Chapter 46: Unconventional Author

"Clatter, clatter!"

"Woo~~~~"

A train slowly pulled into the Chengdu North Station. Its bulky body resembled a giant beast, and people streamed in and out through its open doors.

Having missed his usual train, Liu Wanbao returned a day late. Clutching a leather briefcase and carrying a rather unpleasant smell on him, he nonetheless looked vibrant, full of energy, and was enthusiastically waving goodbye to a group of people.

"I'm heading off first! Let's stay in touch!"

"I'll definitely write to you!"

Ah!

Liu Wanbao actually felt a lingering reluctance to part ways. He patted the unassuming little magazine tucked inside his leather briefcase. Thanks to this object, the journey had been easy, pleasant, and he had made a whole carriage-load of friends.

At first, he had just been reading it himself, then he passed it around the vicinity of his seat, and soon the entire carriage was passing it back and forth, almost getting permanently pocketed by some rascal.

Well, men will be men!

Inevitably fond of tales of swordplay and chivalrous romance, they naturally started animated discussions.

One claimed that Ding Mo definitely wasn't dead and must have learned martial arts after falling down a cliff; another insisted that Qi Tianyuan was an absolute badass, declaring that the thirty-six techniques of grappling sounded utterly overpowered; yet another swore that there was a true master in his hometown who could carry two huge buckets of water and scale a rooftop in a few effortless bounds without changing his facial expression...

Then they sighed in unison, agreeing that the secular world must be full of hidden dragons and crouching tigers!

In the land of Cathay, with its five thousand years of history, who could guarantee there weren't a few ancient immortals tucked away in the mountains?

With all this chatting, they were just one step away from slaying a chicken, burning yellow paper, and swearing oaths of brotherhood on the spot. In the end, they exchanged addresses, promising to keep in touch via letters—far more refreshing than the sluggish way people added each other on WeChat generations later.

In 1979, Chengdu consisted of only three districts: East City, West City, and Jinniu.

The first two were urban areas, while Jinniu was a vast suburb containing thirteen communes and a massive population.

Liu Wanbao was a cadre at the Jinniu District Cultural Center. This trip to Shanghai on official business was meant to study how the big city enriched the recreational lives of the masses. A metropolis indeed broadened one's horizons.

After getting off the train and taking a bus home, he felt something stirring restlessly within him, dying to break free. He seemed to have caught a spark of inspiration, his mind replaying everything from the train: those passionate, spittle-flying passengers who grew so heated at the climax of their chats that they wanted to shout and laugh out loud...

"Martial arts! The masses love it so much!"

"Damn it, why didn't I think of this sooner!"

Liu Wanbao suddenly saw the light, got off the bus halfway, and detoured to the cultural center.

The function of a cultural center was to propagate cultural knowledge and enrich the lives of the masses. Jinniu District was entirely rural, and the common folk had low levels of literacy, unable to appreciate high-brow publications like *People's Literature* or *Sprouts*.

"Old Liu? You just got back?"

"Why did you come straight to the office? You reek!"

"Oh, good stuff! I've found something truly good..."

Liu Wanbao pulled *Story Monthly* out of his bag and said excitedly, "It's this thing. Let's order it from the post office right away, then distribute it to the commune cultural stations, and find people to tell the stories to the folks. They will definitely love listening to it!"

"Calm down, calm down, let me take a look first!"

His colleague flipped open *Story Monthly* and silently absorbed himself in the stories. After a moment, he became even more excited than Liu Wanbao: "What a brilliant idea! We've been worrying about lacking suitable literary works to enrich the people's lives!

Here's what we'll do: order a smaller batch for each commune first to gauge the public's response, and if the feedback is good, we'll place a larger subscription later."

"Agreed, agreed, that's the best way."

The direct distribution of *Story Monthly* covered four regions: Shanghai, Jiangsu, Zhejiang, and Anhui. People elsewhere could also subscribe through the post office, as the magazine included addresses and contact information.

Filled with boundless energy and still unwilling to go home, Liu Wanbao sat down after pondering for a moment and simply wrote a letter to the author, A Qi, to be forwarded by the editorial office of *Story Monthly*.

The opening expressed his deep admiration, followed by his thoughts on reading *The Kapok Kasaya*, and concluded with: "Our Sichuan is also a place blessed with outstanding people and countless scenic wonders; Mount Emei, Mount Qingcheng, and the Leshan Giant Buddha are famous nationwide.

You are most welcome to visit and travel through Bashu, and we will certainly sweep our sleeping mats clean to welcome you.

Furthermore, if we might have the honor, we would be overjoyed to see you create a novel based on Sichuan's famous mountains, great rivers, and ancient temples... Of course, this is just a selfish little thought of mine, please forgive me..."

After finishing the letter, Liu Wanbao went straight to the post office to mail it and placed a subscription for sixty copies of *Story Monthly*.

…………

Shanghai's alleyways (*longtang*) shared the same nature as Beijing's sprawling courtyard compounds; multiple households crammed into a dozen square meters, with pots, pans, and clotheslines everywhere, while water sources and toilets were shared.

Every household had a chamber pot, and the very first thing done every morning was emptying it.

Beijingers were particular, but Shanghainese were no less so. Do not underestimate these tiny chamber pots; they involved profound etiquette. A poor family's pot might just be a wooden bucket with a lid, while a wealthy family's would feature copper hoops, gold lacquer, or even carved patterns.

According to Jiangnan customs at the time, a daughter's dowry absolutely had to include red-lacquered chamber pots in three sizes—large, medium, and small—known as "descendant buckets," which showed their significance.

In the afternoon, school let out.

A young boy returned to the alleyway in low spirits.

"Baobao, who bullied you?" his mother asked while stir-frying dishes.

"No one."

"Then why are you unhappy?"

"..."

The boy pouted for a moment and then said loudly, "Everyone else knows the 'Death-Defying Overlord Spear,' but I don't! Everyone else plays at beating up bad guys with Arhat Boxing, but I don't know how!"

???

His mother was full of question marks and didn't pay much attention.

After a while, his father came home. Grabbing some toilet paper, he made a beeline for the toilet. The young boy hesitatingly stepped forward and asked, "Dad, can your workplace subscribe to *Story Monthly*?"

"What *Story Monthly*?"

"My classmate's dad bought it. It's so good. They've all read it, and I had a hard time just borrowing it for a day."

With that, he fished a small magazine out of his schoolbag.

"Our work unit has strict standards for ordering magazines... Oh, let me use the bathroom first..."

Unable to hold it any longer, the old man casually took the magazine, rushed into the public restroom, and didn't come out.

A full forty minutes later, the father emerged, his posture hunched, rubbing his legs and trembling as he said, "Subscribe! Subscribe for a whole year!"

…………

"Where is the editor-in-chief? Where is he?"

"What's all this panic about?"

"It's a big deal!"

Not long after the September issue of *Story Monthly* hit the stands, the comrade in charge of distribution was running frantically through the small building. He finally caught the editor-in-chief in the restroom and, paying no heed to the fact that the man was in the middle of urinating, blurted out:

"Are there any copies of the September issue left? Several newsstands at the Shanghai railway station have completely sold out. Demand far exceeds supply!"

"Speak slowly, what's going on?"

"They're completely sold out! The passenger transport stations are sold out too! This issue is selling astonishingly well, and the newsstands are giving us rave reviews, all demanding more copies!"

"Editor-in-chief! Editor-in-chief!"

As he spoke, another fellow burst in: "Hahaha! Suzhou, Wuxi, Hangzhou, Ningbo—all out of stock!"

"How many are we short?"

"By my rough calculation, at least thirty thousand copies!"

Hiss!

The editor-in-chief shuddered, instantly spraying six feet high.

Last year, *Story Monthly* was still called *Revolutionary Stories*, and its monthly circulation was only tens of thousands of copies. It reverted to its original name early this year and began publishing popular fiction. Sales had been on the rise, and the current monthly circulation had reached around 200,000 copies.

An immediate reorder of 30,000 copies meant an increase of nearly one-sixth.

"Where is the editor-in-chief??"

A third fellow ran in, equally jubilant. This bathroom break was turning out to be quite eventful!

"Chengdu! Chengdu has placed an order!"

"A cultural center directly ordered 60 copies, plus a bunch of individual subscriptions. It adds up to over a hundred copies."

Damn it!

Their business had even expanded all the way to Chengdu! Tugging up his trousers and disregarding whether he had finished peeing or not, the editor-in-chief waved a hand grandly: "Meeting!"

Soon, the editors of *Story Monthly* gathered together.

When the distribution staff announced the situation, the editors grinned from ear to ear. "Paper is running out in Luoyang! Paper is running out in Luoyang!"

"We only featured one new novel, *The Kapok Kasaya*, and it's obvious it directly drove up circulation. Xiao He, that author will be your responsibility. Make sure you handle the relationship well."

"We could invite him to Shanghai as a guest and treat him well."

"Hey, that's a great idea!"

"Comrades!"

The veteran editor-in-chief remained the calmest, tapping on the table. "We've only just emerged from a difficult period; it wasn't easy. Now that the momentum looks good, once our circulation breaks 300,000, I think we can consider holding a writers' workshop or a story-telling conference—some kind of event to close the distance between authors, ourselves, and the readers."

"Yes, yes, a writers' workshop must be held!"

"Only by holding a writers' workshop can we prove we're a major publishing house!"

Everyone chimed in, chattering away and daydreaming about a bright future.

A Qi had single-handedly driven up sales, but not a single person mentioned raising his manuscript fee.

In this era, manuscript fees were fixed. A publishing house could wine and dine an author or treat them to sightseeing tours, but talking about raising manuscript fees or increasing royalties was completely out of the question!

Take Zheng Yuanjie, for instance. His early manuscript fees were meager, yet he noticed that any issue of a magazine featuring his novels would sell exceptionally well. Full of confidence, he approached the publishing house to demand more money.

The publishing house asked, "How can you prove that your work caused the increase in sales?"

Zheng Yuanjie said, "It's simple. Let me be your sole contributor, and you'll find out whether circulation is tied to me or not."

The publishing house thought: *Is this guy crazy?*

Later, Zheng Yuanjie fulfilled his wish by founding *King of Fairy Tales*, becoming his own sole contributor. Though he worked himself to the bone every day, he indeed earned a fortune, eventually buying ten houses in Beijing just to store readers' letters.

One of those houses was burglarized by a thief, who was subsequently sentenced to 12 years in prison.

…………

The September issue of *Story Monthly* achieved an unexpected yet entirely logical bestseller status.

It spread rapidly across the Jiangnan region, with occasional copies spilling over into other provinces. Yet nobody realized that *The Kapok Kasaya* was the very first martial arts novel to appear in mainland China following the reform and opening up.

In this era, a clear distinction was made between "writers" (*zuojia*) and "authors" (*zuozhe*). A true writer first had to join the Writers Association, which would organize a panel of critics to hold discussion seminars on your work, analyze its significance, and then publish it—you had to go through all of that before you could be called a writer.

Otherwise, you were merely an author.

Chen Qi was just an author—and a writer of popular fiction at that, thoroughly looked down upon by the mainstream literary establishment. Naturally, no one bothered to study his work.

Neither *Story Monthly* nor *The Kapok Kasaya* caused the slightest ripple in mainstream literary circles, nor did the mainstream deign to pay attention to a shoddy little magazine—at least, not until they felt threatened.