Starting as a Manga Editor-Chapter 30: Real Life Isn’t Manga—There’s No “Misunderstanding Resolved, Now We Get Along” Plotline

In the living room.
After Tang Yao asked her question, the room fell into a brief silence.
Standing at the kitchen doorway, Li Jiang’s face twisted in shock… He really couldn’t believe that such a cute girl could be that fierce.
And Master Ou… actually had nothing to say back?
…Huh?
Li Jiang stood there, utterly stunned, unsure whether to step in or stay put.
After a while,
He finally mustered the courage and nervously brought over two cups of tea.
“Um… tea.”
He cautiously placed the steaming cups down in front of the two of them.
Ou Congquan ignored him, still glaring intently at Tang Yao.
Tang Yao, on the other hand, turned back and said a polite thank you.
That was just good upbringing.
“Why do you… know all that?”
Li Jiang’s appearance seemed to break the tension, and Ou Congquan finally spoke again.
“I’m an editor. I haven’t been in this field long, but I do what needs to be done, and I take responsibility when it’s mine to take.”
Tang Yao responded matter-of-factly: “Once I learned I’d be your editor, I read all of your past serializations, including your two previous short stories. And even setting aside the completed arcs, just looking at the current Hell arc alone—starting from Issue 102 at the end of last month—you’ve been deliberately portraying the male lead’s reactions when watching the female lead interact with the second male lead. There’s no direct narration, but you clearly spent a lot of effort depicting his unease through indirect means.”
Ou Congquan’s mouth opened slightly, as if to say something—but nothing came out.
Because it was true—he had started that depiction in that exact issue.
“Why…”
“Are you a broken record!? I told you—I’m your editor.”
Tang Yao took a deep breath. “I won’t interfere with what you want to draw, nor am I interested in doing so. But out of professional integrity—and in case something comes up, like if you want to discuss something—I have to know your work well to give proper suggestions. And in situations like the last chapter, when you clearly veered off course, I also have to understand the work so I can give constructive feedback.”
Ou Congquan: “…”
“Because of that childish, laughable excuse of yours, you were afraid I’d influence you. But you forgot—an editor is your first reader.”
Tang Yao stared him down. “With that kind of attitude, it’s like you ripped out both the brakes and the passenger seat of your car, then drove it onto the highway thinking you’re hot sh*t—while absurdly convinced that the brakes are trying to fight you for the steering wheel. All because the brakes failed once before.
What now? Your brakes failed, so you decided to rip out the long arms too?”
Ou Congquan’s face was turning bright red.
And off to the side, Li Jiang’s eyes went wide—he could feel this wasn’t going anywhere good. He was just about to try signaling Tang Yao to stop.
“This whole nonsensical plot twist of yours was off from the very beginning! You hadn’t shown any signs of the male lead caring about this in previous arcs, and now all of a sudden, you want him to start caring?”
But Tang Yao didn’t seem to notice Li Jiang’s hint and kept going. “Let me guess, you read the readers’ comments, right? They brought up the issue, mixed in some complaints about how repetitive the plot was, how the male lead was unrealistically perfect, and that triggered you. So you thought, ‘Alright, time to add some intensity,’ and rolled out this dumpster-fire of a twist that completely contradicts everything before it.”
Ou Congquan’s face turned a deep liver-purple. “So what if I did? Are you saying I shouldn’t change? That staying the same is better?”
“Change isn’t wrong. Your mistake is…”
Tang Yao slightly tilted her fair chin upward, looking at him like he was trash. “You completely ignored the editor’s feedback just because of some childish reason. Afraid of being ‘influenced’? You didn’t even glance at it. You don’t even have the courage to assess it.”
“And what difference would it make if I read it? Would anything actually change?”
Ou Congquan seemed frustrated and ashamed. “Even if I talked to you, even if I told you what I really wanted to draw—what kind of practical advice could a newbie outsider like you give me? You’d still just tell me to change things! Stop me! What’s the point!?”
Tang Yao shot back: “Did you even try?”
“I don’t need to try! If you’re so confident, then go ahead—tell me now! What the hll am I supposed to do!”
Ou Congquan snapped. “Now that it’s all gone to sht, sure, you get to sit there judging everything! You’re not the one getting flamed! So go on, tell me! What should I do!”
Tang Yao calmly pushed a document folder across the table.
“…”
Ou Congquan looked at her blank expression, then at the folder. Disbelief twisted his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Tang Yao said nothing.
“Fine! I want to see what you wrote!”
Furious, Ou Congquan yanked the folder off the table, tore it open, and pulled out the revision notes. Huffing with anger, he muttered, “You think you’re—”
But halfway through his rant,
His voice suddenly disappeared.
He froze.
Completely. Like he’d been turned to stone on the sofa.
Meanwhile, Li Jiang, who’d been standing by anxiously—ready to step in at a moment’s notice—blinked in confusion.
What happened?
Ou Congquan didn’t notice Li Jiang’s gaze. He was staring, dumbfounded, at the revision notes in front of him.
[Don’t use death events for character development. It’s dumb.]
[You can’t deepen the main couple’s romance through death. You also can’t resolve the second lead’s arc with a crisis. Same reason.]
[If you want the male lead to break free from the “perfect saint” image, there are better ways. This is too extreme. See below.]
[Do not use the “Sigh of Lamentation” from Chapter One to resurrect the protagonist. That would make everything in Chapter Two a joke.]
[You’ve mentioned the “Geospheric Wheel of Hell” since Chapter Three, but it hasn’t shown up once in this arc.]
[…]
The entire first page—packed full of bullet-point critiques.
But it wasn’t the critique that shocked Ou Congquan.
It was the fact that… every single thing mentioned was something he had been planning to draw next.
And most of it… he hadn’t told anyone.
These were concepts he’d only subtly hinted at earlier—still just floating in his head.
It matched his thought process perfectly.
Some things… even he had forgotten. Like the “Geospheric Wheel of Hell”—but it was right there, written down.
“…”
Ou Congquan stared at the first page for a long time before slowly flipping to the next.
[Change death triggers into a systemic mechanism. The final boss of Hell lacks presence—suggest switching from brute force to a conceptual threat: “the embodiment of all malice,” “the untouchable.” Anyone who approaches her falls into a delusion built from their own fears and darkness.]
[…]
The first page identified problems.
The rest offered solutions—pages of them, even with diagrams.
Anyone could see how much effort had gone into this.
Ou Congquan kept reading, eyes widening more and more. His breathing grew heavy again—
Not from anger this time, but from excitement.
Li Jiang could clearly feel the shift in his mood. Shocked, she turned slowly to look at Tang Yao—
What kind of spell did she just cast?
Tang Yao didn’t notice.
Roughly fifteen minutes passed.
Finally, Ou Congquan looked up.
He clutched the revision notes like they were a lifeline, voice trembling slightly:
“The embodiment of all malice… what does that mean?”
...Identical.
Completely, unmistakably identical.
The notes aligned perfectly with his core ideas—
Only the execution was more refined.
And best of all, this new version could actually bridge the mess he’d created in the latest chapter—
It could even salvage the damage done to the readers.
“I think it’s written clearly enough,”
Tang Yao replied. “There’s no need to ask about things that are already clear.”
“But…”
Ou Congquan’s eyes were still bloodshot, but the anger was gone. Now there was light in them.
He wanted to ask more.
But Tang Yao stood up.
Facing his stunned gaze, she asked:
“Would you say the suggestions were received loud and clear?”
“Loud and clear…”
Ou Congquan answered reflexively.
“Then consider them at your discretion.”
Tang Yao nodded. “Of course, if you still want to draw your original version—go right ahead.”
With that,
She turned to leave.
“Wait.”
Ou Congquan watched her in a daze, suddenly panicked. “I actually still have some things I’d like to confirm with you…”
“Confirm?”
Tang Yao paused, then turned back and pointed at the confused Li Jiang.
“I visited you four times. Three of those times, I never got past the door and only met your assistant. And except for the first visit, each time, I left those exact revision notes you’re holding now with him to pass on. And now you want to ‘confirm’ things? Am I supposed to sit here and respectfully listen to what you have to say?”
Ou Congquan: “…”
“Give me a break.”
Tang Yao looked down at him with a cold expression, like she was staring at trash.
“You’re a big-name mangaka. You can use your status to tell editors to get lost.
But just because you suddenly put on a humble face doesn’t mean real life works like manga—where a ‘misunderstanding gets cleared up and everyone gets along in the end.’
Real life is not manga.
I may be an outsider. I may not understand character building, or plot, or even drawing. I haven’t eaten as much salt as you’ve eaten rice.
But I can choose who I spend my energy on. And you? You’re not worth it.
You’re not even qualified.
This revision wasn’t for you—it was for the readers. For the rookie editor I was last week, who genuinely gave a d*mn.
And to show you just how stupid your mistake was.
Last week, even if you’d just looked at the revision notes, things might’ve turned out differently.
But your arrogance—your pride—dragged everything into this mess.”
Ou Congquan looked down at the paper in his hands, at the neat handwriting.
If I had read this last week…
He thought about the content.
Then compared it to what he actually drew… and waves of regret began to wash over him.
He lowered his head, looking a little… pathetic.
Li Jiang looked at Tang Yao—this cold, calm beauty—and was frozen in place.
Then she turned her head away, unable to keep looking.
“Ask yourself honestly—
If the person sitting here right now had been the you from last week… what would’ve happened?”
Tang Yao’s voice remained icy.
“Think carefully. Are you trying to keep me here because you realize you were wrong…
Or is it just because those revision notes offer you a way out of this mess?”
“Probably the latter.
Because you, just like Ding Yilong, have arrogance and pride etched into your bones.
It never disappears.
It only hides when things go south.
Admit it. Even if you had the chance to do it over, you’d still make the same choice.
You’d use your status as a mangaka to belittle a rookie editor.
Right now, you’re just high on relief.
So don’t bother acting like you’ve had some grand awakening.
It’s honestly disgusting.”
Ou Congquan gripped the manuscript tighter. Tang Yao couldn’t see it from her angle,
But Li Jiang could—
And what she saw was a fifty-something-year-old man, face full of shame.
“And don’t think that just because you follow the revision notes, everything will magically be okay.”
Tang Yao added coldly: “Readers aren’t idiots.
This disaster of a chapter left a scar, and no one’s going to forget that hand-holding panel you drew at the end.
All the good reputation you’ve built up—tainted.
Plenty of readers are already quitting your series out of sheer anger.
Wait for next week’s reader poll.
Then look at the sales numbers of your next volume.
This is your own doing.”
“That’s all.”
“If you’re angry, or feel insulted, go ahead—rip those notes to shreds and toss them in the trash.
Just like you did during my previous visits.”
Tang Yao looked away for the last time and said:
“I’m done answering your questions. My patience was drained last week.
Once this mess is cleaned up, I don’t care what happens—I don’t want to be your editor anymore.
Even if Ding Yilong doesn’t reassign me, I’ll quit myself.
Let someone else deal with you.
Keep using your pathetic excuses to keep the next editor at arm’s length.
I hope we never meet again.”
With that final line,
Tang Yao nodded at Li Jiang and said, “Thanks. I’ll be going now.”
Then she turned and left.
Only after she turned around did Ou Congquan slowly lift his head.
He stared at her back—this editor, who was about the same age as his daughter.
He wanted to speak,
But couldn’t find the words.
Soon, Tang Yao was gone.
Ou Congquan looked back down at the revision notes in his hands… so precise, so thoughtful.
He fell silent.
Yeah.
Why didn’t I read it sooner?
If I had…
He thought of the readers’ disappointment, their angry rants.
And then Tang Yao’s words.
If only I’d read this last week…
His expression slowly twisted—
Not with rage this time,
But with regret.
At the same time,
Li Jiang watched Tang Yao leave.
Then turned to look at Ou Congquan.
Right then, the phone on the table buzzed.
Li Jiang noticed…
And saw the caller ID: Ding Yilong.
But—
After glancing at the phone, then at the still-silent Ou Congquan,
He decided to wait a bit before saying anything.