Chapter 00211: Zheng Yuanjie
# Zheng Yuanjie
Chapter 211
Novel: 1979 Golden Age
Chapter 211: Zheng Yuanjie
Near the front gate, in the Central Committee of the Communist Youth League building, on the 10th floor, there was an editorial office for a children's magazine.
Zheng Yuanjie, who had recently been transferred here, came to work as usual.
He only had an elementary school education.
In his teens, he joined the military and learned to repair airplanes.
One day, he caught a sparrow and brought it into the plane.
When the sparrow went missing, he worried that if it had gotten into the wings, it would be disastrous.
So he gathered dozens of people and dismantled the entire fighter jet—only to not find a single feather.
After that incident, he bid farewell to airplane repairs.
At the time, Li Tiemei, the female lead of The Legend of the Red Lantern, was a national idol.
Zheng Yuanjie adored her so much that he couldn’t stop thinking about her at night.
In his second year in the military, he applied to join the Youth League.
Before joining, there was an ideological mobilization session where everyone said things like, "Endure hardship first, enjoy comfort later," and so on.
When it was his turn, he blurted out: "I just really like Li Tiemei and want to live with her!"
The officer nearly spat in his face.
It could be said that this guy had always been a little odd, with eccentric behavior that set him apart from others.
Later, after leaving the military, he was assigned to work at an instrument factory as a pump operator.
There was a green button and a red button.
Press the green one to start the water in the morning, press the red one to stop it in the evening.
His monthly salary was 41 yuan.
Eventually, he started writing and published many works in children’s magazines, gaining some fame.
This led to his temporary transfer as an editor while still contributing stories, earning three yuan per thousand characters.
At his peak, he wrote for 16 different magazines simultaneously, churning out words like an octopus typing 20,000 a day.
But children’s literature wasn’t highly valued, so he didn’t make much money.
Once, he asked a magazine for a raise—just an extra ten cents per thousand characters.
The response? "If we raise yours, we’d have to raise everyone else’s."
So he remained at three yuan.
His later classics like Shuke and Beita, Pipiru and Luxixi, and The Magic Cube Building hadn’t been written yet.
He didn’t mind much, though.
The real turning point came in 1983 when he had a child and started caring more about financial stability.
That was when he launched King of Fairy Tales.
At this moment, he still had a full head of hair (not yet bald), strolling lazily into work.
An editor’s job was to review manuscripts—a dull routine.
"Zheng Yuanjie, someone’s here to see you!"
Just as he was idly wondering what the cafeteria would serve for lunch, someone called for him.
Puzzled, he left the office and entered a small reception room where a handsome young man sat waiting.
"Editor Zheng!"
"Let me introduce myself—I’m Chen Qi!"
Chen Qi rarely made public appearances, but his name carried weight.
Nowadays, when dealing with people, he only gave his name without further explanation.
Sure enough, Zheng Yuanjie’s face lit up with surprise.
"Ah! Hello, hello! Are you still making martial arts films this year?"
"Huh?"
Chen Qi was caught off guard.
"Yeah, we’re filming one right now."
"Oh, that’s great! I watched The Tai Chi twice—tried for a third time but couldn’t get tickets. So I drew my own ticket, but it didn’t work. Probably because I used a pencil. Next time, I’ll try a pen."
"You might as well carve a stamp out of a radish—that’d look more convincing."
"Great idea!"
Zheng Yuanjie nodded.
Others might joke, but he’d actually go through with it.
Chen Qi chuckled, finding the man amusing rather than off-putting.
Some of Zheng’s quirks—like refusing to send his son to school and homeschooling him instead—didn’t bother him.
Besides, whether his son went to school or not, he’d never want for anything.
His father had already secured the family’s fortune.
"I came today to discuss something," Chen Qi said.
"I’ve read some of your works and found them very engaging. I’m planning to start a magazine and wanted to ask if you’d be willing to contribute."
"You’re starting a children’s magazine too?"
"No, no—a magazine for adults."
"But would children’s literature fit?"
"Children’s literature isn’t just for children. Cartoons aren’t just for kids either."
Zheng Yuanjie’s eyes sparkled.
If earlier he was excited to meet a celebrity, now he felt a deep resonance, as if he’d found a kindred spirit.
"Rare to hear someone say that! Children’s literature and serious literature only differ in form—their core is the same. They both explore kindness, ugliness, honesty, deceit, sacrifice, selfishness… It’s just that slapping ‘children’s’ on it lowers its status."
"Your past works leaned a bit toward younger audiences. If you agree to write for us, feel free to expand—put your thoughts on life into it. The protagonist doesn’t have to be a child; adults work too."
Chen Qi paused.
"I don’t know what your current rates are, but since our magazine is just starting, we can’t offer too much. If your piece is accepted, we’ll pay 3.5 yuan per thousand characters. How’s that?"
The standard rate at the time was 3 to 10 yuan per thousand characters.
Chen Qi knew Zheng’s usual pay and deliberately added an extra fifty cents.
"Deal!"
"Great. I won’t take up more of your time."
Zheng Yuanjie returned to his desk, delighted.
This man was a true writing machine.
In later years, he’d produce over 20 million words of work, topping China’s richest authors list twice.
His Shuke and Beita and Pipiru and Luxixi had immense IP potential—unfortunately, the era’s limitations and lack of know-how wasted that opportunity.
By the time IP development matured, his works had already become outdated.
Chen Qi had already connected with directors from Shanghai Animation Film Studio and now Zheng Yuanjie—all to pave the way for future animation projects.
For now, though, it was about securing content for the magazine.
Zheng had written many adult protagonists, and some of his fairy tales weren’t exactly child-friendly—like The Magic Cube Building, which read more like Flowers in the Mirror.
In the 1980s, popular fiction writers were scarce.
To fill a magazine, Chen Qi had to search everywhere—even reaching out to Hong Kong and Taiwan.
Reader’s Digest already existed, and this year, another iconic magazine would debut: Legends of Ancient and Modern, a landmark in domestic popular fiction.
It later branched into Legends of Ancient and Modern: Wuxia Edition and Legends of Ancient and Modern: Fantasy Edition.
Writers like Xiao Juan, Cang Yue, and Bu Feiyan rose to fame through this magazine, dominating the wuxia scene before fading with the genre’s decline.
Even early online classics like A Record of a Journey to Search for Gods by Shu Xiayehu were serialized in Legends of Ancient and Modern—remember Tuobaye and Yushiqie?
It’s been so long that younger readers might not recognize those names anymore.
Chen Qi’s first magazine aimed to follow Legends of Ancient and Modern’s path.
The early ’80s were a chaotic but fertile time for popular magazines, with circulations easily hitting millions—a solid revenue stream for the company.
Once established, it’d become a powerful platform for future ventures.
(End of Chapter)