Finally, a Stay at the Guesthouse

After all the commotion, the neighbors finally dispersed.

Yu Xiuli didn't cook. For once, she suggested eating out, and Chen Jianjun agreed, so the three of them hurried out on their bicycles.

Why the rush?

It was a state-run restaurant. The head chef got off work at seven thirty sharp, and it didn't matter who showed up! Not even foreign guests were an exception; they'd be locked outside too.

The three of them arrived at a restaurant and, as luck would have it, there weren't many customers. They handed over their ration coupons and money and ordered a dish of stir-fried pork slices: three liang of meat for 0.42 yuan. A plate of tofu stir-fried with green peppers cost 0.4 yuan, because tofu was precious. A bowl of spinach and egg soup cost 0.2 yuan.

They also ordered four liang of dumplings. Four liang in those days wasn't the same as it was later; it meant four liang of dry flour.

Chen Jianjun also wanted a bottle of Moutai, but the server told him to get lost...

Heaven took pity on him. Chen Qi had been here for over ten days since transmigrating, and this was his first good meal. As he wolfed it down, he jabbered, "I wrote one lousy letter and we're eating out. When I actually become famous, won't you have to book the whole Beijing Hotel?"

"If that day really comes, I'll book the whole place for you if it kills me!"

Yu Xiuli thought today was the pinnacle of her son's life, and planted that flag without hesitation.

"I read your article. It was passable!"

Chen Jianjun offered his praise with restraint, then said, "I also support your ideas. Whatever you do, don't neglect your inner world. If you love literature, write more. That's how you improve yourself."

"Mm-hmm, mm-hmm!"

Chen Qi answered perfunctorily, busy shoveling dumplings and meat into his mouth. At last, he said, "Mom, let's get another plate of meat. This isn't enough!"

"Comrade, another order of stir-fried shredded pork!" Yu Xiuli called.

"We're out!"

"The chef's getting off work!"

"Don't you know what time it is?"

The server fired off all three in one go. Yu Xiuli sheepishly lowered her hand. Chen Jianjun started to speak, stopped, stopped again, and kept on stopping. Chen Qi didn't dare say anything either.

They didn't dare provoke the server!

"No beating or scolding customers without reason!"

When they returned home, Auntie Wang was pacing by the courtyard gate.

"Oh, the three of you went out to eat? Such a wonderful occasion, you should celebrate... I came to have a word with Little Chen."

The effect was obvious.

Before, she'd called him "boy." Now it was "Little Chen." In the future, it would have to be "Teacher Chen."

Chen Qi stayed behind. Only when Auntie Wang saw that nobody else was around did she say, "I won't beat around the bush. The leaders of the plastics factory came to the street office especially to settle this matter. What they mean is, they'll definitely discipline those people, and whatever the outcome, those people will accept it. They also know they were wrong, so please be magnanimous and let the matter end here.

"What do you say?"

"That's putting it too seriously. I almost feel bad."

It wasn't that Chen Qi was heartless. He'd been dissed on the very first day they opened for business; if he didn't kill a kun-kun to warn the monkeys, it would never end.

The other side had admitted its mistake and made its position clear, so he didn't want to drag things out either. After a pause, he said, "Auntie Wang, do you know what products their factory makes?"

"Plastic products, of course. Sandals and things like that."

"Sandals? Plastic sandals?"

"Yes. Everyone loves wearing them in summer. They're cool, and you can wade through water in them. If I weren't so old, I'd want a pair myself."

Good stuff!

Chen Qi's eyes lit up. "I have an idea for now. Their factory could supply us with some sandals. We don't need too many, just enough to keep us well stocked this summer. When the leaders come to inspect us, we'll put in a good word for them too. What do you think?"

Everyone was certain the leaders would come to inspect, because this was a model case.

Auntie Wang frowned. "We sell tea. That has nothing to do with sandals."

"Let me remind you, it's already April, and the weather's getting warmer. Once summer comes, our tea business will plummet. Are you going to wait until then to figure something out?"

Tsk!

Auntie Wang pulled a long face. He had a point. "Then what exactly is our cooperative? It feels like a hodgepodge."

"Never mind what it is. Let's try it first. The hard truth is that we need to help everyone build a better life. If it's inconvenient for the plastics factory, they can write them off as losses. They have a loss rate every month, don't they? They can sell the goods off to us cheaply. It doesn't break any rules."

"Then I'll talk to them?"

"Sorry for the trouble!"

Auntie Wang left.

Chen Qi went inside. His parents were still excited, and they talked for a long while.

At last, night grew deep and quiet.

He lay on the wooden plank bed in the outer room. Selling big bowls of tea was all well and good, but the returns were low, it took time to build up capital, and it was affected by the seasons. They had to broaden their sources of goods. Once summer came, they could start with sandals, then stock some ice pops, raincoats, and the like. That would be enough to give them an initial foothold.

The department stores had plenty of overstocked goods, and they could talk to them about those too.

But he didn't intend to handle that himself. Having brought things this far, he felt he'd already done everything he reasonably could.

The topic "on the meaning of life" soon sparked a wide-ranging discussion.

Letters from all corners of the country arrived at China Youth Daily, expressing all sorts of views. Some were genuinely profound. The newspaper was kept happily busy publishing the letters every day, and sales were looking good.

Over the next two days, Yu Jiajia came twice.

Both times, she brought him letters, sack after sack of them. She also gave him fourteen yuan in payment for his article.

During the human tide period, there were no author fees.

When an author submitted a manuscript, the recipient would send back a card, which could be used to collect a book of the leader's writings from a Xinhua Bookstore. Chen Zhongshi and Jia Pingwa were submitting work back then, and they never saw a single cent.

In 1977, those writers decided it was time they got paid, so they began making a fuss. The state then issued a standard: two to seven yuan per thousand characters for original works, and one to five yuan per thousand characters for translations.

In 1980, the rates were raised a little, to three to ten yuan per thousand characters for original works and one to seven yuan for translations. Print-run royalties were also restored, calculated in units of ten thousand copies: for every ten thousand copies printed, the author received a certain percentage in royalties.

In 1984, the rates went up again, to six to twenty yuan for original works and four to fourteen yuan for translations.

It could be said that author fees had never been high, unless one wrote a long novel of a million characters. The first commercialized writer was Wang Shuo, who openly began asking for royalties. Those standards, however, applied to newspapers, magazines, and publishing houses.

Film studio scripts weren't included, so they could be left aside for now.

Chen Qi's article was two thousand characters long, so he received fourteen yuan. At first, he was vain and proud, reading the letters as though reviewing memorials to the throne, but he soon lost interest.

To be honest, those letters weren't much good.

The young women were enthusiastic, but conservative too. Not one had enclosed a photo of herself, so how was he supposed to take an interest? He was the sort of guy who'd ask to "see your legs" after thirty minutes of chatting online, and "see your boobs" after a day...

In any case, the discussion continued.

But the attention on him, the one who'd started it all, was clearly waning, like an internet celebrity who'd had fifteen minutes of fame in later years.

Chen Qi didn't mind. He was just puzzled. It had been several days since he'd submitted the script, so why hadn't they invited him to stay at a guesthouse yet? For a while, he'd worried something had gone wrong, but fortunately, things hadn't strayed from his plan.

"Excuse me, is Comrade Chen Qi home?"

One evening, a very thin man with thick eyebrows, who looked a little like Tu Honggang, knocked on the Chen family's door and introduced himself.

"I'm an editor with the Beijing Film Studio Literary Department. My name is Liang Xiaosheng..."

(That's all!

My stockpile is gone, and now I'm writing fresh every day. I'll try to update between 5 and 8 p.m.)

(End of chapter)