35. Payday!

Zhang Tan now spent his mornings with the project team and his afternoons back at the office. In truth, he had little else to do; the studio, knowing he was shadowing the team, generally didn't assign him other tasks.

Mornings with the team were quite leisurely as well. Director Li had told him to manage his own time, which essentially meant he could come and go as he pleased. However, considering the potential impact, Zhang Tan felt it unwise for a newcomer to appear lazy; rather, he should project an image of diligence and eagerness to learn. Besides, he genuinely wanted to understand the production process of an animation—watching from the sidelines was entirely different from participating firsthand.

Waking from his nap, the room was quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioner. Zhang Tan habitually glanced at the corner opposite him; it was empty. Luo Ming had not returned for lunch again today.

He stretched, rose from his folding cot, packed away his bedding, and headed to the restroom to splash his face with water. Feeling refreshed, he wandered through the main hall. Everyone was busy with their own tasks: some were drawing, others were crafting 3D models, and some were hand-sculpting anime figurines. Zhang Tan couldn't help but stop and watch.

"Looking good?" the producer suddenly looked up and asked with a grin.

"..." Zhang Tan replied, "Exquisite craftsmanship. I am impressed."

The person before him was Liu Dawen, an acquaintance of Zhang Tan who worked as a figure designer. In his hands was a three-headed, six-armed anime character. It wasn't finished, but the fierce, terrifying, yet wickedly aesthetic quality was already apparent, which was what had drawn Zhang Tan in. On his desk sat numerous figurines—some completed, some half-finished, some discarded, some human, some animal, some cute, some grotesque.

"Sigh," Liu Dawen breathed out, tossing the partially carved, fearsome figurine onto the table.

"What's wrong? Is it ruined?" Zhang Tan asked curiously.

Liu Dawen nodded. "Didn't get it right. Look here..." He picked up the figurine and pointed out the flaws to Zhang Tan. There wasn't just one; there were several.

"If you hadn't pointed them out, I wouldn't have known these parts were wrong," Zhang Tan said. "It should still be usable, right?"

Liu Dawen looked at him and sighed, "If I had never seen the sun, perhaps I could have endured the darkness." His pretentious delivery made Zhang Tan’s skin crawl.

"Do you want it? It's yours," Liu Dawen said, handing him the figurine.

"Is that really okay?"

"It's fine. Take it and play with it; otherwise, I’m just going to destroy it anyway."

Zhang Tan took it and toyed with it; it was small and compact, fitting perfectly in his palm. "Which anime is this character from?" he asked.

Liu Dawen rummaged through the table full of figures and replied, "I designed it myself."

"Impressive. Thanks, I’m heading off."

"Hey, Zhang Tan, come here, come over here..." Liu Dawen called him back mysteriously, his eyes darting around as if afraid of being overheard.

Zhang Tan: "?"

Liu Dawen scanned the area again to ensure no one was paying attention. He bent over, reached into his work bag, and pulled out a stunningly alluring figurine. He winked at Zhang Tan, whispering, "Top-tier, right?"

Zhang Tan had to admit, "Smoking hot."

Liu Dawen was very satisfied, boasting, "This is my Aliz. You are the second man to ever see her true form."

"Oh? Really?"

"Truly. I’ve never shown her to any other man."

"I am honored."

Liu Dawen stared at him for a few moments to confirm he wasn't being sarcastic before proudly displaying the figure in its entirety. "Perfect, isn't she?"

"Perfect," Zhang Tan agreed. "Is her name Aliz? Looking at her appearance, isn't she of Eastern descent? Why the foreign name?"

Liu Dawen paused, as if he had never considered the question. "You make a good point. Yeah, perhaps I should give her a Chinese name. Since I’m already asking, Zhang Tan, you’re a screenwriter—you must be an expert at naming things. Any good suggestions? It needs to have historical allusion and depth, none of those trendy, generic names."

Zhang Tan pondered for a moment. "I do have a knack for naming. Look at her: draped in phoenix robes, elegant in temperament, with a fiery figure. She seems aloof, yet her eyes are full of compassion—clearly a true friend to humanity. There is one name that suits her perfectly."

Liu Dawen was very interested. "What name?"

"Feng Jie!"

...

After bestowing the moniker of "Sister Feng" upon Liu Dawen’s goddess, Zhang Tan returned to his office, closed the door, and struggled to stifle a laugh. He placed the fearsome, grotesque figurine on his desk and set the second one beside it.

The second one had been a "bonus" for coming up with the name for Aliz. It was another female character with a similarly smoking-hot physique: long-legged, wearing tight black pants that revealed a slender waist, a full bust, a devastatingly beautiful face, and a defiant gaze. She wore a black robe and held a long blade, appearing both sexy and dangerous.

He admired them on his desk for a while, only tucking them away when he heard a knock at the door. If someone caught him admiring such racy figures in his office, they would surely think him a pervert.

"Come in."

It was Liu Dawen. "Zhang Tan, I think the name 'Feng Jie' is brilliant. Now that she has a name, she needs a character profile. Do you have a moment? Could you whip one up for her?"

Recalling the person from his memory, Zhang Tan blurted out, "She is maverick, confident, and flamboyant. She loves to study and is self-taught in English..."

After dismissing Liu Dawen, Zhang Tan finally decided to get some real work done, but the moment he opened his email, he received a thrilling message: *Payslip!*

He thought about it; he had been working at the Pujiang Film Studio for over a month. He clicked on the payslip, which contained various line items: base salary, project bonus 1, project bonus 2, monthly reward, total gross pay, housing provident fund, pension fund...

Zhang Tan quickly locked onto the base salary line: 8,000. This was no surprise; it had been negotiated upon hiring. In a massive city like Pujiang, this base salary was on the lower-middle end.

The project bonuses, however, were a pleasant surprise. Project bonus 1 was 7,800. This was for the *Under Mount Tianyu* project; Zhang Tan had written a pet character and assisted Luo Ming with several script episodes. Receiving 7,800 yuan exceeded his expectations.

But the big one was project bonus 2. This project was, naturally, *The Lampbearer*. 30,000. Zhang Tan specifically counted the zeros—it was exactly 30,000. The monthly award was 4,800. Zhang Tan had been named "Employee of the Month," earning the highest tier of the monthly bonus.

All told, his salary for his first month at Pujiang Film Studio was 50,600.

He brewed a fresh cup of tea and put on some energetic music to celebrate, but soon, Zhang Tan calmed down slightly. Firstly, this salary couldn't compare to his life before transmigrating. Back then, he didn't take a salary; he worked on a commission basis based on projects. Once a script was made into a film, he received a percentage of the box office as previously agreed. He had also written TV dramas, where he was paid per episode rather than through commissions. After his first nomination for Best Screenwriter, he could earn 200,000 per episode, with an annual income in the tens of millions.

Screenwriters and authors both play with words, but the income in the screenwriting industry was significantly higher. In the literary field, on average, screenwriters were the highest-earning group. Compared to those days, a monthly salary of 50,000-plus wasn't much.

Secondly, the reason Zhang Tan earned over 50,000 this month was because he had worked on two projects, especially *The Lampbearer*, which accounted for 30,000. It seemed like a lot, but in reality, it was quite low for writing over 20 episodes. Of course, this was related to Zhang Tan’s current lack of fame and the fact that it was an adaptation of a manga, which was less demanding and thus commanded a lower screenwriting fee.

Reflecting on this, he realized that for a screenwriter, the true financial potential lay in the projects. Without projects, a monthly salary of 8,000 would make living in Pujiang quite difficult.