Chapter 18: Submission

On the other side.

After leaving the Xiao family, the mother and son parted ways.

Taking advantage of today’s market day, when there were many selling chicks, Tian Run’e planned to buy twelve feathered chicks to take home.

In rural areas, many families saved money by hatching their own eggs.

However, the Li family, skilled at raising pigs and cattle, seemed to have less luck with chickens, ducks, and geese.

Not only was the hatch rate low, but the survival rate was heartbreakingly poor; out of twelve chicks, only five or six usually survived.

Because of this, neighbors in the village often joked: “Heaven has eyes—that’s only fair; you can’t have everything go your way, Li family!”

Li Heng had a clear goal and headed straight for the newsstand beside the old bus station.

He was looking for the submission addresses for literary magazines.

As expected, although Qianzhen was just a small town, not even a small city, the newsstand carried all the expected magazines.

The variety was even more complete than he had imagined.

Before long, Li Heng found the submission addresses for many famous literary journals such as People’s Literature, Harvest, October, Contemporary, and Flower City.

The newsstand owner, a man of about fifty with a sparse mustache, noticed Li Heng flipping through magazines one after another, even taking notes, but never buying anything, and grew impatient.

Tapping his dry tobacco pipe, he said, “Hey, kid, this isn’t a library. These magazines are for sale. If you flip through them all worn out, how am I supposed to sell them? Are you buying or not? If not, go somewhere else—don’t block the way here.”

Hearing the unfriendly words, Li Heng, feeling a bit guilty, didn’t mind. Instead, he picked up a copy of Story Club.

“Uncle, how much is this?” he asked.

Still somewhat annoyed, the man replied casually, “Thirty cents.”

Li Heng counted out three ten-cent notes from his pocket and handed them over. “One copy, please.”

Seeing him pay with real money, the man’s attitude softened considerably. Taking the cash, curiosity got the better of him, and he asked, “Why are you copying so many submission addresses?”

“Oh, that,” Li Heng said with a smile, “I had a dream yesterday afternoon that I became a great writer, so today I’m trying my luck.”

The man puffed on his pipe, scrutinizing Li Heng from every angle. Seeing such a young fellow indulging in daydreams, his eyelids drooped in disinterest.

The post office was just across the street from the old bus station.

Crossing over, Li Heng entered the post office hall, suddenly feeling a bit troubled. Due to time constraints, he had prepared only two manuscripts of the first 40,000 words of “To Live.”

Having copied down so many submission addresses for famous writers, he was suddenly overwhelmed by choice.

In his previous life, he loved reading and occasionally wrote articles published in newspapers. He had heard of the “Big Four” literary journals—Contemporary, Flower City, October—but only by hearsay.

Not being part of the literary circle, he lacked deep understanding of each magazine’s preferences and character.

Most importantly, because so much time had passed, he couldn’t recall which magazine Chen Xiaomi worked for.

His reason for submitting his work was not only to earn money to improve his family’s situation and gain fame to change the disgraceful “Ximen Qing” image, but also to vent some resentment.

Where exactly did Chen Xiaomi work? After rummaging through his memory for a long time with no clue, Li Heng felt a bit disheartened.

For a moment, he impulsively wanted to run back and grab Chen Zitong to ask which unit her aunt worked in.

But just as the thought arose, he dismissed it. It wasn’t worth the trouble; he’d leave it to fate.

Besides, Chen Zitong had been nicknamed “Little Loach” since childhood—slippery and hard to fool, especially given the current feud between the Chen and Li families.

Anyway, as long as it didn’t cause a butterfly effect or change history, with the tremendous fame of “To Live,” Chen Xiaomi would eventually discover that the Li family had produced a true dragon.

After much deliberation over the submission addresses, Li Heng decided to send to People’s Literature and Harvest.

He had heard the most rumors about People’s Literature; allegedly backed by the National Literature Publishing House, it held a unique and prestigious position in China’s literary world—like a wealthy heir born with a golden key.

For an ambitious young man like him, it was an obvious choice.

As for Harvest—well, no particular reason; he simply liked the name. “Harvest” sounded auspicious.

Having made up his mind, Li Heng chose a pen name: “Never Too Late.”

To ensure security and speed, he splurged and sent the two manuscripts separately by parcel post.

To avoid mixing up People’s Literature and Harvest, he triple-checked the parcels before sending and attached a note at the end: “If interested in publication, please reply with contact phone number.”

Thinking that school would start the day after tomorrow in Shao City, he did not use his own home address for the return address but filled in the English teacher’s home address and landline number.

He chose the English teacher’s because, in his memory, she lived at the school, close to his class, was kind to him, and naturally trustworthy.

When filling in the English teacher’s landline number, he silently thanked heaven that he could still recall the first phone number he ever memorized in life.

885708.

He could remember it as surely as a first love’s number—a lifelong secret tucked away quietly in his heart without deliberate recollection.

Watching the two parcels taken by the staff, Li Heng suddenly felt a subtle worry: Would submitting the same manuscript to multiple places offend someone?

In the future, who would dare do such a reckless thing? Editors would teach you a lesson in no time, blacklisting you immediately.

But then his concern dissipated. Nowadays, the submission environment was relaxed, and information didn’t flow freely. As an unknown nobody, no one would even know if he submitted to multiple places.

Even if they found out, they would probably understand; after all, he was a complete novice—ignorance is bliss.

Or perhaps, they simply wouldn’t care.

Of course, if he became famous someday, he definitely couldn’t do this anymore—it would be taboo.

Leaving the post office, Li Heng instinctively went to the agricultural market.

In his impression, Tian Run’e often liked to shop there because the variety within the same category was wide, allowing for comparisons and bargaining.

After searching around, he indeed found her in the clothing section.

“Xuemei, we’re old acquaintances. I often buy clothes from you. Can this outfit be any cheaper?”

Walking over, he saw his mother carefully feeling a white casual suit, inspecting it meticulously, not missing a single stitch or seam.

“Run’e, this is already the best discount. Precisely because we’ve been old friends for decades, I didn’t even ask for a price. Look at the style, feel the fabric. Can you get something like this for thirteen yuan anywhere else?”

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