Sunday night, and I finally add the commission transfers the way Business tell us to add a column of numbers. Not because I need a victory lap. I need to know whether the prices I quote still match the work I actually do.
The total come out near six thousand yuan. That sound like a clean business story if you say it fast. Up close it is a pile of small jobs: badges, keychain faces, one character redraw three times because the hair have to be shorter. Each payment arrive with a polite message and a file name that look more professional than my desk.
For a long time I treat the price as a guess I hope nobody will argue with. If someone hesitate, I drop the number. If someone pay quickly, I wonder whether I ask too little. That is not pricing. That is negotiate against yourself before the other person even start.
Business class have words for this. Cost is paper, time, and the Maths homework that wait while I fix an ear. Price is what someone agree to swap. Value is what they think they got after the third revision. I used to confuse those three on purpose, because call my time a cost feel like I am dramatic about a hobby. The spreadsheet do not care whether I feel dramatic. It only show that three revisions on a “cheap” commission can cost more than one careful full-body for a higher fee.
So I rewrite the list. Bust, half body, full body. Revision rounds included up to a point, then a clear extra. I am not pretend this is a company. I am sixteen and the commissions folder still live next to ESL notes. But six thousand yuan is enough evidence that people buy a conversation with a pencil, not a random pretty file, and that conversation need a number I can say without flinching.
Tonight I put the new prices in the same note I send when someone ask. The total do not make me an economist. It make me less willing to apologise for the hour before I even open the sketchbook.