Pat Me Please

After Xiang Wan went back, Yu Zhou had many thoughts.

She understood the principles. Otherwise, how could she have taught Xiang Wan before? However, understanding is one thing, acting is another. What happened to others is one story, but when it happened to oneself, it would be another story.

At the end of May, approaching early June, the weather started to get hot and Yu Zhou vaguely smelled the prelude like last summer.

She updated a few chapters of her novel “Pat Me Please” intermittently, but her writing seemed a bit rusty. Some readers gently advised her, “Chaichai, don’t worry, why don’t we take a break and come back slowly? We can wait.”

The readers’ understanding and gentleness made her feel a little sad.

Her phone vibrated, receiving a message from her editor, reminding her to get ready for her Weibo update.

She suddenly remembered that it was the day of the release of the physical book “Shrine”.

In fact, Yu Zhou wasn’t too excited about it. When she first signed the contract, she had experienced all the joy that the entire process might bring. She had chosen the cover a while ago and had received the sample book. However, she was in a bad mood at the time, so she only flipped through it briefly, smelled the ink on the pages before she saw the two characters “Shen Bai”.

Shen Bai appeared too many times, gradually turning into Su Chang.

By the time she went online to update her Weibo, the Weibo post about the physical book had already been reposted thousands of times.

She felt a little dazed and surprised. So many readers were waiting for the arrival of the physical book. It seemed to them a very joyful occasion.

They said “finally,” as if they had been waiting for Shen Bai and Qiao Qiao for a very, very long time.

Yu Zhou suddenly felt touched by this wait. She seemed to understand a bit of what Xiang Wan had said. There might be many methods to act as a medium, introducing previously unknown readers to the story. But for an author, the end of the story and the most romantic place was always the meeting between the readers and Shen Bai and Qiao Qiao.

After reposting the Weibo post, she received a message from Peng Xiangzhi.

She was asked to go out for dinner.

Peng Xiangzhi rarely invited her alone, so Yu Zhou was a bit surprised. However, Peng Xiangzhi quickly mentioned that Xiang Wan would also be there.

So she got ready and went out. The three of them met near the shopping mall they had visited before and sat down for a modern Sichuan cuisine meal.

After they chatted casually for a while, Peng Xiangzhi suggested going for a walk in the shopping mall.

As they wandered around without any real aim, they reached the fourth floor, where they saw a Zhongxin bookstore. On one side was a reading area and on the other was a coffee shop where people could chat.

Peng Xiangzhi said, “Let’s go in and see if your book is there.”

“The delivery can’t be that fast,” Yu Zhou responded unwillingly but was dragged in.

Indeed, after strolling around, there was no sign of “Shrine”. Yu Zhou was mentally prepared for this, but when she looked at the rows of bookshelves, there was still a faint expectation in her heart.

They sat down in the casual chat area and ordered a few cups of coffee. Peng Xiangzhi pouted: “What a pity, I thought I could see it today.”

“You tell me,” she leaned her head and gestured towards the reading area, “I’ve never been an author before. So, what would an author feel when they see someone holding their own book and sitting there? Nervous? Excited? Sneak a peek at others, or be moved to tears?”

Peng Xiangzhi pondered how it would feel to face the expressions of readers directly. Probably both anxious and proud, right?

Um… Of course, there’s also the possibility of being considered a pervert.

“I don’t know.” Yu Zhou smiled and said.

Xiang Wan looked towards the well-arranged reading area, where a few readers stood or sat, flipping through a book, exchanging their precious tranquillity for a story written in black and white. 

“How many copies did you print this time? Will it be enough to fill our shelves here?” Peng Xiangzhi asked again.

“A little over a hundred thousand, I’ve forgotten the exact number.” Yu Zhou was a bit confused.

“Wow, a hundred thousand plus copies?” Peng Xiangzhi was quite impressed, “Our audio drama hasn’t even reached one hundred thousand followers.”

Yu Zhou fell silent upon mention of the audio drama.

“What’s the matter? You got a problem with the drama I made for you? Stop looking like I owe you money!” Peng Xiangzhi snapped at her.

“I didn’t mean it that way.” Yu Zhou hurriedly explained.

Peng Xiangzhi humphed at her, took a sip of coffee and sighed: “You probably don’t understand us. Over the years, we’ve worked on so many things – games, movies, audio dramas, advertisements, and so much more.”

“Not every one of our works is popular and not every one of them attracts attention.”

“You write novels, so you should understand. Even if the collection of your author’s page has surpassed two hundred thousand, or you have five hundred thousand Weibo fans, it doesn’t guarantee every book to be a hit, right?” Peng Xiangzhi glanced at her.

“When a work, a collaborative work becomes popular, it’s because of the right timing, the right place, the right people, and luck. Nothing can be missing. The original work is the foundation, of course, our performances are also especially important, haha!” She said, without any modesty.

“Do you think nowadays’ netizens are stupid? A lousy story, combined with a bunch of voice actors, collecting famous ones, and it just becomes popular? I’m telling you, it’s impossible. Even if it does, there would be no good reputation. We might even get scolded for making a quick buck.”

Peng Xiangzhi let out a sigh.

“You can’t possibly expect people to buy a story that insults their intelligence, just because you are Ba Da Qin Chai or Qi Xiao Wang Ye[1], right? It’s the same principle.”

“The reason for success is that it’s genuinely good and this goodness is like a chain, where every link is indispensable and mutually supportive. There’s no such thing as someone completely carrying someone else or someone winning effortlessly.”

Yu Zhou was a little moved and looked up at her.

“And different forms of creation have different audiences. What is the significance of comparing who’s better or worse? Look at this, your book sold hundreds of thousands of copies, while our audio drama hasn’t even reached a hundred thousand. Where did the extra tens of thousands come from? Are there people who walk into a bookstore, flip open this book and purely enjoy reading without ever knowing about the audio drama? Among those who listen to audio dramas, are there some who don’t want to read the words and just want to enjoy the sound?”

“Readers and listeners have intersecting areas, but they do not entirely overlap and cannot be equated. When both are doing well, they benefit each other and that’s the best outcome. Just enjoy your interactions with your readers. If you pay too much attention to trivial things, well, frankly, you’re being foolish and overthinking.”

“Today you feel like the audio drama has helped you, but what if tomorrow a big influencer promotes your book and makes it popular? Do you think you should bow to them as well? Is the spirit of what you write supposed to be used for deciding whether or not to bow? Isn’t the spirit in your pen?”

Peng Xiangzhi felt like her mouth was dry from all the talking and she had tried her best. She didn’t want to say anymore but wished she could physically hit Yu Zhou.

“I’m telling you, I didn’t agree to be the director just because of my friendship with Su Chang. I read your book first.”

“Zhouzhou,” she said in the end, “when we first met, you said you thought I was cool, very impressive, shining and hard to approach. Now I’m telling you that what makes me shine isn’t just my professionalism, but my passion.”

Passion for voice work is the only and the greatest confidence that has brought me to where I am today.

I hope writing does the same for you.

Yu Zhou held her warm coffee, raising her eyes to gaze at the rows of bookshelves that made time stand still and simultaneously expand.

Having finished her speech, Peng Xiangzhi glanced at Xiang Wan hesitantly, wanting to say something but holding back.

“Um…”

She wanted to talk about Su Chang, to tell Yu Zhou about Su Chang’s predicament.

However, Xiang Wan shook her head. As a friend, she could comfort Yu Zhou when she was lost and lacked self-confidence, but she didn’t think it was right to interfere in their love life.

Whether or not two people were suitable for each other should be explored by themselves, without the need for a third person’s opinion.

When Peng Xiangzhi caught her drift, she sighed and closed her mouth.

At the end of June, Yu Zhou’s Weibo homepage became lively. Su Chang’s super topic was buzzing as well and her fans even spawned a high-rise thread in the forums. Fans listed and recommended Su Chang’s works from June last year to this June and left a small text saying: Happy birthday, Su Chang.

Below was a link, publicizing Su Chang’s annual birthday livestream on June 27th at 8 pm.

On the Rabbit Tail app, she would interact with her fans. Interested listeners were welcome to participate.

The livestream interface was different this time. The platform specifically changed Su Chang’s livestream room to a birthday cake background, making it extremely festive even online.

Fans poured in and the popularity already reached 70 or 80 thousand at the very beginning, soaring all the way.

Although unaware of the specific number of audiences, since the popularity value had gift heat added, the actual number should not be small. The screen was bombarded with comments to the point of crashing, getting stuck three or four times and couldn’t let more people in.

After all, this was a rare livestream by Su Chang.

Her voice was gentle, paired with her deep blue avatar, feeling like survival after an ordeal, as if nothing had started yet.

This grand celebration was so lively that it seemed her fans could pluck stars down for her. The people who loved her offered their sincerest hearts. Su Chang remembered each one but never expressed it.

Su Chang was a figure so strong that everyone thought she had no weaknesses—confident, gentle, unhurried, and composed. It seemed like she could handle anything. In her decade-long career, she had never caused embarrassment for anyone.

She was like her avatar – an unfathomable ocean. Time and again, beneath the calm surface, the sharp teeth of countless rumors would emerge.

But it seemed like she never cared.

Her gaze fixed on a small boat on the ocean surface, tending to it by the moonlight. Sometimes it would tumble, sometimes it would sway, and sometimes it would lie down obediently.

On the endless sea surface, the waves were her precious gifts to her listeners. There, they could find her genuine responses and shiny shells pushed ashore by a storm.

However, that small boat belonged solely to her.

People often have a good logic called pity for the weak. It means, when you feel that someone has everything – wealth, talent, status, prestige, appearance, and family background – complete and perfect, strong among the strong.

Then she is often deemed unworthy of love because she is not vulnerable enough.

Because she seemingly has too many things to support her, she is supposed to be strong.

She has too much love coming in, and of course, people leaving her are also endless.

Su Chang looked at these familiar and unfamiliar IDs and smiled, showing her heartfelt gratitude.

Even accompanying a short journey is enough.

Peng Xiangzhi came,  as well as Xiang Wan, who sent a few cake gifts. Xiang Wan said, “Boss, happy birthday.”

Although there were already rumors, this was the first time Su Chang was called “boss” by her. It was a definitive confirmation that she had signed with Su Chang.

The live streaming room was boiling and the grand celebration continued as more and more partners entered, sending their blessings to Su Chang.

At 12 o’clock, fans began to post the same comments on the screen.

They said –

“The whole world should love Su Chang.”

They posted for a long, long time, so long that people couldn’t keep up with it.

Su Chang lay on the bed, leaning against the head of the bed without turning on the lights, while a bright moon that had been blocked by skyscrapers shone outside.

She spoke softly into the microphone, smiling, “Thank you to the whole world that loves me.”

In Chinese, Ba Da Qin Chai means eight imperial envoys, Qi Xiao Wang Ye means seven lords, both mean noble people.