Chapter 97 Chapter 97
I met Xia Qing at a small restaurant near Myeongdong. It was a reservation-only Japanese yakitori restaurant, mostly students from nearby universities. The prices weren't high, but the quality was excellent. It wasn't a big place, so even when it was full, there were only three or four tables of people.
Everything from the wooden grill to the open cooking counter was meticulously maintained, ensuring both delicious food and a certain degree of privacy. They sat at the back. The owner was an elderly Japanese man who spoke Korean with a slight accent.
Soon after they sat down, they were served the pre-ordered platter and a pot of grapefruit tea. Xia Qing, as usual, ate and talked non-stop.
She'd secured a summer internship at a sub-division of Samsung Electronics' overseas business division, and was expected to start in mid-June. "It's something related to market research and brand localization," she explained, between a mouthful of rice balls.
"But for an intern at my level, I basically just organize the documents." "There are many seniors in this department who are direct seniors, and they are basically all contracted by our major. The reason I know they are recruiting interns is because
A senior who just joined last year told me in advance." She lowered her voice, her expression slightly excited. "And I heard that some groups, if they happen to be advancing projects,
There's even the possibility of going on a business trip to Tokyo or Osaka with the team leader." "Even though it's just chores, it wouldn't be nice to have some fun at the same time, right?" "Wow, that's great~" Lia listened carefully and couldn't help but sigh.
Xia Qing had always been sociable. Since entering university, she'd met all sorts of eccentric people, connecting with seniors from different grades and majors. Having these and other connections wasn't unusual. "Oh, right."
She seemed to suddenly remember something and put down her chopsticks. "What's wrong?" Lia was a little confused. Xia Qing rummaged through her canvas bag for a while.
He took out a stack of developed photos and handed them over: "Here, senior Park Dong-woo asked me to give them to you. They were taken during the photography club's field trip last year." "How did you run into him?" Lia was surprised.
She'd been busy with off-campus work, and when she returned, she'd mostly been immersed in classes. After all that, the photos she'd asked him to develop hadn't been returned. But Xia Qing wasn't in the same school as them, so she couldn't imagine they'd have any connection.
"I...I went to a social gathering and ran into them," Xia Qing stammered. Lia was unwrapping the transparent packaging surrounding the photo and leaned in closer upon hearing this. "Social gathering?"
Xia Qing waved her hands hurriedly: "It's not what you think! Anyway... there is no result." Lia said "Oh~~" teasingly, but did not embarrass her anymore.
"Have you seen this photo? I took you the other day—" She paused. At the bottom of the stack of photos was a soft-toned portrait. It wasn't of the hillside on that spring outing, nor was it any other photoshoot she remembered participating in.
That was her high school classroom. In the photo, she was hunched over her desk, writing something with her head down, the tip of her pen resting on her exercise book, her eyebrows and eyes outlined in a quiet manner by the setting sun.
Light filtered through the scattered branches outside the window, casting dappled shadows on the tabletop, a faint, warm golden hue. She suddenly remembered what Choi Ji-eun had said when she was adjusting her camera that day during her field trip: "There was already film inside."
She didn't think much of it at the time, thinking it was just an accessory that came with the camera when Yu Seung-ho bought it for her. It turned out that was also a gift. This photo was the gift.
She gently brushed the edge of the photo with her fingertips, as if trying to verify whether she was actually the person in the photo. It was a familiar scene, so familiar that she could even remember the branches of the beech tree outside the window. Yet, she suddenly felt a sense of alienation.
It was like watching time slip by for another person, another group of people. "...Xiao Yu sent me a message a few days ago." Xia Qing looked at her reaction, guessing something, and carefully studied her expression as she spoke.
She had heard about the "calm down" thing, but feelings are never something that can be explained in a few words. "What did he say?" "He asked me if I'd seen you recently. I said no, and he didn't say anything else." "That's it."
Seeing her uncertain expression, Xia Qing hesitated for a moment, but couldn't help asking, "So...did you break up?" Lia paused and put the photo down. "Yeah." "Actually, we met once at the TV station."
He was probably here to film a promotional video for a movie, and they bumped into each other in the elevator. He was accompanied by a staff member, so thankfully, they just nodded to each other, avoiding any awkwardness. "But we didn't get to talk," she added.
"So we're really not going to reconcile?" Xia Qing was puzzled. Lia shook her head. "I've actually thought about the problems between us. That incident was just the trigger." She would think about these things when she couldn't sleep.
The phone call she'd made to him on the rooftop, and even earlier than that—the moment he or she had noticed something was wrong and tried to fix it. And everything before that.
"That day I tried to say something...that I thought would comfort him." "But after I said it, I realized that what I gave was still an explanation, a background, and a sorted out cause and effect." That was her.
When faced with a situation, she always instinctively analyzed it first and then dealt with it. The rationality that he cared about most, which seemed to always override their emotions, was precisely her most natural reaction.
Whether it was innate, or an instinct developed from starting her independent life too early, it was already embedded in her flesh and blood, impossible to separate. "Fundamentally, we have different understandings of intimacy."
She paused, her fingertips drawing a meaningless circle on the table.
"He believes that relationships are based on mutual dependence. The calmer I am, the more insecure he will feel." She raised her head and looked at Xia Qing, "But I can't keep pretending to be someone else."
"So... our differences are actually unsolvable." They both knew this. They handed each other a questionnaire with no standard answers, but each waited for the other to write down their preset answers.
Xia Qing supported her chin and sighed deeply. Matters of the heart were too complicated, so she was better off eating some meatballs.
Thinking of this, she casually picked up a takoyaki and stuffed it into her mouth with a groan, then patted Lia's shoulder heavily to express her comfort. Lia smiled and shook her head, then snatched the second takoyaki she had picked up and swallowed it blatantly.
After saying goodbye to Xia Qing, Lia didn't return to school immediately. It was just getting dark, and the streets were bustling with people, their headlights flickering on and off. She suddenly felt like taking a walk to clear her mind.
She had hardly had a real rest in the past few months, and her body honestly reflected the fatigue of working non-stop. When she came, she had already decided to give herself a week off and do nothing except attend classes.
She continued walking slowly along the main street. Seoul's spring weather was chilly, and the breeze, carrying a subtle dampness, seemed to clear her mind. As she reached a street corner, her phone dinged; a text message arrived.
It was a bank deposit notification. Lia glanced down and paused. She glanced around; no one noticed her.
She brought her phone closer, counted the zeros at the end a few more times, then took a deep breath. Only one sentence popped into her mind: It seemed like she was going to get rich.
Her income previously came primarily from the Composers Guild's quarterly royalty payments, based on the frequency of use of registered works, with YG filing and collecting payments on her behalf. YG took a 30% cut of this revenue, leaving her with the remaining 70% net.
In addition, there are also
As a special consultant to the program production team, she participated in some of the song selection, contestant coaching and content arrangement. The money was compiled according to the number of episodes of the program and paid in bulk by the program outsourcing company.
This time, the money that arrived was from her recently added source of income - YouTube advertising revenue.
The channel is independently registered and operated by her. The content doesn't involve company resources or brand endorsements, so this portion is classified as "non-copyright income" in the contract, and YG takes a uniform 5% cut. The rest goes to her.
The channel has only been online for two months, but its growth has far exceeded expectations. Her videos have a high completion rate and reach a highly targeted audience. Especially in the past month, after the platform's algorithm began to steadily push content, the number of views has increased almost exponentially.
YouTube's revenue mechanism is essentially traffic-driven: as long as the channel enables revenue-generating functions, all forms of advertising that appear before and during the video can be converted into basic income for the creator.
The higher the number of views and the longer the audience stays, the higher the income. Even if her videos do not have any additional brand placement or commercial cooperation, the income from the rapid growth of views alone is far beyond her imagination.
She stood on the sidewalk, cars passing by on the street, her phone screen quietly lit, like a silent but tangible medal. Money is not the first priority, but it is very important.
Survival requires money, and creation requires money. Equipment, software, venues, collaboration... everything costs money. A narrative without a material foundation might work, but it won't be sustainable.
This was perhaps a milestone—she was beginning to shed the narrative shells of "talent" and "accident," regaining control of her own voice. She put away her phone and continued walking, her steps becoming more brisk.
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