6. Don't Mess with a Delicate Woman—No Matter Who You Are

Page 1/3

PS: Xiaobai says, those who don’t vote are all troublemakers and deserve a good scolding.

Zhang Tan officially joined Pujiang Film Studio, becoming a member of the script evaluation team.

Pujiang Film Studio operates under a division system, currently comprising the Animation Division and the Live-Action Division. Zhang Tan was assigned to the Animation Division, reportedly because the script he submitted was an animation script.

Most people who join Pujiang Film Studio aim for the Animation Division. The Live-Action Division is still weak after seven or eight years, struggling to gain momentum and relying on one or two web series to stay afloat.

The script evaluation team members can be roughly divided into two categories: newcomers like Zhang Tan, just starting their careers and gaining experience through script evaluation; and veterans nearing retirement, experienced but relegated to secondary roles, essentially enjoying a comfortable retirement.

The studio is a state-owned enterprise, offering excellent and humane employee benefits, supporting a group of such veteran employees.

After completing formalities, Zhang Tan became a staff scriptwriter.

Staff scriptwriters have formal jobs, clock in daily, receive monthly salaries, and earn bonuses based on projects.

Besides staff scriptwriters, there are freelance writers. They work independently, earning only when projects come along. They carry dreams and endure financial instability. Of course, some are already famous with connections and resources, but these are the minority.

Zhang Tan chose not to be a freelancer because he lacked resources and connections, and his scripts wouldn’t find buyers.

He needed to accumulate experience now.

On his first day, he reviewed the studio’s work policies, and on the second day, he started reading scripts. These scripts were not sourced online but came internally from the studio.

Most were written by in-house writers, with some submitted by freelancers. Before use, the studio usually sent them to the script evaluation team for review.

Mornings were for reading scripts; afternoons were for meetings and discussions where everyone shared opinions. This was both a script review and a way for the studio to assess newcomers’ abilities for future assignments.

Each month, the studio scored the evaluation team members, noting who improved, who showed potential, who could contribute, and who could handle tasks independently. Daily performance was the standard for evaluation.

After work one day, the team leader and deputy leaders stayed behind for a brief meeting.

“We have 15 people in the group, including five veteran writers and ten newcomers. Everyone’s observed their performances over the past five days; let’s discuss,” said the leader, Old Liu.

He was a veteran writer with over thirty years at Pujiang Film Studio, now nearing retirement. As team leader, he focused on nurturing newcomers, enjoying a light workload.

Though evaluations were monthly, as team leader, he held weekly small evaluation meetings. These weekly opinions were important references for the monthly assessments.

“Jiang Fan is hopeless; this guy can’t be pulled back,” said one deputy leader.

Another lamented, “He graduated from a prestigious university’s Chinese literature program and has the strongest foundation, but he’s too rigid and inflexible in thinking.”

Old Liu nodded and wrote Jiang Fan’s name in his notebook, marking a D.

“Jiang Rong has been here over a month but hasn’t grown as fast as I expected.”

“I think she’s very spirited, imaginative, and interesting. Structure can be learned later, but that spark is innate.”

Page 2/3

Old Liu said, “Jiang Rong can continue to be cultivated.”

He wrote her name with a B beside it.

The three evaluated each newcomer one by one until they reached Zhang Tan.

The two deputy leaders almost simultaneously said:

“This Zhang Tan is a talent…”

“Where did he come from? Very impressive…”

After their comments, Old Liu said, “Tomorrow, give them a topic to write a story outline and see the results.”

He wrote Zhang Tan’s name with an A beside it.

Meanwhile, Zhang Tan was at home preparing dinner. After five steady days with the evaluation team, he felt no impatience—in fact, he quite enjoyed it. It was a good opportunity to gain a detailed understanding of the world of film and animation, and to ponder market preferences.

No matter how well a script was written, it had to meet market demands. Not every good script could win market favor.

For example, in his previous life, “That Mountain, That Man, That Dog” earned zero box office domestically but grossed 800 million in a neighboring island country—market demand differences caused that disparity.

Outside the window, the courtyard echoed with children playing.

A group of kids was playing “Eagle Catching Chicks,” with Xiaobai as the eagle.

This little girl was only four years old, one of the youngest, and small in stature, making her seem even smaller.

Though Xiaobai was young and tiny, she was like a little tyrant—fiery and fierce, always eager to be first and fearless. Surprisingly, many older, taller children listened to her.

At this moment, the tiny girl was the eagle trying to catch a group of bigger kids. The “mother hen” was a tall boy, the oldest in the academy at eight years old.

Zhang Tan truly felt nervous for Xiaobai.

But Xiaobai was full of confidence, proudly and boastfully shouting:

“You silly kids, all scatter, you won’t escape the train~~”

She laughed heartily, nimbly slipping under the mother hen’s arm, and amidst screams, caught the trailing child and tagged them out…

Zhang Tan finished preparing dinner and sat on the balcony, watching the kids play while eating with interest.

Suddenly, one child spotted him and pointed, saying to Xiaobai and the others:

“Look, troublemaker~~”

The children all lifted their little heads, standing in the yard to size him up. Each had a small radish-shaped head, laughing loudly. Their words were so lively they lifted the spirit. They jeered and shouted about troublemakers and innocents, with Xiaobai leading the raucous cheer.

Page 3/3

Zhang Tan wasn’t a troublemaker—he was quite innocent—but at that moment, his face darkened.

He held his bowl stiffly in his chair; the fragrant food no longer smelled good. He wanted to throw the bowl down. Had this nickname spread? Was Xiaobai behind it? Was this a public conflict now?

Teacher Xiao Liu heard the noise and came over to stop the commotion.

Fortunately, she acted promptly. Had she come later, the children might have all been at risk, because Zhang Tan was ready to throw down his bowl, jump into battle with the little ones, and defend his honor—especially against that Xiaobai! She’d be made an example of, punished publicly and decisively.

Still, Xiaobai stuck out her tongue and made faces at him.

“Bleh bleh bleh bleh…”

She was locking horns with Zhang Tan, probably a fight to the death. As for the conflict being public, that was obvious—it had been exposed long ago.

“Bleh bleh bleh bleh…”

“Bleh bleh bleh bleh…”

…

It was endless. Several kids joined in, making faces and sticking out tongues.

Xiaobai’s ability to stir up trouble was impressive.

Zhang Tan: (▼皿▼#)

“Enough, enough, you’re all sweating. Back to the classroom, let’s watch TV.”

Teacher Xiao Liu herded the kids back to the classroom like a duck herder. She felt embarrassed for Zhang Tan.

“I’ll deal with you all after dinner!” Zhang Tan silently vowed, returning indoors, annoyed and nearly exasperated.

Taking a few deep breaths, he endured it, quickly finished dinner—tasting like sawdust—washed the dishes, and went upstairs to Aunt Huang’s office to ask about Xiaomi.

Aunt Huang was knitting small cloth shoes for the baby, the wife of Xiao Fang, her daughter-in-law, now five months pregnant, preparing ahead.

After hearing Zhang Tan’s inquiry, she said, “I called the police station the day before yesterday. They’re still looking for Xiaomi’s family. Tomorrow, I’ll visit the station to see if I can help.”

Zhang Tan nodded, “Good.”

With no resolution on Xiaomi’s matter, he would have to carry the “troublemaker” nickname forever. He regretted interfering in the first place—Xiaobai was a little troublemaker not to be trifled with.

As Confucius said, no matter who you offend, never offend a little woman.