Feeling dejected, Rong Zheng settled the bill and was about to leave the bookshop when he heard a tall, gentle-looking man of about twenty, dressed in a long gown washed pale and holding a thick stack of paper, plead:
"Shopkeeper Sun, is there no room for discussion? Could you take another look at my story?"
Shopkeeper Sun shook his head in refusal. "You should try some other bookshops. This book really isn't suitable for us."
The man refused to give up. "Could you print a dozen or so copies to see how readers respond?"
Shopkeeper Sun waved a hand. "Printing even one copy costs several dozen copper coins. If not a single copy sells, we could lose what we spent. Young Master Feng, I hope you understand!"
The man looked forlorn. Knowing there was no hope, he could only ask, "Shopkeeper Sun, I spent a long time finishing this story. Could-could you give me some advice?"
Seeing that the man was no longer pestering him, Shopkeeper Sun paused before saying, "Your story includes the elements currently in fashion, and your wording and sentence construction are appropriate.
"To be honest, it's well written. But there are already enough stories of this kind on the market. Readers who enjoy this type of story prefer to buy works by popular authors, believing their quality is assured.
"For your story to stand out, it needs more originality before we'll consider publishing it." His words offered praise first, then criticism.
Young Master Feng could do nothing about it. After thanking him sincerely, he took his leave. Rong Zheng followed him and called out to him not far from the entrance:
"Brother, my name is Rong Zheng. I'm a scholar. I overheard your conversation with Shopkeeper Sun while buying study supplies just now."
The man asked in puzzlement, "Is there something you need?"
"I'd like to read your story." Worried that the man might think he intended to steal its contents, he quickly added, "Don't worry. I don't write stories, but I have some original ideas and would like to find someone to write them with me."
The man remained silent, half convinced and half doubtful.
Rong Zheng said, "Brother, do you have some time? There's a tea stall across the street. Let me treat you to some tea and tell you a little about my idea."
The man looked at the unsold story in his hands, then thought of how his family could barely afford food. There was no harm in listening. What if an opportunity came of it? He might as well try anything at this point.
"May I ask your name, brother?"
"My surname is Feng, and my given name is Wen."
Rong Zheng poured him a cup of tea, then began telling a story based on the Cthulhu Mythos, involving ancient beings from the mythos, extraordinary supernatural abilities, incantations for ritual magic, and so on.
At first, Feng Xuanwen listened casually, simply willing to give it a try, but he became increasingly engrossed. When Rong Zheng ended the first part with the protagonist's death, he still wanted more and pressed him about whether the protagonist had really died.
Noticing that Feng Xuanwen seemed very interested in writing this story, Rong Zheng breathed an inward sigh of relief. He had not been sure whether he could persuade Feng Xuanwen to turn it into a written story, but seeing how captivated he was now, it was probably a sure thing.
He took a sip of tea. His mouth and throat were dry from talking for so long, and he said meaningfully:
"He isn't dead. This is only a small part of the whole story. I'd like to find someone to write the entire thing. If you're interested, could you let me read the story you have there, so I can see whether we might be able to work together?"
Feng Xuanwen looked slightly embarrassed. When the other man had first wanted to read the story in his hands, he had silently refused.
Now that the other man had told him such a wonderful, original story, he had been unable to resist asking what happened next. He really should not have done that; it could look as though he was trying to steal the other man's ideas.
He handed over his story and said, "This isn't my first time writing a story. I wrote one a year ago, and a bookshop even helped publish it."
He wanted Rong Zheng to know that his ability to write stories was not all that bad. He simply was not well known enough, lacked an original subject, and had no money at home to pay for publication himself.
In short, he wanted to secure a partnership with Rong Zheng.
Rong Zheng began reading carefully. The manuscript was a stack of writing paper, and the story was not long. It was a tale of mutual love between a man and a woman. It lacked originality, but the prose was passable.
When Feng Xuanwen saw that he had finished, he wanted to know what he thought of his story, so he asked, "What do you think?"
Rong Zheng smiled faintly. "Brother Zhao, to tell you the truth, I'm not good at writing stories. I just have a few ideas in my head."
That was the truth. He had merely been a reader in the modern world who loved webnovels and had never written a novel himself. But after reading so many, he remembered the plots and could describe them in broad terms.
"But the story you just told was very compelling."
"Brother Zhao, being able to tell a story doesn't mean you can write one. All I have is inspiration. That doesn't automatically turn into a written story.
"Besides, stories require plotting, character dialogue, structure, and transitions. I imagine you've studied those yourself. Learning those writing techniques would take quite a bit of time. I'm taking the tongsheng examination next February, so I have no plans to write stories for now."
Rong Zheng said this to dispel Feng Xuanwen's wariness. Having ideas but asking someone else to write them rather than doing it himself was indeed strange.
"Then how would you like us to work together, Brother Rong?"
"The story has roughly eight parts. What I just told you was the first. If you can write it out, we can look for a bookshop together.
"If a bookshop is satisfied, I'll tell you the second part. Oh, how long would you need to write this part?"
"About two months. If it makes a profit, how would we split it? And what if no bookshop accepts it?"
Writing a story cost money too. Brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones were all terribly expensive. He was currently using paper and ink left over from his school days.
"How about a thirty-seventy split? Thirty for me, seventy for you. We'll divide both profits and losses in that proportion." He was only providing the idea; the writer was the one doing the hard work.
Feng Xuanwen was about to agree when he suddenly remembered his empty purse. Embarrassed, he asked, "Well, could you put up your share of the costs first?" Afraid that Rong Zheng would misunderstand and think he was trying to swindle him, he hurriedly explained his family's circumstances.
This man's name was Feng Xuanwen, and he was twenty years old.
He lived in Pear Blossom Village and had earned tongsheng status at seventeen. His next goal was to pass the xiucai examination, but unfortunately, his father had died in an accident that same year.
His mother had been overcome with grief, and her already frail health had worsened. Her monthly medicine expenses were high, and with three younger siblings at home, he had become the family's mainstay.
He had stopped studying, worked in the fields during the day, and written stories at night. Even the paper for his manuscripts was left over from his school days. Now that his new story had been rejected, his spirits had hit rock bottom.
After meeting Rong Zheng and hearing his wildly imaginative ideas, there was risk involved, but did he have any good way to earn money himself?
His mother's medicine was almost gone, and there would be no spare money to buy more next month.
So, no matter what, he wanted to try again. He could only swallow his embarrassment and hope Rong Zheng would put up the costs first.
Thinking that he had it hard too, Rong Zheng took out one tael of silver and gave it to him. Feng Xuanwen thanked him profusely once more, declared that he would never pocket the money, and promised to finish writing within a month.
Rong Zheng trusted his judgment of people. Feng Xuanwen seemed an upright man. If he really pocketed the money, Rong Zheng would simply count it as a mistaken judgment and a failed investment.
Well, at most, he would beat him up every time he saw him afterward...