After carefully reviewing the materials Bai Qingzhou had sent, Xia Xinghe adjusted the later parts of his plot and rewrote the outline.
Once the rewrite was done, he mustered the courage to bring it to Bai Qingzhou again. He was ready to be scolded harshly, but surprisingly, the feedback wasn’t bad.
“It’s… barely acceptable.”
Xia Xinghe had sent it to him the night before. When they met at Bai Qingzhou’s house the next day, Bai Qingzhou had already read everything. He had even printed it out and marked it up.
“I pointed out the parts that don’t make sense. Take a look.”
The printed outline was several pages long, with a few scattered comments. Xia Xinghe took it from Bai Qingzhou. Most of the issues were minor and could be easily fixed with some small revisions.
Bai Qingzhou said, “It’s much better than the illogical mess you wrote last time.”
Bai Qingzhou rarely complimented anyone, so for him to say something like that was quite rare. Xia Xinghe pouted and muttered a defiant response, “That was just a bad day. This is my normal level!”
But inside, he was sweetly pleased.
Since their falling-out, he hadn’t spoken to Bai Qingzhou in such a tone for a long time. He had always remained polite and cheerful, but that lively spark of his no longer appeared in front of Bai Qingzhou.
Yet now, his beautiful, round peach blossom eyes blinked at Bai Qingzhou, like a child seeking praise—especially captivating.
Bai Qingzhou’s Adam’s apple bobbed. Unable to resist, he reached out to ruffle Xia Xinghe’s light-colored hair—only to suddenly pull back the moment his fingers touched it.
“Not bad,” he said stiffly, turning his head. “Great author.”
His tone was cold, but the warmth of that touch lingered, and a subtle ambiguity quietly filled the space between them, refusing to dissipate.
……
During the serialization period that followed, Xia Xinghe continued his routine visits to take care of Bamboo. But unlike before, he no longer came just for Bamboo. Sometimes, he came specifically to see Bai Qingzhou, bringing new drafts for feedback—whether praise or criticism—which he would then revise based on his own thoughts.
From September of the previous year to January of the following year—five months passed. The weather grew colder, but the relationship between the two thawed like cracked ice, subtly changing. They even occasionally joked and bantered, laughing and playing with Bamboo together.
Only—neither of them ever brought up the past.
At the end of January, A Dog’s Life Among Humans concluded smoothly.
Xia Xinghe had started the story in autumn. The serialization spanned from bleak fall to the cold winter, but the readers’ enthusiasm didn’t fade with the seasons. Instead, it burned even brighter, like a raging fire in winter, ready to spread.
It was an unprecedented success. A Dog’s Life Among Humans quickly rose to the top of both the popularity and bestseller charts shortly after launch, and many readers left heartfelt, emotional long reviews.
Some praised the tension and vividness of his writing—how it felt like watching a movie or having a face-to-face conversation with the characters. Emotions shifted with the plot; they cried and laughed uncontrollably.
Others expressed gratitude for the story. Beyond the dog’s tale, the novel introduced them to the daily life, responsibilities, and struggles of doctors—making this sacred and mysterious profession feel more grounded and real.
One particularly emotional reader shared that after reading the story, they dreamed of their dog who had passed away years ago. They said they had always missed them, never forgotten, and Xia Xinghe’s detailed and realistic writing became the perfect comfort for their longing.
The connection through words reflected a deeper connection of the heart. Many comments brought Xia Xinghe to tears. This novel had been a bold attempt—and in return, it brought him immense emotion and fulfillment.
The finale was a grand event. It was as if the readers had coordinated ahead of time—long reviews poured in one after another, along with fan art and confessions of love. Influencer accounts even made videos to promote the story. Xia Xinghe’s Weibo crashed from the flood of messages, and even the hosting site lagged due to the sheer number of people online.
Before the final chapter, Xia Xinghe had informed his editor, Yanmai. As soon as it went live, a message from Yanmai popped up:
[Editor Yanmai: Author Bamboo!!! Congrats on finishing!!!]
[Editor Yanmai: Just so you know, a bunch of us editors have been following this one too. That dog really moved us!]
The last image was a meme made by a reader. It showed the stick-figure version of Xia Xinghe’s Weibo avatar, now with sunglasses and a big gold chain, and a bold red caption: “Bamboo is the coolest!”
Xia Xinghe couldn’t help but laugh, smiling as he replied with a simple “Thank you.” Then Yanmai got down to business.
[Editor Yanmai: By the way, good news. A few days ago, Guihe Film & TV contacted us—they’re interested in acquiring the drama rights for A Dog’s Life Among Humans.]
[Little Bamboo: !]
[Little Bamboo: Really!?]
Aside from reader feedback, selling adaptation rights is something many authors dream of. Naturally, Xia Xinghe was no exception—first, because writing was his full-time job and source of income; second, because he hoped his stories could take on new forms and reach a wider audience.
But adapting a work into a film or drama requires more than just popularity and stats—it also depends on industry standards, connections, and luck.
Xia Xinghe didn’t know anyone in the industry and liked writing grand fantasy scenes, which were difficult to adapt. Despite his good data, he had never sold any rights. So, having a production company reach out first felt unreal.
He was dazed, repeatedly asking Yanmai if they were joking. Yanmai’s replies gave him confidence and hope.
[Editor Yanmai: Of course it’s real! Who jokes about stuff like this?]
[Editor Yanmai: They already requested your manuscript from our copyright department for a second internal review.]
[Editor Yanmai: Judging by their attitude, I think it has a real chance!]
[Little Bamboo: Great!]
[Little Bamboo: Thank you so much, Editor!!!]
Filled with joy, Xia Xinghe thanked Yanmai again and felt like he was flying on a rocket—his mood soaring. He cheerfully packed up his bag and headed to Bai Qingzhou’s house to feed Bamboo, his steps light with excitement.
That day, Xia Xinghe left a bit earlier than usual. When he arrived, the lights in Bai Qingzhou’s house were on.
After half a year of getting along, their relationship was finally no longer awkward. While not exactly close, they could occasionally joke, chat a little, and could at least be considered acquaintances now.
At first, Xia Xinghe’s excuse for taking care of Bamboo was to find inspiration for his writing. But now that “A Dog’s Life Among Humans” was finished, he had gotten used to their daily companionship.
Xia Xinghe kept putting off the topic of leaving, and Bai Qingzhou didn’t bring it up either. The two of them silently continued with their previous arrangement—Xia Xinghe still looked after Bamboo’s daily needs.
When he arrived, Bamboo happily pounced on him, wagging its tail. Bai Qingzhou strolled out slowly and said, “You’re here?”
It was now winter, the time for bulking up, and after being raised for a few months, Bamboo had grown noticeably chubbier. It was also much more energetic, pouncing on Xia Xinghe so suddenly that he stumbled back. Xia Xinghe rubbed Bamboo and quickly wriggled free from its strong body, then nodded to Bai Qingzhou. “Yeah, I came to hang out with Bamboo.”
Bai Qingzhou had the day off and had already refilled Bamboo’s food. Xia Xinghe checked the food bowl, added a bit more water, and then started playing frisbee with Bamboo in the yard.
They say pets resemble their owners, and there’s definitely some truth to that. When Xia Xinghe first met Bamboo, it was aloof and unfriendly, much like Bai Qingzhou—indifferent and cold to strangers. But now, Bamboo seemed to have picked up Xia Xinghe’s straightforward and cheerful nature, becoming much more lively.
While the two played in the yard, Bai Qingzhou returned to his study.
Laughter mixed with barks drifted in from outside. Bai Qingzhou opened his laptop but hadn’t typed more than a few words before lifting his head to gaze out the window.
Xia Xinghe seemed especially happy at the moment. His eyes curved with joy, and the little dimples at the corners of his lips appeared faintly. He played excitedly with Bamboo, his hair damp with sweat, his smile pure and contagious.
That smile was so infectious that Bai Qingzhou couldn’t help but smile too. After a moment, he got up and walked back outside.
Xia Xinghe had been fully focused on Bamboo and didn’t notice Bai Qingzhou until much later. When he finally saw him watching from the side, he straightened up, caught his breath, and smiled a little shyly. “What’s up? Do you need something?”
There were beads of sweat still glistening on his face under the sunlight. Bai Qingzhou’s Adam’s apple moved slightly. He paused before asking, “Did something good happen?”
Xia Xinghe usually smiled often, but that day it seemed especially bright.
“Huh…?”
Xia Xinghe froze, thinking he had already suppressed his emotions well—he hadn’t expected Bai Qingzhou to notice. He hesitated, but since Bai Qingzhou had helped him a lot during the serialization process, it only made sense to share the news. So he told the truth.
“Yeah, there’s something good—let’s say it’s in the early stages.”
He smiled and explained the general situation, adding, “You really helped me a lot. If the adaptation rights actually sell, I’ll definitely treat you to a meal!”
“Wait a second—”
Before Bai Qingzhou could respond, Xia Xinghe suddenly remembered something. “But you’re probably busy. If you don’t want to go out, that’s fine. I could just buy Bamboo some more snacks instead. Honestly, there’s not much difference between treating you and treating Bamboo…”
“I’m free.”
Bai Qingzhou cut him off before he could finish.
Xia Xinghe blinked in surprise. Before he could react, Bai Qingzhou repeated, “I’m free to go out and eat.”
Xia Xinghe: “But aren’t you working on your thesis lately?”
“…”
Bai Qingzhou glanced at Bamboo, who was panting with its tongue out nearby, and said, “Bamboo is on a diet.”
Xia Xinghe was still confused: “But Bamboo isn’t even that heavy. He just has thick fur. At the last check-up, he was within a normal weight range. Or I could buy him some toys instead…”
“…”
Bai Qingzhou acted like he hadn’t heard that and simply skipped the topic.
He said in a flat tone, “You know my schedule. Just message me on WeChat.”
Xia Xinghe blinked.
Why did it suddenly feel like Bai Qingzhou was competing with Bamboo for attention?