Starting as a Manga Editor

Chapter 164: Pseudo-Painting Style

Unfortunately for Rumi—

Nothing actually happened.

Li Xue was just cupping Tang Yao’s cheeks while talking to her.

Tang Yao, for her part, was simply laughing, teasing Li Xue about something.

They looked really close, but nothing beyond that.

But then, when Tang Yao handed the coffee cup back to Li Xue, and Li Xue casually took a sip without a second thought—

Rumi had to revise her initial conclusion.

Actually… maybe there was something.

Whatever it was, though—this was really nice.

She looked at the two women chatting and smiling not far off, their happiness radiating so naturally, and after a moment of silence, she smiled softly. Whether it was romantic or not, having a bond like that was a beautiful thing.

And she could tell—they genuinely trusted each other. That kind of unspoken understanding, the way they worked together, hung out together, founded and ran a company together… one contributing money, the other effort…

It was something truly special.

Rumi sighed again with a tinge of envy, then recalled how she’d spent most of her life alone since childhood, and she fell quiet.

But she quickly pulled herself together.

Mostly because she had to—she was still crouched over with her butt sticking out behind the doorframe. Not exactly the most elegant posture.

A server finally approached her. “Excuse me, miss…”

“Ahem.”

Rumi snapped out of it and slowly straightened up. She took one last look at Tang Yao and Li Xue.

Forget it. Time to go.

She could observe them more carefully next time.

It wasn’t like she could keep squatting here forever.

Besides, she had plenty of material now for her side account. She could hardly wait to share the adorable new yuri couple she’d just “shipped” with her followers.

Yup.

Beautiful Boss x Gentle Employee!

That was sure to get rave reviews!

As she hurried off—completely forgetting to ask about the standalone volumes—her mind was already racing with excitement.

Yes.

Aside from being a mangaka—

She had another identity: a well-known yuri illustrator with over 100,000 followers on social media!

Sure, compared to her main account, that follower count was peanuts. But this account was her secret—one she ran behind her mother’s back.

And compared to her main account, which she only used for the occasional promo, she was way more into managing her alt.

Why go out of her way to run a yuri-themed side account?

Maybe it was just passion.

Or maybe… it was to fill an emotional void.

Rumi was actually the chatty type. Her lively conversation with Tang Yao earlier was proof of that. But growing up, she hadn’t had many chances for that kind of connection.

And as she got older, she became more and more used to it—used to being alone, yet afraid of getting too close to others.

So she poured some of her feelings into things that, to outsiders, probably seemed a little strange.

…

The next day—

Rumi’s mom arrived at Avalon.

She immediately launched into negotiations for the licensing and collab.

But Tang Yao didn’t need to handle it personally.

Li Xue dealt with the meeting.

Tang Yao, meanwhile, was busy saving a draft of Chainsaw Man and keeping an eye on the Dou Pai production pipeline.

Because the story used a fragmented narrative style, the plot hadn’t been fully laid out yet. Without the constraints of the original World of Warcraft setting, going with an anime-inspired style was totally fine.

However—

Without those constraints, they also had no existing reference. Everything had to be built from scratch.

In her past life, most of Hearthstone’s illustrations were commissioned individually, and then carefully selected afterward.

Even though the artists varied in style and skill, the art team still managed to maintain consistency—thanks to World of Warcraft’s established aesthetic as a baseline.

They didn’t have that luxury here.

And because Tang Yao had spent so many years immersed in Hearthstone’s Western fantasy aesthetic, it was a bit hard for her to imagine a new visual direction on the spot.

So naturally, the job fell to Chu Yuxin.

It’s not that Tang Yao didn’t want to copy Hearthstone’s art style—it would’ve been easier—but honestly, the Hearthstone look was just too Western. While not outdated per se, it lacked that IP backing. Suddenly throwing that at today’s players would probably get rejected.

Plus—

Without Warcraft backing it, suddenly having Avalon switch gears from anime-style girls to Western fantasy? That would be a massive leap.

And most importantly, this was China. Even if they planned to go global, they had to win over the domestic market first… so choosing an art style aligned with Eastern aesthetics was the safest move.

Unfortunately, that meant more work for Chu Yuxin.

But Tang Yao believed in her ability to pull it off.

“Boss…”

Speak of the devil.

Chu Yuxin came trotting over with her signature thick eyebrows furrowed, carrying a stack of concept drafts. She looked like she was on the verge of tears. “I drew a few more reference sheets. Can you take a look?”

In truth—

She’d already made several trips like this over the past few days, trying to nail down the game’s visual identity.

But every time, Tang Yao turned them down—something always felt a bit off.

“Alright.”

Tang Yao took the stack and flipped through it.

Overall—

Chu Yuxin had gone with a Japanese-Korean aesthetic: slender character builds, elegant and intricate designs leaning away from the Western style.

She used heavy linework to define structure and volume, with minimal gradient shading, giving it a strong two-dimensional look. Thanks to cultural preferences, this style was much more popular locally.

But Tang Yao still felt something wasn’t clicking. This flat, stylized approach might not suit a card game very well. It just didn’t… pop.

Hmm...

Seeing Tang Yao start to ponder, Chu Yuxin sensed the feedback wasn’t going to be positive. She hesitated, then asked, “You don’t think it works?”

“It’s really well drawn.”

Tang Yao snapped out of it and replied, “It’s just… how do I put it? It doesn’t seem to match the tone of the game.”

“Yeah, I kinda felt the same way,” Chu Yuxin nodded. “The game leans toward a Western fantasy feel—even with your fragmented storytelling approach, there’s still a mismatch between the lore and the art. But if we want to avoid having our two games look too different stylistically, I’m honestly out of ideas right now.”

Then—

After a short pause, she added, “I actually tried doing a painted style…”

“Huh?”

Tang Yao perked up. “Painted? You mean like—”

In art terms, “painted style” usually meant a more complete approach to composition, lighting, and color compared to flat coloring.

Artists used color blocks to render light and texture, aiming for a more realistic finish. Even if the characters were anime-inspired, painted versions would still maintain facial features while highlighting detailed structure.

To most people, it was just called—realism.

In Tang Yao’s past life, the most well-known painted-style artist was probably WLOP, the creator of Ghostblade. Most internet users had seen his work at least once.

“Yeah, but it’s a pain to do. Painting is hard. A lot of artists can’t even get the basics of shading with color blocks right—let alone stack layers strategically to highlight focal points or add realistic textures.”

Chu Yuxin sighed. “I mean, I can do it, but I definitely can’t handle it all by myself.”

“In that case, can I take a look at what you’ve done so far?”

Tang Yao nodded and reached out.

Chu Yuxin didn’t hesitate. She handed over the remaining sheets in her hand.

Tang Yao took her time examining them. After a long moment of silence, she said, “These are great, but yeah, it’s definitely too labor-intensive. And even if we could do it, I’m not sure the painted style fully suits our game. What about trying pseudo-painting instead?”

“Pseudo-painting?”

“Yeah.”

Tang Yao nodded.

Also known as “semi-painting,” pseudo-painting builds off flat coloring, borrowing the shading techniques of full painting to give the artwork more dimension.

Compared to real painted style, it doesn’t require hyper-realistic structure or intense effort. The colors are more vibrant, and the whole look leans into the dreamy aesthetic of 2D art. It combines the clarity of flat coloring with the depth of painted style.

Best of all—it’s way less work.

Before she crossed over, more and more illustrators and game artists had started using pseudo-painting. It was especially popular in the illustration and game concept art circles.

“How detailed do you want it to be?” Chu Yuxin asked curiously.

“...Hard to explain. I’ll just show you.”

Tang Yao paused, then reached for her stylus.