The days following Bowen's newfound determination seemed brighter, even in the drab confines of Dongfang Textiles. For the first time in years, he walked into the office with a spring in his step. The usually oppressive atmosphere of paperwork and Manager Chen's barking no longer weighed him down.
Bowen focused on his tasks with renewed vigor, eager to finish quickly so he could pursue his true passion in his free time.
"Fang Bowen," a familiar voice called from behind him during a break.
He turned to see Zhang Lin, his senior and quiet crush, standing there. Her sharp features were softened by a small, curious smile. "You seem... different these days. More spirited."
"Oh," Bowen stammered, his ears burning. "Just trying to do my best."
Zhang chuckled softly. "It suits you. Keep it up."
Her words lingered with him long after she walked away. For so long, he had admired her intelligence and confidence, and now, for the first time, she had noticed him. It was a small moment, but it bolstered his resolve even further.
Meanwhile, Manager Chen remained as unpleasant as ever, assigning Bowen a seemingly endless list of menial tasks. But Bowen didn't mind. His mind was elsewhere, fixated on the story he was crafting and the dream he was chasing.
That evening, Bowen made his way back to the library. The lights inside cast a warm glow, a beacon of knowledge amidst the night. He approached the reference desk once more, greeted by the same librarian who had helped him before.
"You're back," she said, her tone somewhere between curiosity and approval.
"Yes," Bowen replied. "This time, I want books on writing—how to write a book, how to tell a story. Anything that can help."
The librarian's eyebrow arched again, but she nodded and led him to another section. Bowen spent hours reading through guides on plot structure, character development, and editing techniques. His notebook filled with scribbles as he absorbed every piece of advice.
By the time he returned home, he was exhausted but exhilarated.
For the next two weeks, Bowen lived a double life. By day, he worked diligently at the office, ignoring Manager Chen's snide remarks and stealing glances at Zhang Lin when he could. By night, he immersed himself in writing, pouring his heart and newfound knowledge into the story Liang had imparted to him.
The jade amulet rested beside him as he wrote, a silent reminder of the guidance he received each night in his dreams. Liang's presence was like a shadow, offering encouragement and suggestions while Bowen refined the plot and polished the dialogue.
Finally, after two weeks of relentless effort, the manuscript was finished. Bowen stared at the stack of papers on his desk, his chest swelling with pride.
"I've done it," he said aloud, clutching the jade amulet as he drifted into sleep.
In the dreamscape, Liang Ziyang appeared, his sharp suit immaculate as always. "It's finished," Bowen declared with excitement.
Liang, however, didn't share his enthusiasm. He crossed his arms and gave Bowen a measured look. "Finished? Hardly."
Bowen's brow furrowed. "What do you mean? I wrote the whole story!"
Liang smirked. "And I'm sure you did a fine job for a beginner. But every great work needs refinement. You'll need an editor to review your manuscript, someone who can catch the mistakes and flaws you might not notice. Then, you'll need to find a publisher willing to take a chance on you."
Bowen's heart sank. "How am I supposed to do that? I'm a nobody."
Liang's eyes gleamed. "Nobody starts as somebody. This is your next challenge. Wake up and start looking for a publisher. Do not stop until someone says yes."
The next day, Bowen carried his manuscript in his satchel as he set out into the bustling streets of Shanghai. He visited one publishing company after another, his hopes rising each time he approached a receptionist.
But the responses were always the same.
"Do you have any published works?"
"We don't accept unsolicited manuscripts."
"I'm sorry, but we're not interested."
By the afternoon, Bowen's spirits were crushed. He slumped onto a bench near the river, staring at the water with a defeated expression. The manuscript felt heavier in his bag than it had that morning.
As the sun dipped low, casting golden hues over the city, Bowen noticed a small sign across the street. It read: Jinhui Publishing Co.
The building was modest, almost run-down, and the sign looked like it hadn't been updated in years. Bowen hesitated, unsure if he could face another rejection. But something about the place called to him—a faint glimmer of hope.
He crossed the street and entered the office. Inside, the space was quiet and sparsely furnished. A young man in his late twenties sat behind a cluttered desk, adjusting his glasses as he looked up.
"Welcome," the man said with a friendly smile. "What can I do for you?"
"I have a manuscript," Bowen began, his voice shaking slightly. "It's a novel. I was wondering if you'd be interested in publishing it."
The man's expression shifted to one of surprise, then intrigue. "Let me see it."
Bowen handed over the manuscript, watching nervously as the man flipped through the pages. The room was so quiet that Bowen could hear the faint scratching of the man's pen as he made notes in the margins.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. Finally, the man looked up, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
"This is fantastic," he said. "You've got something special here."
Bowen's heart leaped. "Really?"
The man nodded. "Absolutely. The story is gripping, the characters are compelling, and the pacing is spot on. It needs some polishing, but that's what editors are for."
The two of them discussed terms, haggling over royalties until they settled on a 70/30 split, with the larger share going to Bowen. It was a deal far better than Bowen had dared to hope for.
"I'll assign one of our editors to help refine the manuscript," the man said, shaking Bowen's hand. "We'll get started immediately."
Over the next week, Bowen worked closely with the editor, reviewing suggested changes and making adjustments. It was a grueling process, but each revision brought the story closer to perfection.
When the final version of the manuscript was complete, Bowen held it in his hands, marveling at how far he'd come.
"This is it," he said to Liang in his dream that night.
Liang's smile was faint but approving. "It's a start. Now we wait and see if the world recognizes your talent."
The manuscript was sent to production the next day. As Bowen walked home, he couldn't help but feel that the winds of fate were finally shifting in his favor. His journey was far from over, but he was no longer the same man who had trudged through life with empty dreams.
The road ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: Fang Bowen was on his way to greatness.