so quickly.
But he regained his composure and continued, “That editor told me my work was too repetitive, always the same stuff. Said a world with superpowers needed an official authority, suggested I try some political drama. I noticed some readers saying similar things, and since he’d gathered data, I gave it a shot.
“But that guy—after I drew it, he kept nitpicking. This was wrong, that was too much, this was sensitive, that was too intense for serialization. I had to revise, revise, revise until I didn’t even know what I was drawing anymore! Readers tore me apart!
“And that editor? He had the nerve to say he was looking out for me, telling me not to push boundaries. Damn it, whose advice did he think I was following? I went to Ding Yilong, and he just dodged, saying the guy was ‘obedient’—obedient, my ass! He didn’t solve a thing!
“In the end, that editor tanked my series, then walked away clean, leaving me to clean up the mess! Editors—hah! What’s the point?”
“…”
Tang Yao nodded inwardly. This guy was definitely the type to be swayed too easily. Anyone with a spine wouldn’t have fallen for that previous editor’s nonsense.
Official authority? Political drama? In his manga?
Now she understood why he was so hostile toward her.
But still—
Tang Yao fixed him with a cold stare. “So, what’s that got to do with me?”
“You’re another one of Ding Yilong’s picks,” Ou Congquan said, slowly raising his head. “He told me at the start you seemed ‘obedient’… Your boss sure knows how to pick ‘em.”
He gave a bitter smirk. “Obedient, huh.”
“That’s it?”
Tang Yao’s voice grew colder. “You’re taking it out on the next editor because of that?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
His bloodshot eyes locked onto hers. “You’re just like that guy! First thing you do is tell me to revise, acting like you know better than the artist. I’m the one drawing it, not you!”
“So you can’t communicate? Are you mute?”
Tang Yao held his gaze. “And what did I suggest you draw? I said this issue’s plot was off—too abrupt, too jarring.”
“What’s the difference?”
“What’s the difference? Have you even looked at my proposal?”
“…”
“Guess not.”
Tang Yao caught his silence and pressed on. “So why not even glance at it? Scared it’ll sway you?”
Ou Congquan stayed quiet.
“Thought so.”
She shook her head. “Pathetic.”
“What did you say?”
His face stiffened, and he leaned forward, glaring like a predator.
“I said you’re pathetic,” Tang Yao replied, her expression calm, unmoved. “You soak up every scrap of reader feedback but won’t even peek at your editor’s notes because of some laughable excuse. You caused this whole mess. A top-earning manga artist, acting like a puppet with no judgment of his own.
“No—you don’t even have the guts to try judging. A man in his fifties, whining like a grade-schooler with childish excuses.”
“You—”
Ou Congquan was livid. “What do you know? You came here to mock me, didn’t you? Fine, I screwed up! I was wrong! Happy now? But do you know what readers are saying? Do you know why I drew this plot? You don’t even know what I’m trying to do, and you’re here to lecture me?!”
His voice echoed through the living room.
On the other side, Li Jiang, who’d just stepped out of the kitchen with tea, froze, nearly dropping the tray.
She looked worriedly at Tang Yao’s back, debating whether to intervene, when—
“I know.”
“You know… what?”
Ou Congquan’s anger faltered, stunned by her response.
Tang Yao met the artist’s eyes. “You wanted the protagonist to feel less perfect, to show he has flaws, right? And through this arc, you wanted to dig into each character’s deepest fears, using it to definitively end the love line between the second male lead and the heroine. Am I right?”
“…”
Ou Congquan stared at her, his eyes widening, shock creeping into his gaze.
“Assuming you know everything and dismissing others out of hand.”
Tang Yao caught his stunned look and said coldly, “Feeling good about yourself?”
[Author’s Note]
One more chapter, but I need to double-check it first.
(End of Chapter)
Starting as a Manga Editor - Chapter 30: Reality Isn’t a Manga—There’s No Misunderstanding Cleared for a Happy Resolution - 69 Book Bar
Chapter 30: Reality Isn’t a Manga—There’s No Misunderstanding Cleared for a Happy Resolution
Date: 2025-02-20
Author: Xian Ge
The living room fell briefly silent after Tang Yao’s question.
At the kitchen doorway, Li Jiang’s face twisted in shock. He couldn’t believe this adorable girl could be so fierce.
And Ou Congquan… seemed speechless?
…Huh?
Li Jiang stood frozen, reeling, unsure whether to move forward or stay put.
After a moment, he mustered the courage to carry the tea tray toward them, trembling slightly.
“Uh… tea.”
He carefully set two steaming cups in front of them.
Ou Congquan ignored him, his eyes still locked on Tang Yao.
Tang Yao, however, turned and said, “Thanks.”
It was a matter of manners.
“How… do you know?”
Li Jiang’s arrival seemed to break the tension, and Ou Congquan spoke again.
“I’m an editor. I haven’t been in the industry long, but I do what’s required and take on the responsibilities that come with it.”
Tang Yao’s tone was matter-of-fact. “When I was assigned to you, I read all your past serials, including your two earlier short stories. Focusing on the current arc wrapping up the Hell chapter, starting from issue 102 last month, you’ve been deliberately showing the protagonist’s expressions when watching the heroine interact with the second male lead. You didn’t spell it out, but you clearly put effort into subtly showing he’s bothered by it.”
Ou Congquan opened his mouth, wanting to speak, but no words came.
Because he had started laying the groundwork for the protagonist’s inner conflict back then.
“Why…”
“Are you a broken record?” Tang Yao cut in, taking a deep breath. “I told you, I’m an editor. I won’t meddle with what you want to draw, nor do I care to. But for professionalism—and to be prepared, like if you ask for input—I need to know your work to offer advice. And when you go off the rails, like last issue, I have to understand it to give constructive feedback.”
Ou Congquan: “…”
“You’re so paranoid about me influencing you for some ridiculous reason, you forgot editors are your first readers.”
Tang Yao fixed him with a steady gaze. “That attitude of yours? It’s like ripping out the brakes and the passenger seat, then driving a brakeless car down a highway, thinking you’re a genius. You’re even deluded enough to think the brakes are trying to steal the wheel—all because they failed once.
“What, your car’s brakes fail, so you replace them with a grabby arm?”
Ou Congquan’s face flushed red.
Li Jiang’s eyes widened, sensing trouble. He tried to signal Tang Yao to stop.
“This issue’s bizarre twist started from the wrong place!” Tang Yao went on, ignoring Li Jiang’s cues. “You never cared about this issue in earlier arcs, but now you suddenly make the protagonist jealous?
“You saw reader comments, didn’t you? They pointed it out, mixed with gripes about repetitive plots and the protagonist being too saintly. So, you got inspired, cranked up the drama, and churned out this garbage arc that’s nothing like what came before.”
Ou Congquan’s face turned liver-red. “So what? Shouldn’t I evolve? Should I just stagnate? Is staying the same supposed to be good?”
“Wanting to change isn’t wrong, but your problem is…”
Tang Yao tilted her chin up slightly, looking at him like he was trash. “You ignored your editor’s input entirely, too scared of being swayed by some pathetic excuse. You didn’t even look at it, too spineless to try.”
“What would looking change?”
Ou Congquan sounded almost desperate. “Would talking to you, telling you what I wanted to draw, get me anything useful? You’re an outsider—what could you offer? Just tell me to revise, to stop? What’s the point?”
“Have you tried?” Tang Yao shot back.
“I don’t need to! You’re so sure of yourself, so tell me now—what should I do?”
Ou Congquan doubled down. “It’s easy to criticize after the fact! You’re not the one getting slammed. Go on, tell me—what should I do?”
Tang Yao slid the folder across the table.
“…”
Ou Congquan glanced at her blank expression, then at the proposal, incredulous. “Are you serious?”
She didn’t respond.
“Fine! Let’s see what you’ve got!”
Fuming, he snatched the folder, tore it open, and pulled out the proposal, panting as he flipped through it. “You think you’re—”
His words cut off.
He froze on the sofa, clutching the pages like a statue.
Li Jiang, who’d been on edge, ready to pull Ou Congquan back, blinked in confusion at his sudden stillness.
Ou Congquan didn’t notice Li Jiang’s stare. His eyes were glued to the proposal.
- Don’t use death to shape characters. It’s lazy.
- The protagonist and heroine’s bond shouldn’t hinge on death, nor should the second male lead’s arc end in a crisis. Same reason.
- To move the protagonist beyond a saintly image, try another approach. This is too extreme. See details below.
- Don’t use the ‘Breath of Lament’ from the first arc to revive the protagonist. It’d make the second arc’s stakes a joke.
- The ‘Wheel of Hell’s Cartography,’ introduced in the third arc, still hasn’t appeared in this one.
- …
The first page was packed with notes.
If it were just feedback, he wouldn’t have frozen.
But… it outlined exactly what he’d planned to draw next—details he’d never shared, only hinted at in earlier setups, existing solely in his head.
It aligned perfectly with his vision.
Even things he’d forgotten, like the ‘Wheel of Hell’s Cartography’… were right there on the page.
“…”
Ou Congquan stared at the first page for a long time before slowly turning to the next.
- Replace death with a mechanism. The final Hell boss lacks gravitas. Instead of raw power, make it ‘The Unapproachable’—a collective of all malice. Anyone near it faces their deepest fears and darkness, trapped in a nightmare woven from their own psyche.
- …
The first page flagged issues; the rest offered solutions—far more detailed, even including rough sketches.
Anyone could see the care and effort poured into it.
Ou Congquan blinked, then read on, line by line.
His eyes widened, then gleamed, his breathing quickening—not from anger now, but excitement.
Li Jiang sensed the shift, stunned, and turned to Tang Yao. What kind of magic was this?
Tang Yao didn’t notice.
About fifteen minutes later, Ou Congquan looked up, gripping the proposal like a lifeline, his voice trembling. “The collective of malice… what does that mean?”
…It was identical.
The revisions matched his intent perfectly, just executed with greater finesse.
Most crucially, they could seamlessly tie into this issue, repairing the damage done to readers.
“It’s written clearly,” Tang Yao replied. “No need to ask about something so straightforward.”
“Then…”
His eyes, still bloodshot, now held a spark, no longer frantic.
He opened his mouth to ask more, but Tang Yao stood, meeting his stunned gaze. “Has the proposal been received?”
Ou Congquan nodded instinctively. “Yes…”
“Then consider it at your discretion,” she said, nodding back. “Of course, if you’d rather stick to your original plan, be my guest.”
With that, she turned to leave.
“Wait.”
Ou Congquan, flustered, called after her. “I… I have some things I need to clarify with you…”
“Clarify?”
Tang Yao paused, then turned back, pointing at a bewildered Li Jiang. “I visited you four times. Three of those, I was turned away at the door, only seeing Assistant Li. Except for the first visit, I left this exact proposal with him to pass on. And now you want to clarify? Should I sit down and listen intently to what you have to say?”
Ou Congquan: “…”
“Don’t make me laugh.”
Tang Yao looked down at him, her expression icy, like he was garbage. “You’re a big-shot manga artist. You can use your status to tell an editor to get lost. But don’t think acting humble now will turn this into some manga trope where a misunderstanding clears and we all get along. Reality isn’t a manga.
“I may be an outsider. I may not know character development, storytelling, or art. I haven’t lived as long as you.
“But I can choose who’s worth my effort—and you’re neither worthy nor deserving.
“This proposal is for the readers and for the me from last week, the one who poured her heart into her first editing job.
“It’s also to show you just how stupid you were last week.
“If you’d even glanced at this last week, things might’ve been different. But your arrogance, your pride—they dragged us to this point.”
Ou Congquan clutched the proposal, staring at its neat handwriting, frozen.
If he’d looked at it last week…
He thought of its contents, then of what he’d drawn for this issue. Regret surged like a tidal wave.
He lowered his head, looking… pathetic.
Li Jiang, watching Tang Yao’s cold, ethereal demeanor, froze, then quickly looked away, unable to meet her gaze.
“Ask yourself,” Tang Yao said, her voice frigid as she stared at the hunched figure gripping the pages. “If you were last week’s you, sitting here now, what would’ve happened?
“Think hard. Are you stopping me because you know you were wrong, or because this proposal can save you from the readers tearing you apart? Probably the latter—because you and Ding Yilong are cut from the same cloth. That bone-deep arrogance and pride? It never fades. It just hides when things go south.
“Admit it. Even if you could redo it, you’d make the same choice—using your status to humiliate a rookie editor for some laughable reason.
“You’re just riding the high of being bailed out. Don’t play the repentant act—it’s nauseating.”
Ou Congquan’s grip tightened, though Tang Yao couldn’t see his face from her angle.
But Li Jiang, turned aside, saw it clearly—the shame etched across the face of a man past fifty.
“And don’t think following this proposal will fix everything,” Tang Yao added. “Readers aren’t fools. The damage from your moronic plot won’t vanish. They’ll never forget that final panel of clasped hands. All the goodwill you built with years of hard work? It’s stained now, a permanent mark of failure. Some readers, furious, will drop you outright.
“Check next week’s reader surveys. Look at your next volume’s sales. You brought this on yourself.”
“That’s all.”
“If you’re mad, if you feel insulted, go ahead—tear up that proposal and toss it in the trash, just like you ignored my last visits.”
Tang Yao looked away. “I’m not here to answer your questions, and I’m not interested. My patience ran dry last week. Once this storm settles, I’m done with your work. Even if Ding Yilong doesn’t reassign me, I’ll quit and let another editor deal with you.
“Keep guarding against your next editor with that pathetic excuse… and I hope we never cross paths again.”
With her final words, she nodded to Li Jiang, said, “Thanks,” and added, “I’m leaving.”
Then she turned and walked out.
Ou Congquan didn’t lift his head until she was gone. He looked at her retreating figure—a young woman about his daughter’s age—with a complex expression, wanting to speak but unsure what to say.
Soon, Tang Yao was gone.
He lowered his gaze to the proposal again, its meticulous notes screaming effort and insight.
Silence.
Yeah.
Why hadn’t he looked sooner?
If he had…
He thought of the readers’ disappointment, their angry rants, and Tang Yao’s words.
If he’d seen this last week…
His face twisted—not with anger this time, but regret.
At the same time, Li Jiang, watching Tang Yao leave, turned back to Ou Congquan.
Ou Congquan’s phone buzzed on the table.
Li Jiang noticed… and saw the caller’s name—Ding Yilong.
But glancing at the silent Ou Congquan, he decided to mention it later.
(End of Chapter)
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