Luo Xiaolu followed the real estate agent into a villa.
“This is the community’s most popular layout—three floors, around 300 square meters. Monthly rent is only 6,000 yuan, six-month minimum lease, with a discount for a full year.”
“The first-floor living room has a floor-to-ceiling window leading to the second floor. Great natural light, and the curtains are remote-controlled…”
The agent launched into his professional spiel—and once he started, he wouldn’t stop.
“I can see that.”
Luo Xiaolu cut him off and began examining the place herself.
Truth be told, her housing expectations weren’t high—after all, it was just her and Xiao Tang. But this community seemed to have no smaller villas available.
The first floor featured a fully equipped kitchen and bathroom. The central living room was massive—over three times the size of her current apartment—giving Xiao Tang a far more comfortable gaming space.
The second floor held three bedrooms; the third, a study and storage room.
Back on the first floor, pushing open the rear door revealed a small garden—the community’s biggest selling point.
Potted plants lined the perimeter. A swing sat center-stage beside a round table.
Just standing there, Luo Xiaolu could already sense the artistic vibe.
“OK, I’ll take it!” she declared.
…
“Regarding the copyright fee for *Your Lie in April*, the author is asking for one million yuan. Thoughts?”
Chief Editor Cucumber scanned the meeting room.
Even a giant like Tencent had to take seven-figure copyright fees seriously in China’s still-developing novel industry. Upper management had tasked him with this preliminary discussion.
“The original budget was 500,000 yuan. Even with adjustments, this is absurd!” Deputy Editor Watermelon said.
“Absurd? They’re clearly money-mad!”
“One million yuan? That’s shopping-spree freedom!” Tomato exclaimed.
“Right? My cart’s still full.”
“I meant brothels.”
“Get out!”
“…”
“Stay focused,” Cucumber said firmly. “This meeting shapes our recommendation—treat it seriously.”
Though not Luo Xiaolu’s assigned editor, Cucumber had championed every key decision for this book—and it never let him down. He cared deeply. He wanted the best outcome for author and company alike.
“The book’s popularity and potential are huge,” Big Wildcat reasoned, “but with a 5% cut from physical sales already, one million still feels high.”
“I loved this book,” Peony sighed. “I imagined the author as this refined literary figure… turns out they’re just chasing cash.”
“That’s not true!”
Green Leaf slammed the table and stood up.
All eyes locked onto her.
Her courage faltered instantly. Flustered, she gathered herself to speak—
“Enough judging the author. Focus on solutions.” Cucumber’s tone turned stern.
Green Leaf paused, unexpectedly moved.
“If we only publish physical books, it’s not worth it,” she said. “What about funding an anime adaptation?”
“I considered it,” Cucumber replied. “But BC Studio’s booked. Finding another partner quickly isn’t easy.”
The meeting stalled.
*Your Lie in April* had exploded—award-winning, beloved. Tencent Chinese Network secured rights, planned books and merch… a perfect win-win. Until Zhou Shuren, the author who refused to play by rules, threw everything off track.
Logically, even pushing to 600,000–700,000 yuan would’ve been reasonable. One million? Felt like a joke.
“Um… there’s another studio we’ve worked with,” Peony broke the silence.
“NB Studio?”
“Yes.”
Another heavy silence.
NB Animation Studio—the name alone spoke volumes.
Dubbed the “Pinduoduo” of anime for rock-bottom costs and insane output speed. To them, anime was pure mass production. Five or six series a year? No problem.
Their style? Let’s just say… *The Story of Lei Feng*, their “epic” 30-million-yuan PPT-style animation, says it all.
To be fair, visuals weren’t always crude—the real issues were careless adaptation, disrespect for source material, and efficiency obsession. Still, their projects turned profits.
Once, Tencent partnered with them to adapt a famous urban novel. When the anime dropped, the original author flew into a rage, took an overnight trip to Chiba City, grabbed a stool, and marched straight to Tencent’s office…
After that, Tencent vowed: never again.
Now, suggesting NB Studio meant accepting *Your Lie in April*’s adaptation would be… emotionally stirring (in the worst way). But cheap, profitable—and made the million-yuan fee slightly palatable.
“I’m in. NB Studio,” Big Wildcat said.
“No choice. We can’t drop *Your Lie in April*, nor burden the company.”
“Brilliant! Stools won’t hit *my* head…”
“I ob—”
Green Leaf started to protest, but Cucumber’s glare silenced her.
“Without this,” he said, voice edged with resignation, “the company will never approve one million yuan.”
Green Leaf fell quiet.
“Decision made,” Cucumber announced. “Acquire copyright for one million yuan. Publish physical books. Partner with NB Studio for anime adaptation. Submit the proposal upward.”
…
Days later, Luo Xiaolu’s phone rang.
“Teacher Zhou Shuren?”
“Teacher Green Leaf? What’s up?” Still groggy from sleep, Luo Xiaolu tried to sound alert.
“The company finalized the copyright! Congratulations—*Your Lie in April* is getting an anime adaptation!”
“Also, on behalf of Tencent Group, I invite you to next week’s signing ceremony co-hosted with NB Studio. Major media and executives will attend. Please be there!”
