077 Bai Ling’s Secret Affair—Will She Go Through With It? (Please Vote for the Monthly Ticket)

“Aunt Zhou, how could I dare!”

“Do you think I’d have the nerve to let my mother know that the sensational ‘Horseman’ you published was written by her own son-in-law?”

“If she found out, she’d kill me!”

On the way here, Feng Jiayou had already predicted that Zhou Yanru and the others from Yanjing Literature would definitely bring up this matter.

So, she simply repeated the explanations her mother had coached her in.

It wasn’t that Feng Jiayou herself was afraid to speak up now, but rather that her mother had instructed her to keep up the act when handing over the manuscript.

Before October’s “atomic bomb” was published, not even the slightest hint could be allowed to reach the noses of Li Qingquan, Zhou Yanru, and the others at Yanjing Literature.

After all, last month Yanjing Literature had kept them in suspense long enough—now it was time for a little payback, to turn the tables and reclaim some pride.

“In that case, it’s best not to tell her just yet. I’ll look for an opportunity to bring it up with her later,” Zhou Yanru nodded and began reading through the manuscript before her.

“That’s great!” Feng Jiayou replied perfunctorily, knowing full well that Zhou Yanru’s so-called “opportunity” could be delayed indefinitely.

Most likely, only when Yanjing Literature truly couldn’t stomach it anymore would they consider yielding a little to her mother’s October.

Even if Zhou did bring it up, it would only be to show off, to try and rile up her mother!

But it didn’t matter.

If it were before, Feng Jiayou wouldn’t have dared let Zhou broach the subject with her mother, but now that her mother already knew, who’d come out on top was anyone’s guess.

With a hint of mischief, Feng Jiayou chose not to expose the truth, responding with a few ambiguous words and letting the two rivals continue their little game.

Either way, the real winner here was her husband—and herself, Feng Jiayou.

“Alright,” Zhou Yanru nodded again, saying nothing further as she returned to the manuscript.

After a while, Zhou suddenly mentioned offhandedly, “By the way, Jiayou, I heard your mother is working on a big piece too. Do you know who wrote it?”

A few days earlier, their chief editor, Li Qingquan, had returned from October with quite a shock.

He kept saying that Liu Xinwu from October had also come up with a ‘big one’ this time, even attracting the attention of Old Wu from the ministry.

They’d even taken Liu Xinwu out for lunch in Zhonghai, with the likes of Old Mao and Ding Ling in attendance—formidable company indeed!

Upon hearing this from Li Qingquan, Zhou Yanru found it hard to believe. She suspected Li was just boasting after taking a trip to October, trying to show off, and Liu Xinwu had exaggerated in retaliation.

But the rumors and whispers from the ministry these past few days suggested it might be true—October’s Liu Xinwu really had something big in store for the next issue.

As a result, Li Qingquan couldn’t sit still and kept pestering the ministry for answers.

“I think I did overhear my mother mention it, insisting that this time you and your colleagues at Yanjing Literature should take a good look.”

“As for whose manuscript it is… my mother’s lips are sealed!”

Feng Jiayou half-truthfully shook her head in reply.

“That sounds just like your mother!” Zhou Yanru smiled wryly, then teased, “Could it be your Horseman, Old Xu, who did it for his mother-in-law?”

“No, no! Aunt Zhou, we’re avoiding my mother as it is—there’s no way we’d get involved with her projects!”

“I swear on my honor, my mother’s big piece has absolutely nothing to do with Old Xu the Horseman—really!”

Indeed, it had nothing to do with Old Xu the Horseman, because this time her husband, Cheng Xueming, was publishing under Old Qiao!

This was Old Qiao’s “Notes on Becoming Factory Director,” and had nothing to do with Old Xu.

“Why so nervous, Jiayou? I was just making conversation. It’s fine if it’s not—look at you getting all flustered!”

Zhou Yanru adjusted her reading glasses, giving Feng Jiayou a curious, suspicious look.

Was this girl hiding something? Could her husband, Cheng Xueming, really be the author? Was mother-in-law, son-in-law, and daughter all playing a double act with Zhou?

On second thought, that seemed unlikely.

When Li Qingquan first brought back the news, their immediate reaction was to wonder if Old Xu the Horseman had caved to mother-in-law’s pressure and churned out another big one for her.

But after careful analysis, they dismissed the idea.

After all, what kind of genius could, in less than a month, produce two major works in succession?

By now, Zhou Yanru had dismissed the last of her doubts.

The proof was right in front of her: the novella submitted by Feng Jiayou and Cheng Xueming was easily two to three hundred thousand characters long, completed in less than a month!

Where would he find time to ghostwrite another for his mother-in-law?

Impossible.

If writing a “big one” were so easy, all the major publications across the country would be filled with them. So far this year, only Liu Xinwu’s “The Class Teacher” in January and Lu Xinhua’s “Scar” in Shanghai mid-year had made such a splash.

The rest had been lukewarm.

Now, her son-in-law had just helped Yanjing Literature with “Horseman”—how could he possibly turn around and help his mother-in-law again so quickly?

“Aunt Zhou, am I nervous? Not at all! I just need the restroom—nature calls.”

How could Feng Jiayou not be anxious? Her mother had warned her repeatedly not to let Yanjing Literature catch even a whiff of October’s “atomic bomb.”

If she’d known Zhou Yanru would be so relentless, she wouldn’t have come in person—too much talk could betray her.

Now she was so nervous she nearly lost control—such is the fate of a pregnant woman!

“Ah, the restroom’s just outside, turn right. Be careful, Jiayou!” Zhou hurriedly pointed the way.

“Take it easy, I’ll help you,” Cheng Xueming stood up, genuinely worried about his wife’s flustered state.

“No need, you stay here. We’ll leave right after I get back,” Feng Jiayou waved him off, urging him to keep warming himself by the fire. She wanted to leave as soon as possible; lingering any longer could mean accidentally giving something away to these old foxes at Yanjing Literature.

“Alright, be careful,” Cheng Xueming nodded, resuming his place at the fire.

“Xueming, when will you write something for me?” Bai Ling, also crouched by the fire, took the chance—while Jiayou was gone and Zhang Dening and Zhou Yanru were busy reading—to quietly proposition him.

“For you? Didn’t I just bring you something?” Cheng Xueming detected a hidden meaning in her words.

“That was for Dening!” Bai Ling shot him a plaintive look, her tone tinged with jealousy. “Why not use a pen name and write me something on the sly?”

“Your Horseman royalties are all managed by Jiayou, right? I’ve noticed she handles all your money. You must have empty pockets, tightly controlled by her.”

“Here’s the deal: you secretly write for me under a different name, and I’ll pay you directly. That way, you’ll have some pocket money of your own—a win-win!”

Bai Ling had gotten the idea from somewhere and was convinced Xueming would agree. After all, men should have some private funds; it was only natural.

But Cheng Xueming replied, “That doesn’t seem right. What’s your rate?”

Bai Ling, slightly disappointed, perked up again at his next words. “Of course, the same as your Horseman rate—seven yuan per thousand words, the highest there is!”

“Seven yuan per thousand?” Cheng Xueming shook his head. “That’s not enough to risk hiding money from Jiayou. If she found out… Unless you can offer more.”

Had this been half a month ago, he might have been tempted to try. But now, seven yuan per thousand wasn’t worth the risk—he already had enough pen names outside to line his pockets.

Besides, Bai Ling and Jiayou were too close. He didn’t want to leave evidence in Bai Ling’s hands—a ticking time bomb that could blow up in his face at any moment.

Of course, if Bai Ling could offer a higher price… but that was impossible. Seven yuan per thousand was the ministry’s top rate—even Old Mao got that for his articles.

He knew Bai Ling couldn’t pay more, so he was simply discouraging her.

“More than seven yuan?” Bai Ling’s hopeful expression froze.

“Xueming, Bai Ling, what are you two plotting?” Feng Jiayou returned to find them whispering by the fire.

“Bai Ling was just trying to tempt your husband to write for her on the sly!” Before either could protest, Zhang Dening spoke up from behind her manuscript.

“What? Dening, you were listening?” Bai Ling’s face turned crimson with embarrassment. She shot Dening a reproachful glance.

“Your husband stood his ground—no secret stash for him. Jiayou, your discipline is impressive!” Dening added, thoroughly exposing Bai Ling.

To try and poach her author right under her nose—Bai Ling was bold indeed! As if it were a favor to let Xueming keep some secret earnings from his wife.

Impressive!

But Old Xu the Horseman truly lived up to his reputation—his character matched the nobility of the men he wrote.

“Hehe, Bai Ling, your calculations were off! Xueming is almost wrung dry by Dening—where would he find time to write for you and stash away money?” Jiayou, also momentarily stunned, couldn’t believe Bai Ling had tried to seduce her husband for a side gig while she was gone.

Fine!

Given her husband’s current state, if Bai Ling could squeeze out even a word—let alone an entire manuscript—she’d be amazed!

What a joke. In less than a month, her husband had churned out two manuscripts totaling three hundred thousand words. Besides eating and sleeping, he’d done nothing but write. Lately, they’d barely had time to celebrate, and she doubted Bai Ling could squeeze out even a word more.

“Oh, just keep embarrassing me! I’m done with you all!” Bai Ling, mortified and flustered, stomped off, covering her face in shame. How had Dening heard her, anyway?

“She’s the one who’s angry?” Jiayou was amused. It was Bai Ling who’d tried to poach her husband, yet she was the one storming off.

“Xueming’s work is excellent,” Zhou Yanru remarked, having read the opening ten thousand words. “No wonder Chen Shumin so highly recommended it for People’s Literature.”

“So, Aunt Zhou, does that mean it’s accepted?” Jiayou asked excitedly.

“There shouldn’t be any problem passing the first review—Dening has already read the first hundred thousand words. But with so much text, we’ll need to go through the preliminary, secondary, and final review with Old Li. It’ll take some time.”

“So, we have to wait?” Jiayou nodded, never expecting an immediate decision like last time. With over two hundred thousand words, even a first reading would take days.

For such lengthy manuscripts, it was normal to wait a month or more for a response—sometimes half a year.

“Why not stay for lunch?” Zhou Yanru tried to persuade them as Jiayou and Xueming made to leave.

“No, thank you. We’ll head back to the university for lunch,” Jiayou replied politely, eager to slip away.

“Alright, we’ll review the manuscript and get back to you as soon as we can,” Zhou agreed, handing over two yuan for their meal expenses as per Yanjing Literature’s policy for visiting authors.

Before leaving, Jiayou invited Dening and Bai Ling to a movie at Yanda that evening, and both accepted.

“Xueming, you haven’t been hiding any secret funds from me, have you?” Jiayou asked on the way back, hugging his waist.

Cheng Xueming broke out in a cold sweat at her sudden question.

…