For the next ten days, Christopher practically lived at Bloomsbury Publishing.
He appeared in Barry's office at seven sharp every morning and did not leave until eleven at night.
The editorial team worked overtime, proofreading every line and discussing every choice of words.
Barry personally took on the role of the book's editor, something exceedingly rare in the publisher's history: the editor-in-chief personally editing a debut author.
"Have you lost your mind?" The publisher's finance director stared wide-eyed at the budget report Barry had submitted. "An initial print run of thirty thousand? For a newcomer who didn't even leave a phone number?"
"Thirty thousand is only the first batch," Barry said calmly.
"And the second?"
"We'll see how sales go."
The finance director flipped through the budget sheets and shook his head. "Barry, I know you've always had a good eye, but this time-"
"This time is different," Barry interrupted. "Have you read this book?"
"No."
"Then you're not qualified to say that."
The finance director was left speechless. He opened his mouth, but in the end, he signed.
On the eleventh day, the first batch of books finally arrived from the printer.
Christopher stood in the publisher's warehouse, watching box after box of brand-new books being stacked neatly.
On the cover, a young boy wearing round glasses stood before a steam train, with a starry sky overhead and a stone-paved path leading to a castle beneath his feet.
Title: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (Part One).
Author: Allen Vane.
He reached out, picked up a copy, and opened the flyleaf, catching the scent of fresh printing ink.
"What do you think?" Barry came over, also holding a copy.
"It feels like a dream," Christopher said.
"Doesn't it just?" Barry smiled. "By the way, still no word from that Allen Vane?"
"No." Christopher shook his head. "I have my assistant check the mailbox and watch the phone every day. Nothing."
"Then how is he going to collect his payment?"
"I don't know either."
Barry sighed. "Never mind. Let's get the books into stores first. I've contacted several of the country's largest bookstore chains. Each took two hundred copies."
"Only two hundred?" Christopher frowned.
"He's a debut author, and it's fantasy. The bookstores don't dare take too big a risk," Barry explained. "Independent bookstores ordered even fewer. Most only took thirty or fifty."
"How many have gone out altogether?"
"About eight thousand."
Christopher fell silent for a moment, then said, "Not enough."
"What?"
"I said it's not enough." Christopher raised his head, his gaze firm. "Barry, you have to tell the printer to keep printing."
"But-"
"Within three days, those bookstores will definitely be calling to chase up more stock."
Barry stared at him for several seconds before finally giving a helpless smile. "That confidence of yours really is unbearable."
"I'm serious," Christopher said. "Trust me. This book will spread much faster than we imagine."
"All right." Barry shrugged. "I've already spoken to the printer anyway. They can do another run whenever we need."
"How many more?"
"Let's bring the total up to fifty thousand first."
Christopher nodded, then slipped the book in his hand into his briefcase.
"You're taking a copy home?" Barry asked.
"No, this one's for me to keep," Christopher said. "For my collection."
In a chain bookstore in central London, a shop assistant named Tom was tidying the shelves.
He was a university student in his early twenties who worked part-time at the shop.
Toward evening, the shop gradually grew busier.
Secondary school students leaving school, office workers finishing work, young parents pushing prams... all sorts of people came and went, weaving among the shelves.
Tom placed the last stack of new books on the recommended shelf in the children's literature section and dusted off his hands.
He glanced at the stack-Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (Part One).
"By a newcomer?" he muttered, not giving it much thought.
The shop received dozens of new titles every day. Most sat unnoticed on the shelves until they were returned to the publisher a few months later.
He turned to tidy the science fiction section beside it.
Just then, a boy in school uniform walked in.
He was about fourteen or fifteen, carrying a schoolbag, with black-framed glasses and messy hair.
The boy's name was Jack, and he attended a nearby secondary school.
He visited this bookstore once or twice every week to see whether any new fantasy novels had come out.
He was an avid fantasy fan: The Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia, His Dark Materials...
He had read almost every fantasy work available on the market.
School had finished early that day, and he walked into the bookstore out of habit.
"Any new fantasy novels?" he asked Tom.
Tom thought for a moment. "Oh, a new one arrived today. It's over in the children's literature section."
"Children's literature?" Jack frowned. "I'm not a little kid anymore."
"You can have a look. It doesn't cost anything," Tom said with a smile.
Jack pursed his lips, but still headed toward the children's literature section.
He spotted Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (Part One).
The young boy on the cover wore round glasses and had a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
"Harry Potter?" He read the title aloud. "Never heard of it."
He picked up the book, turned it over, and read the blurb:
"One boy. One secret. One letter delivered by an owl..."
Another story about an orphan saving the world? he thought. How clichéd.
He had meant to put the book back, but for some reason, he opened it to the first page instead.
[The Dursleys of 4 Privet Drive always proudly declared that they were a perfectly respectable family...]
The minutes and seconds ticked by.
Jack stood motionless before the shelf.
His eyes stayed fixed on the pages as his fingers turned them one by one.
He saw the Dursley family, the boy who lived in the cupboard under the stairs, the owl delivering letters, and the magical world hidden inside a London railway station.
Diagon Alley, Ollivanders, the goblins of Gringotts, the Leaky Cauldron...
Every detail felt so real, so vivid.
He felt as though he was not reading a book, but had truly stepped into that world.
Alongside Harry, he bought a wand, passed through Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, and boarded the train bound for Hogwarts.
He saw the castle, the talking Sorting Hat, the moving staircases, the talking portraits...
"Merlin's beard..." he whispered, not even realizing he had used an expression from the book.
"Hey, young man, you're blocking the books."
A voice came from behind him.
Jack snapped back to his senses and found a middle-aged man standing behind him, holding another book and looking somewhat impatient.
"Oh, sorry!" Jack hurriedly stepped aside.
He looked down at Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (Part One) in his hands, his heart racing.
He had to buy this book.
He strode to the checkout and placed the book on the counter.
"I'll take this."
Tom glanced at the book, then at him. "Is it good?"
"It's good," Jack said, then paused. "Very, very, very good."
"Then I'll grab a copy to read after work too," Tom said with a smile. "Three pounds."
Jack searched his pocket and pulled out a ten-pound note.
After paying, he hugged the book to him and prepared to leave.
When he reached the door, he could not help glancing back.
The previously deserted children's literature section now had several people gathered around it.
A middle-aged man in a suit leaned against a shelf, holding a copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (Part One), engrossed in reading.
A young woman crouched on the floor with the book open on her knees, turning the pages one by one.
There was also an elderly woman wearing reading glasses, standing before the shelf with a copy in her hands.
None of them spoke. They simply read in silence.
The entire corner was so quiet that only the sound of turning pages remained.
Jack opened his mouth, wanting to make some remark, but in the end, he said nothing.
He turned and walked out of the bookstore.
Outside, the sky had already darkened, and the streetlamps shone with a dim yellow glow.
Hugging the book, he walked briskly toward home.
All he wanted now was to get home quickly, lie on his bed, and finish the book in one sitting.
He had a feeling-
This book would become the best story he had ever read in his life.
At the same time, the same scene was unfolding in another London bookstore.
A middle-aged woman in a trench coat stood before a shelf, holding Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (Part One).
She was a teacher at a nearby primary school, and her name was Margaret.
She had come to choose extracurricular reading for the children in her class, only to stumble upon this book.
She casually flipped through it, and then could not put it down.
When she finally looked up from the book, she discovered that nearly an hour had passed.
"Good heavens..." she murmured. "I have to recommend this book to every child in my class."
She took the book to the checkout and bought five copies at once.
"They're for my friends' children," she explained to the shop assistant.
But she actually knew that one of them was for herself.
Meanwhile, at an independent bookstore in Manchester, the owner, Simon, was closing up.
He was a bookworm in his fifties who had run the bookstore for more than twenty years.
He had always been discerning about new books and rarely expected much from debut authors.
But that afternoon, when he unpacked the sample copies sent by the publisher, he had casually read a few pages of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (Part One).
Then he had sat behind the counter, reading until now.
"Boss, it's time to close," the shop assistant reminded him.
"Huh? Oh, right." Simon came back to his senses and closed the book.
He looked at the young boy on the cover and fell silent for a moment.
Then he picked up the phone and dialed the publisher's number.
"Hello? This is Simon Bookstore in Manchester. Can I order more copies of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (Part One)?"
A tired voice came from the other end. "Yes, but the first batch has almost all been shipped."
"Then add another hundred... no, five hundred copies for me."
"Five hundred? Didn't you only order twenty before?"
"I know," Simon said. "But I have a feeling this book will sell very well."
After hanging up, he put the book in his bag, ready to take it home and keep reading.
As he walked out of the bookstore, he glanced back at the stack of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (Part One) on the shelf.
"This book is so interesting," he said to himself.
It was late at night.
Christopher sat in his office, holding a glass of whisky.
Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (Part One) lay on his desk.
He had already read it three times, but every rereading revealed new details.
He set down his glass, picked up the phone, and dialed Barry's number.
"Hello?" Barry sounded exhausted.
"It's me," Christopher said. "How are things on your end?"
"I just got calls from three bookstores, all asking to increase their orders," Barry said.
"What did I tell you?"
"You win." Barry sighed. "I've already told the printer to work through the night."
"It's still not enough," Christopher said. "There'll be even more calls tomorrow."
"I know. It's absolutely insane."
"This was all within our expectations, wasn't it?"
The two shared a knowing laugh.
The more popular the book became, the more money the two could make.
"Allen... don't let us down, whatever you do," Christopher murmured.