Huayu93: From Selling Magnetic Cards to Entertainment Tycoon

Chapter 8: First Encounter with Tang Dynasty Charm, Commissioned by "Zhiyin" Magazine

The New Year is over, and March is here.

After the start of the new semester, Li Si'an's life returned to its usual rhythm: attending classes, practicing martial arts, and writing articles. Sister Nan's account book was handed over monthly, with the figures consistently between eight and ten thousand.

One afternoon in April, Li Si'an came out of the practice room and walked down the corridor to her dormitory.

As he passed by the ballet rehearsal hall, he heard someone crying inside.

The sound wasn't loud; you could tell it was someone sobbing in a suppressed voice, intermittently, as if the person crying didn't want anyone to hear, but couldn't hold it in any longer.

Li Si'an paused in his tracks.

He recognized the rehearsal hall. It belonged to the ballet class.

Looking inside from the doorway, he recognized the person crying inside—he had seen her before, more than once.

The girl's name was Tang Yun. In the month since school started, he had run into her several times in the cafeteria, the corridor, and the playground. She was tall and stood out among the group of dancing girls; she must have been at least 1.7 meters tall.

Her waist was unbelievably thin, her legs were long and straight, and the lines of her shoulders and back were as smooth as a painting. The most captivating feature was her chest.

In places like the Affiliated High School of Beijing Dance Academy, the girls are all so thin they look like paper dolls; when they put on their practice clothes, you can't tell their front or back apart.

She, on the other hand, with her black leotard stretched taut over her body, accentuated her curves with unabashed confidence—not in an exaggeratedly large way, but full, rounded, and impossible to conceal. It was like a slap in the face to those who adhered to the "standard of ballet figure."

In her previous life, Li Si'an was forty years old. What kind of scenes hadn't she seen on short videos?

But after seeing this girl's figure—sixteen or seventeen years old, 1.72 meters tall, with everything she should have and nothing she shouldn't have—he memorized her face and figure after seeing her several times.

Later he heard that the girl might have White Russian ancestry, perhaps from his grandmother's generation.

No wonder she developed so early and so well. With her mixed heritage, she went through a growth spurt around fourteen or fifteen, and all the right parts of her body came out.

To be shameless, when he passed by the ballet class corridor, he would sometimes deliberately slow down, just to glance at her one more time.

A 40-year-old lecher disguised as a 17-year-old can't do anything outrageous, but taking a second look isn't illegal.

I heard her crying today.

The rehearsal hall door was ajar. Peeking through the crack, he saw the girl sitting on the floor under the barre, hugging her knees, her shoulders trembling.

She was wearing the black leotard of a ballet class, her hair was tied up, and a section of her neck was exposed.

Her body hasn't fully developed yet, but the foundation is already there—long legs, a slim waist, and a bust. Okay, the bust is hidden by her knees, so you can't see it.

She buried her face in her knees, so her features were not visible.

Li Si'an stood outside the door for two seconds, then reached out and knocked on the door frame.

The girl suddenly raised her head.

Her face was streaked with tears. Her eyes were red, her nose was red, and her lips were a little swollen from crying.

Even so, his face was still noticeably different – ​​his eye sockets were deeper than average, his brow bones were high, and his nose was straight and prominent, flowing down from his brow without any hesitation.

The eyes are not large, but the corners of the eyes are slightly upturned, and the pupil color is lighter than that of ordinary Chinese people, with a grayish-green tinge under fluorescent lights.

Her lips are well-defined, her chin is pointed, and the lines of her face are more angular than those of Han Chinese girls, yet softer than those of purely Russian girls.

He has the look of a mixed-race person. He has some White Russian blood, it's hard to say how many generations, but that flavor is ingrained in his bones—you couldn't tell when he was a child, but when he grew up at fourteen or fifteen, it all came out.

She saw an unfamiliar boy standing at the door, paused for a moment, and then quickly wiped her face with the back of her hand.

Who are you?

Her voice still carried a hint of crying, but her tone was already hard.

"Li Si'an. Music major."

"I didn't ask your name, I asked what you want."

"I heard someone crying, come and see."

"What's it to you?"

Li Si'an leaned against the door frame but didn't go in.

"It really does concern me. I'm practicing my skills on this floor, and the crying makes it hard for me to concentrate."

The girl glared at him, tears still clinging to her face, but her expression hardened. Like a small animal drenched in rain, shivering from the cold, yet still baring its teeth at him.

"Then go ahead and leave."

"Why should I use any of the twelve rehearsal rooms on this floor?"

The girl choked on her words. She turned her face away, refusing to look at him.

Li Si'an took a pack of tissues out of her pocket, walked over, and placed it on the floor next to her.

He didn't leave. Instead, he plopped down opposite her, casually spreading his long legs, resting his arms on his knees, and just stared at her.

Tang Yun was pulling out a tissue to cover her eyes when she sensed movement across from her. She lowered her hand and looked down—the man hadn't left; he had sat down and was staring intently at her.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was still trembling with tears, but her tone had hardened, and she glared at him with red eyes.

"You can cry all you want, it won't stop you." Li Si'an raised her chin slightly and said with a smile, "I'll just take a look."

"What are you looking at?" Tang Yun crumpled the tissue into a ball, her brows furrowed, finding this person's smile utterly annoying.

"Because you're pretty," Li Si'an said casually, as if she were commenting on the weather, with a slight smile on her lips. "You look pretty even when you cry. I've never seen anyone cry so beautifully."

Tang Yun froze. Tears still clung to her eyelashes, and her nose was red. She stood there with her mouth half open, staring at the unfamiliar boy in front of her, the phrase "You look good even when you cry" swirling in her mind, unable to tell whether he was praising her or teasing her.

"Are you... are you sick?" she finally managed to choke out.

"I'm not sick. I'm in great health and have a good appetite." Li Si'an tilted her head to look at her. "I just happened to be passing by and heard someone crying so sadly, so I came in to take a look. After seeing what was wrong, I felt that this trip was worthwhile."

Tang Yun was so angry at his nonchalant attitude that she didn't know what to say. She lowered her head, wiped her face hard with a tissue to clean up her tears, and then looked up at him directly.

"What exactly do you want?"

"I don't want to do anything. I just want to ask you—why are you crying so sadly?"

Tang Yun's lips moved, but she didn't speak.

"Fine, you don't have to tell me then." Li Si'an stood up, patted his pants, and said, "I'm leaving now."

"Wait." Her voice suddenly softened.

Li Si'an stopped and turned to look at her.

Tang Yun lowered her head, her fingers gripping the tissue tightly. After several seconds, she finally spoke, her voice muffled.

"Today is the last time I will practice in this rehearsal hall."

Li Si'an didn't respond, waiting for her to continue.

"I'm transferring to the folk dance class tomorrow." She looked up and glanced at the rehearsal room—the ballet barre, the mirror, the wooden floor, the fluorescent lights—she looked at each item for a long time.

"My teacher said my body type isn't suitable for ballet. My breasts are too big, my hips are too wide, and my legs are too long. Ballet doesn't accept body types like that."

Her voice was trembling, but no tears fell. She had already cried, and now she couldn't cry anymore.

"I practiced for four years. For four years, I got up at six every morning and stretched my legs until I cried. I thought that as long as I worked hard enough, I could jump well. But my teacher said that it's not about hard work—it's because my bones are shaped this way, and it can't be changed."

Li Si'an leaned against the wall and listened to her finish speaking.

"Then I won't do ballet anymore," he said.

The tone was casual, as if saying, "We're having steamed buns for lunch today, so we won't have rice."

Tang Yun looked up at him.

"If ballet doesn't want you, it's ballet's loss. With your body—"

He glanced at her up and down, his tone still nonchalant, but his voice was a little softer than before, "She looks good dancing folk dances. She looks good doing other things too. People will watch her just by her standing there."

Tang Yun stared at him for several seconds.

"Why do you talk like that... inappropriately?"

"What's inappropriate about what I said? I said you're good-looking, that's just stating the facts."

Tang Yun was so angry she laughed. She really laughed; the corners of her mouth turned up, and tears started falling again. She was laughing and crying at the same time, and she felt embarrassed herself, so she quickly lowered her head and grabbed a tissue to wipe them away.

Li Si'an looked at her and smiled too.

"Alright, stop crying?"

"...Who's crying?" Tang Yun crumpled the tissue into a ball and threw it aside. Her voice had returned to normal, but it was still nasal.

Li Si'an stood up, paused at the door, and looked back at her.

"Tang Rhyme".

She looked up.

"I'll treat you to lunch at the cafeteria tomorrow. Are you coming?"

Tang Yun lowered her eyes and turned her face to the side.

"I'm not going."

Why?

"For no reason. I just don't want to go."

Li Si'an looked at her for two seconds, didn't ask any further questions, and smiled: "Okay. Then I'll wait for you to change your mind."

He pushed open the door and went out. The window at the end of the corridor was open, and the April breeze blew in, carrying the scent of grass from the playground.

Tang Yun sat on the rehearsal hall floor, dressed in a black leotard, her hair piled up, her neck long, her eyes red from crying, her mixed-race face, and her figure, stretched taut by the leotard—excessively large for her age. She stared at the doorway where Li Si'an had disappeared, her lips moving but saying nothing.

She picked up the tissues from the ground, threw them in the trash can, grabbed her bag, locked the door, and left.

For the next few days, Li Si'an did not go to see her again.

The accounts on the magnetic card side were checked, and Sister Nan sent over last month's profits, which were a little over ten thousand yuan.

Zhang Ziyi went to her father's house once, got a magnetic card, and paid. When she came out of his house, she was carrying a large bag full of magnetic cards.

Everyone knew it couldn't have been received from a colleague, but Li Si'an wouldn't ask, and her father wouldn't explain. Everyone kept quiet about it.

On the afternoon of April 18th, Li Si'an was passing by the gatehouse when the gatekeeper called out to him.

"Li Si'an! I believe in you!"

He took a manila envelope from the old man, opened it, and saw it was a letter from the editorial department of "Zhiyin" magazine. The letterhead had the magazine's name printed in red, followed by lines of neat penmanship.

Li Si'an:

Hello. Your numerous published works in this journal have received positive feedback from readers. After careful consideration, the editorial department has decided to adjust your payment standard from 200 yuan per thousand words to 300 yuan per thousand words, effective immediately. This is to inform you of the above.

In addition, the editorial department is planning a series of "In-Depth Reports" columns, intending to publish a number of documentary works with social impact and emotional resonance. Considering your talent in storytelling, we are commissioning you to contribute one article.

The editorial requirements for "in-depth reporting" are as follows: based on real people and events, with social hot topics or human conflicts at its core, featuring a complex plot, rich details, and strong emotions, with a word count between 5,000 and 7,000 words. If adopted, the payment will be 1,000 yuan per thousand words.

If you are interested, please reply within one month. There are no restrictions on subject matter, but the content should be authentic, moving, and impactful.

We look forward to your submission.

Editorial Department of "Zhiyin"

April 10, 1995

Li Si'an read the letter twice, leaned against the wall at the entrance of the gatehouse, and a slight smile appeared on her face.

Three hundred for a thousand characters. One thousand for a thousand characters.

He read the line "based on real people and events" on the letter again and scoffed inwardly.

Is this a true story? What happened to his soulmate in his past life?

The stories, such as "The Rich Heiress Falls in Love with Me," "My Terminally Ill Boyfriend's Last Confession," and "The Substitute Lover," are all more melodramatic and outrageous than the last.

But it's so real—the details are real, the emotions are real, the tears are real. Readers are moved to tears; who cares if it's true or not? If something is more real than the truth, then it's real.

Besides, there's no internet these days, so where are you going to verify this? You say you interviewed the person involved, but who's going to check? You say you have exclusive inside information, but who can expose you?

Li Si'an folded the letter and patted it in her hand.

Okay. You want in-depth reporting, right? You want real stories, right?

Then I'll make one up for you. A story that'll be even more real than the real one.

He mentally reviewed all the articles he had read in his previous life.

There are too many to recall at the moment, but he knows the formula perfectly—a rich girl falls in love with a poor boy, plus a terminal illness. Isn't that the formula for a hit story? Wealthy family, class, love, life and death—these four keywords combined are enough to bring tears to readers' eyes.

He even had the title in mind: "A Rich Heiress Has Her Eyes on Me? No, She Just Hired Me to Play Her 'Terminal-Ill Boyfriend'."

The story outline is readily available: an ordinary young man is hired by a rich girl to pretend to be her boyfriend who has a terminal illness in order to deceive her family.

The rich girl gave him a large sum of money, and he originally intended to take the money and leave, but as he acted, he developed genuine feelings for her. The rich girl also developed genuine feelings for him.

Later, the rich girl's father discovered that the man wasn't sick at all. He was furious and wanted to kick him out. The rich girl said, "He's not sick, but I am—I have cancer, late stage."

In the end, the rich girl died, and the man used the money she left him to open a small bookstore that she had always wanted to open.

Is it melodramatic? Yes, it is. Is it formulaic? Yes, it is. But those who appreciate it will fall for it.

Li Si'an folded the letter, stuffed it back into the envelope, put it in her pocket, and walked towards her dormitory.

As he passed the playground, he paused and looked at the hazy sky of an April afternoon.

"Okay," he muttered to himself, "this one will do."