If this goes on any longer, sooner or later those mother and daughter will be the death of me.

“It’s just well written! Let the young people read more, write more, reflect more, and they’ll gain something!” Mr. Feng replied gently as ever, secretly wishing his daughter were the author of the piece. If that were the case, recommending her would bring him even greater honor.

“Fine, fine, it’s well written. All of you will be the death of me!” Mrs. Feng rolled her eyes dramatically, itching to retort, questioning just what was so good about the piece. But the truth was, it really was well written, leaving her unable to argue, so she could only grumble indignantly.

Seeing Feng Jiayou looking so smug, Mrs. Feng added, “What are you so pleased about? You didn’t write that manuscript!”

“If your work were half as good as this, I wouldn’t have to put up with all this frustration!”

Her annoyance stemmed from her workplace. Though no one had said it outright, Mrs. Feng could sense it: because she had repeatedly favored her daughter’s submission, they at October had missed out on an exceptionally brilliant manuscript.

Now that the sample issue from Yanjing Literature was out, plenty of people were surely comparing her daughter’s published piece with this ‘Horseman.’ The outcome was obvious. Gossip would spread, some even believing that Gu Xueqing, trying to promote Mrs. Feng’s daughter’s work, had squeezed out ‘Horseman.’

Mrs. Feng was a sensitive woman, hardened by the years—how could she be blind to the ways of the world?

So if ‘Horseman’ hadn’t caused a stir, October would've merely missed an ordinary piece. But in reality, her husband wasn’t the only one praising its potential. Even Old Liu at work, after reading the sample, was stunned for over an hour!

When he finally came to, his first words were, “It’s better written than ‘Scar.’ No wonder Li Qingquan dared put it on the front page!”

Then came his resentful gaze—regret and frustration written all over his face.

“Mom! Why are you blaming me again? Isn’t it just a manuscript? Who could possibly make you, the big editor-in-chief, feel so stifled?” Feng Jiayou was tempted to retort, ‘Mom, whether or not I wrote it, your son-in-law did—surprised?’

“What? Old Liu and the others can’t be serious. Didn’t you say the draft submitted to October wasn’t this one?” Mr. Feng looked at her, equally confused. Was she really being put through this at work? That wouldn’t do!

Besides, hadn’t she said this manuscript wasn’t the one sent to October? The editorial staff had no recollection of ‘Horseman’ during their preliminary review. It must have been Jiayou’s classmate who switched manuscripts and then submitted to Yanjing Literature, not an oversight or missed submission on October’s part.

“Not quite! But I just keep thinking, I was strict with Jiayou for her own good, but she never appreciates it, always clamoring to submit to Yanjing Literature!”

“Now look, her classmate really did submit to Yanjing Literature, and Li Qingquan stumbled upon a treasure. Tell me, how am I not supposed to be angry?!”

Mrs. Feng vented furiously at her husband and daughter, but looking at Jiayou, it was clear she was reveling in schadenfreude, her smile barely concealed.

“Jiayou, could you at least care about your mother’s feelings right now?”

---

“And listen—help me get in touch with your classmate Cha Jianying and commission a manuscript!”

“This time Old Liu is going all out. As long as her work is up to this standard, we’ll pay seven yuan per thousand characters—the top rate!”

‘Horseman’ was missed, but October couldn’t let another piece by this author slip away! When Old Liu read ‘Horseman,’ it took him over an hour to recover. On the spot, he resolved to reclaim Li Qingquan’s author—insisting the editorial team contact her and commission one or two pieces.

As for payment? Straight to the upper limit—seven yuan per thousand characters. Liu Xinwu doubted Li Qingquan would be so generous, paying a newcomer that much.

‘Horseman’ surely followed Yanjing Literature’s old rule: five yuan per thousand characters.

So, having missed the debut, their only way to win her over was with a higher price, showing October’s sincerity.

“Seven yuan per thousand?!” Feng Jiayou’s surprise was evident, and she glanced covertly at her husband, Cheng Xueming.

Her mother had matched Yanjing Literature’s rate!

Cheng Xueming was equally astonished—the mother-in-law had raised the price to the maximum. Did that mean the novella in his hands could be given to her as a way to make up for past mistakes?

“Seven yuan per thousand. Tomorrow at school, just commission her…” Mrs. Feng considered, then said cautiously, “Better yet, bring her home for dinner tomorrow. I’ll commission her in person!”

“Mom… okay, I’ll ask Jianying tomorrow if she has anything new.”

Seven yuan per thousand!

Cheng Xueming kept exchanging meaningful glances with Feng Jiayou, urging her to confess quickly so he could hand over the novella to his mother-in-law as a peace offering.

But Feng Jiayou, ever the dutiful daughter, stubbornly resisted, refusing to admit anything and even claiming she’d help her mother commission the manuscript.

What was she up to? What game was she playing?

If this continued, he—the son-in-law caught in the middle—would surely be squeezed to death between the mother and daughter!

He dreaded the day the truth came out, fearing what kind of fury his mother-in-law might unleash. Whether Jiayou would survive was anyone’s guess, but he would certainly be done for.

“Yes, bring her home for dinner; commissioning in person will show October’s sincerity.”

Seeing her daughter agree so readily, Mrs. Feng finally looked relieved and nodded.

A rare outcome!

At last, things hadn’t escalated further. To end with such ‘maternal kindness and filial obedience’ was indeed rare.

---

“Wife, seven yuan per thousand! You had the perfect chance to confess just now—what are you thinking?”

After dinner, Cheng Xueming and Feng Jiayou retreated to their room. Cheng, impatient, pressed her.

“Confess what?! What’s there to confess?! Isn’t this arrangement just fine?”

Feng Jiayou shrugged, calm and full of filial piety. “Xueming, do you really want your mother-in-law to know you wrote ‘Horseman’?”

“It’s not about wanting her to know—it’s that she should know. We passed the review with our manuscript; there’s no need to hide it from Mom. We can just tell her openly!”

“Besides, Mom said she’d pay the maximum rate—seven yuan per thousand. Keeping it in the family. It was understandable not to give her the first manuscript, but not giving her the next would be outright rebellion!”

This wasn’t about Cheng Xueming’s wishes; if they kept hiding it, his position as a son-in-law would become precarious!

“What rebellion?” Feng Jiayou glanced at him, not understanding the phrase.

Or did such a phrase even exist? She was a top student from Yanjing University’s Chinese department—how could her knowledge differ so much from her husband’s?

“It means you shouldn’t be too defiant,” Cheng Xueming explained gently, implying that Jiayou was going above and beyond in rebelliousness.

“Defiant? I’m just helping her commission a manuscript!”

Jiayou tilted her head, looking aggrieved.

Speaking of commissioning, Cheng Xueming nodded, “Yes, about that—how are you helping Mom? Are you really going to commission Cha Jianying?”

“That’s easy—just give Mom your novella and say I helped her commission it!” Jiayou had already prepared for this, knowing how to handle her mother.

“You mean to use Cha Jianying’s name, have her pretend to be ‘Horseman’s’ author, Old Xu?”

Cheng Xueming began to understand her intentions, feeling troubled—his wife was making things increasingly complicated.

“That’s the idea. Since the misunderstanding is already there, let them believe it!”

The more Jiayou thought about it, the more she liked her plan, feeling it was brilliant! No more worrying about the truth coming out.

“It’s a good plan, but have you considered how you’ll explain Cha Jianying’s next manuscript?”

With that, Cheng Xueming picked up the sample issue, ready to flip to Cha Jianying’s piece, so his wife could see the glaring problem and figure out how to cover it up.

Besides, how could his mother-in-law be so oblivious? Cha Jianying’s manuscript was just a few pages later—if she’d read more, she wouldn’t have made such a blunder, still thinking the author of ‘Horseman’ was her daughter’s classmate.

“What?! Oh no, Xueming, I completely forgot about that!”

Jiayou was instantly dumbfounded.

…