Starting as a Manga Editor-Chapter 16: High Stakes and Fate

It was nearly 2 a.m.
Tang Yao and Li Xue finally parted ways.
One went downstairs, the other went upstairs.
The editorial departments of the two magazines were on different floors.
When Tang Yao returned to the big comic editorial office, most of the daytime editors had already left, and even the Editor-in-Chief was nowhere to be found.
But Kang Ming was still there.
He heard the approaching footsteps and looked up. Seeing it was Tang Yao, his eyes lit up. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon.”
Tang Yao sat back at her desk and began working on the storyboard directive sheet for Shao Changqing’s manuscript. She leaned over to glance at Kang Ming’s desk. “What are you working on?”
Kang Ming: “Reader survey forms.”
Tang Yao gave an understanding look, then asked, “How’s it going?”
The so-called reader survey forms were similar to the soul-crushing system used in Shonen Jump in her past life—a “survey-first” approach born out of intense market competition.
Put simply: if a manga survived past chapter five and continued gaining votes and popularity in reader surveys, it could continue serialization.
But if votes declined and popularity dropped, then by chapter ten, it would be forcibly axed.
No matter where the story was, no matter what was going on in the plot—instant cancellation.
After the fifth chapter, a bottom-ranking elimination system kicked in too… any series that consistently ranked last over a few weeks would be axed just the same.
In short: brutal.
This was also why Li Xue hadn’t pushed her to walk the path of a full-time mangaka.
Because she knew how ruthless the system was. Mangaka had it rough—they couldn’t afford a moment of slack. Every chapter had to bring suspense, a climax, and a moment that made readers want more.
“Not what I imagined,”
Kang Ming stared at the survey in his hand. “Let’s just say I’m still getting used to it.”
“Ohhh—”
Tang Yao drew out her tone, then suddenly asked, “What do you think about mobile games?”
“Mobile games?”
Kang Ming turned his head, surprised by the question.
Tang Yao nodded. “Yeah.”
Kang Ming hesitated for a moment, then answered a bit sheepishly, “You might not believe me, but I think that’s the future. Mobile’s growth potential is bigger than traditional internet. If I had the chance, I’d actually want to try working in that field. That battle platform idea I had was one of my dreams.”
“I see.”
Tang Yao’s hand paused slightly on the manuscript, then she asked, “Then hypothetically, if there was a mobile gaming job that offered an average salary—would you take it? There’s one condition: the company’s still in the startup phase.”
“I’d take it.”
Kang Ming hesitated a bit, but ultimately answered honestly, “Even if it’s still in the startup phase.”
“……”
Tang Yao smiled, then said softly, “Deal.”
“?”
Kang Ming glanced at her, confused, but her smile made him feel a little dazed.
…
Even if salary isn’t directly tied to performance—
It is tied to how much heart someone puts into their work. That old saying, “No one risks their life for a few hundred bucks,” might sound crude, but it rings true.
And when an employee starts thinking of quitting—and plans to follow through—their performance takes a big hit.
Tang Yao wasn’t some saint either.
After getting Li Xue’s promise and Kang Ming’s response, she instantly lost all motivation to finish the storyboard directive. She was dying to go home and start drawing cute girls. If it weren’t weird to sketch that kind of thing at her work desk, she might’ve already started.
Thankfully, she still had enough rationality to pull herself back. She wasn’t a saint, but she had basic responsibility.
So she forced herself to stay focused and spent the whole afternoon wrapping up her work.
By around 6 p.m.,
Tang Yao gave Shao’s manuscript one final check. Once she confirmed everything was good, she dropped it and Ou’s manuscript onto the Editor-in-Chief’s desk, then finally began packing up.
Time to go home and draw some bishoujo!
“貴方は風のように~”
(You’re like the wind~)
She was in a great mood.
While packing, she swayed a little and hummed a tune to herself.
Nearby—
Still battling with reader surveys, Kang Ming heard her, looked over, and saw her swaying gently and humming something unfamiliar.
“Heading home?”
“Yep. See you tomorrow.”
Tang Yao waved happily, then headed for the exit.
Kang Ming looked at the youthful, cheerful figure walking away, and couldn’t help but smile too.
On the other end—
Tang Yao was genuinely in a great mood. Not even the long, annoying commute home could ruin it. Her joy lasted all the way until she got home.
“Kaoru.”
The moment she opened the door—
Like a scene out of Tsukuyomi.
Tang Kaoru walked out of her room, hugging a pile of clothes. She turned her head to look at her sister, scanned her up and down, made sure she was okay, then silently walked over to the washing machine.
Because her school let out earlier and was closer, she was usually done showering and getting ready to make dinner by the time Tang Yao came home.
Honestly—
She was incredibly considerate. If Kaoru hadn’t taken over the day-to-day chores, Tang Yao couldn’t even imagine how much worse her life would’ve been after arriving here.
“Aren’t you being a little too cold to your sister just back from work, Kaoru?”
Tang Yao half-lounged on the couch. When the cool-tempered girl returned, she patted the spot next to her with a teasing smile.
“What do you want me to say?”
Kaoru sat beside her sister, brushed her long hair back, and replied, “Welcome home, sis?”
“No need for that.”
Tang Yao chuckled softly. Watching her sister get ready to tie her hair up and cook, she asked, “I’m just curious—why do you scan me up and down every day? Making sure your sister’s still alive?”
“Pretty much. I worry about your mental health.”
Kaoru let her hair fall back down and turned to face her older sister, who for once didn’t look dead tired. “If you ever break down and decide to quit your job and stay home, I need to be ready.”
Tang Yao joked, “Ready to kick me out, you mean?”
Kaoru looked away and didn’t answer.
“Man, you’re so cold. But don’t worry, Kaoru.”
Tang Yao didn’t take it to heart. She scooted a bit closer, then leaned her head lightly on her sister’s shoulder with a smile. “Grown-ups are tougher than you think. We vent with endless complaints, lie through our teeth just to keep up with people, and do shady stuff when we have to.
Worst case, we cry in the car before going home—totally doable.”
“Your view of adults is pretty sad.”
“That’s just what adults are—tragic creatures. So stop being so eager to grow up. The adult world’s no fun.”
“Then why don’t you ever complain to me? You cry in the car every day before coming home or what?”
“……”
Tang Yao laughed softly. Her little sister had a sharp tongue. “Not quite. Your sister hasn’t fully joined the adult world yet. And your sister doesn’t own a car—though she has cried in one before.”
“Then cry at home.”
Kaoru was quiet for a second, then said slowly, “At least there’s someone here. Not as private, sure, kind of embarrassing, but I’ve seen you embarrass yourself your whole life. Honestly, a week ago, you already lost all your dignity in front of me.”
A week ago—that was when Tang Yao had arrived in this world.
Her expression stiffened slightly. Then she lifted her head off her sister’s shoulder and turned to face her.
Kaoru met her gaze, totally expressionless.
“You really love picking at your sister’s scars, huh?”
But Tang Yao didn’t flinch. She reached out and gently pinched her sister’s soft, smooth cheek, giving it a slight tug.
Kaoru was staring directly at her, her pretty face distorted a bit, forced into a pout… that cool aura vanished instantly, and she actually looked kind of cute.
“…Go take a shower.”
Kaoru glared at her sister and finally dropped the act. She shook free of Tang Yao’s hand and stood up. “I’m making dinner.”
Tang Yao watched her storm off with slightly bigger strides than usual and tilted her head with a knowing smile.
After her shower—
The two sisters had dinner together.
As usual, Kaoru picked up the dishes and carried them into the tiny half-open kitchen to clean up.
Tang Yao didn’t help—not because she was lazy, but because she had something more important to do.
She returned to their shared bedroom, sat back at the desk, and pulled out a blank sheet of paper. This time, though, she wasn’t drawing manga.
She was drawing bishoujo character art.
Of course, despite talking about it since she got off work—
Jumping in blind wasn’t going to cut it… Even though her past-life experience told her that during the early mobile internet era, gacha games were incredibly popular—and very profitable.
Even copycats made bank. It felt like everyone got a piece of the mobile game pie.
But back then, it was Square Enix that launched Million Arthur—the OG gacha second-dimensional game. And sure, before she crossed over, Square had kind of fallen off… but it was still a titan with franchises like Final Fantasy, Kingdom Hearts, and Dragon Quest. No indie studio could compare to those kinds of resources and experience—let alone an individual like her.
Even just coming up with a decent gameplay loop wasn’t something art assets alone could solve. Early gacha games were notorious for weak gameplay, but having nothing was still unacceptable.
She couldn’t even consider the more complex game mechanics.
And that wasn’t the only challenge—there were many layers to this. Forget story and voice acting for now.
Just balancing in-game resources—like free pulls vs. paid gacha options—was already enough to give her a headache.
Fortunately, she had plenty of successful examples to reference.
Her first step now was to build a mobile game by cherry-picking from her massive mental library of past-life games—one that balanced production difficulty and revenue potential, and that fit this world.
Only then could she secure investment and earn her first big chunk of money.
She needed to tread carefully—one step at a time.
Because if she failed, she’d have no choice but to survive through manga.
But if she succeeded… she might finally break free from the chains of financial pressure and do way more.
This was a high-stakes gamble.
“First things first… I need to lock down the foundation of the game.”
Tang Yao slowly twirled the pencil in her hand, thinking deeply—then wrote a word on the blank page:
Fate.
The legendary Fate series.