Chapter 00047: The Non Mainstream Author
# The Non-Mainstream Author
Chapter 47
Novel: 1979 Golden Age
Chapter 47: The Non-Mainstream Author
"Clang, clang!"
"Woo~~~~"
A train slowly pulled into Chengdu North Station, its heavy body resembling a giant beast as people flowed in and out of its openings.
Having missed his original train, Liu Wanbao returned a day later.
Carrying a leather bag and exuding a rather unpleasant smell, he nonetheless looked spirited and full of energy, waving goodbye to a group of people.
"Take care, let's keep in touch!"
"I'll definitely write to you!"
Ah!
Liu Wanbao felt a lingering sense of satisfaction.
He patted the unassuming little magazine in his bag, grateful that it had made his journey enjoyable and helped him make so many friends.
Originally, he had been reading it himself, but soon it was being passed around nearby seats, and eventually, the entire carriage was reading it.
It almost got stolen by some kid.
Men, after all, can't resist a good story about martial arts and the jianghu.
Naturally, discussions broke out.
One guy said Ding Mo definitely didn’t die—he probably fell and learned some incredible martial arts.
Another claimed Qi Tianyuan was a total badass, with his 36 grappling techniques that sounded absolutely legendary.
Someone else mentioned that back in his hometown, there was a master who could carry two huge buckets of water and effortlessly leap onto rooftops without breaking a sweat.
They all sighed in unison, agreeing that there must be hidden talents among the common folk.
With a history of five thousand years, who knows how many ancient immortals might still be hiding in the mountains?
The conversation was so lively that they almost ended up swearing brotherhood by cutting a chicken’s head and burning yellow paper.
In the end, they exchanged addresses, promising to write to each other.
It was much more straightforward than the modern hassle of adding someone on WeChat.
In 1979, Chengdu only had three districts: East City, West City, and Jinniu.
The first two were urban areas, while Jinniu was a large suburban district with 13 communes and a large population.
Liu Wanbao was a cadre at the Jinniu District Cultural Center.
He had just returned from a business trip to Shanghai, where he had gone to learn how to enrich the cultural lives of the masses.
The big city had certainly broadened his horizons.
After getting off the train and taking the bus home, he felt a growing sense of inspiration.
His mind kept replaying the lively discussions on the train, the passionate passengers who got so excited they could barely contain themselves.
"Martial arts stories—people love them!"
"Ah, why didn’t I think of this earlier?"
Liu Wanbao suddenly had an epiphany.
He quickly got off the bus halfway and headed straight to the cultural center.
The cultural center’s role was to promote cultural knowledge and enrich the lives of the people.
Jinniu District was mostly rural, and the locals had little interest in highbrow literature like People’s Literature or Sprouts.
"Old Liu? You just got back?"
"Why are you at work already? You smell awful!"
"Ah, I’ve found something great!"
Liu Wanbao pulled out a copy of Story Collection from his bag, excitedly saying, "This is it! We need to order this from the post office and distribute it to the cultural stations in the communes. We’ll have someone read the stories to the villagers—they’ll love it!"
"Calm down, calm down. Let me take a look first."
The other person flipped through Story Collection, reading silently for a while.
Soon, he was even more excited than Liu Wanbao.
"This is a fantastic idea! We’ve been struggling to find suitable cultural works to enrich people’s lives. Let’s start by distributing a few copies to each commune and see how the people respond. If it goes well, we can order more later."
"Perfect, that sounds great."
Story Collection was directly distributed in Shanghai, Jiangsu, Zhejiang, and Anhui, but people from other regions could also subscribe through the post office.
The magazine provided the address and contact information.
Liu Wanbao was brimming with energy and still didn’t feel like going home.
After some thought, he sat down and wrote a letter to the author, A Qi, to be forwarded through Story Collection.
He began by expressing his admiration and shared his thoughts on The Cotton Cassock.
He then wrote, "Sichuan is a land of beauty and talent, with famous sites like Mount Emei, Mount Qingcheng, and the Leshan Giant Buddha. You’re welcome to visit Sichuan anytime—we’d be honored to host you. Also, if you’d be so kind, we’d love to see you write a novel inspired by Sichuan’s famous mountains, rivers, and ancient temples. Of course, this is just a personal wish—please don’t take it the wrong way…"
After finishing the letter, Liu Wanbao went straight to the post office to mail it and also placed an order for 60 copies of Story Collection.
…………
Shanghai’s alleyways were much like Beijing’s courtyard homes—several families crammed into a small space, with pots, pans, and clotheslines everywhere.
Water and toilets were shared.
Every household had a chamber pot, and the first task of the day was to empty it.
Beijing had its customs, and Shanghai was no different.
The humble chamber pot had its own intricacies—poor families used simple wooden buckets with lids, while wealthier ones had brass-bound, gold-painted, or even carved pots.
In Jiangnan, it was customary for a bride’s dowry to include a set of red-lacquered chamber pots in three sizes, known as "descendant pots," highlighting their importance.
In the afternoon, a young boy returned to the alleyway, looking glum.
"Son, who bullied you?" his mother asked while cooking.
"No one."
"Then why are you upset?"
"..."
The boy pouted for a while before blurting out, "Everyone knows how to use the Deadly Overlord Spear, but I don’t! Everyone plays Arhat Fist to beat up bad guys, but I can’t!"
???
His mother was puzzled but didn’t think much of it.
Later, his father came home, grabbed some toilet paper, and headed for the public toilet.
The boy hesitantly approached him and said, "Dad, can your workplace subscribe to Story Collection?"
"What’s Story Collection?"
"My classmate’s dad bought it. It’s really good. They’ve all read it, and I only got to borrow it for a day."
He pulled out a small magazine from his bag.
"Our workplace has standards for magazine subscriptions. Ah, I really need to use the toilet…"
His father couldn’t hold it any longer.
He took the magazine and rushed into the public toilet, not coming out for a full forty minutes.
When he finally emerged, hunched over and rubbing his legs, he said, "Subscribe! Subscribe for a whole year!"
…………
"Where’s the editor-in-chief? Where’s the editor-in-chief?"
"Why are you in such a hurry?"
"Big news!"
Not long after the September issue of Story Collection was released, the person in charge of distribution was running around the office in a frenzy.
He finally caught the editor-in-chief in the bathroom, not caring that the man was mid-pee, and blurted out:
"Do we have any copies of the September issue left? The newsstands at Shanghai Railway Station are sold out! We can’t keep up with demand!"
"Slow down, what’s going on?"
"They’re sold out! The bus stations too! This issue is selling like crazy. The newsstands are clamoring for more!"
"Editor-in-chief! Editor-in-chief!"
Another person ran in, laughing.
"Haha! Suzhou, Wuxi, Hangzhou, Ningbo—all out of stock!"
"How many do we need?"
"I’ve done a rough calculation—we need at least 30,000 more copies!"
The editor-in-chief shuddered, his stream of urine shooting six feet high.
Last year, Story Collection was still called Revolutionary Story Collection, with monthly sales of only a few thousand copies.
At the beginning of this year, it reverted to its original name and started publishing popular fiction, leading to a steady increase in sales.
Currently, monthly sales were around 200,000 copies.
An additional order of 30,000 copies meant an increase of nearly one-sixth.
"Editor-in-chief??"
A third person rushed in, equally excited.
This bathroom break was turning into quite the event!
"Chengdu! We’ve got orders from Chengdu!"
"A cultural center directly ordered 60 copies, plus some individual subscriptions, totaling over a hundred copies."
Holy cow!
The business had even reached Chengdu.
The editor-in-chief pulled up his pants, not caring if he’d finished peeing, and waved his hand.
"Meeting!"
Soon, the entire Story Collection editorial team gathered.
The distribution team explained the situation, and the editors were overjoyed.
"The paper’s worth its weight in gold! The paper’s worth its weight in gold!"
"We only published one new story, The Cotton Cassock, and it’s clearly driving the sales increase. Xiao He, you’re in charge of the author. Make sure to maintain a good relationship with him."
"We could invite him to Shanghai and treat him well."
"Ah, that’s a great idea!"
"Comrades!"
The old editor-in-chief, the calmest of them all, tapped the table.
"We’ve just emerged from a difficult period. It hasn’t been easy. Now that things are looking up, I think when our circulation hits 300,000, we should consider hosting a writers’ conference or a storytelling event—something to bring authors, us, and readers closer together."
"Yes, yes, we must hold a writers’ conference!"
"Only then can we prove we’re a major magazine!"
Everyone chattered excitedly, dreaming of a bright future.
A Qi’s work had single-handedly boosted sales, but no one mentioned increasing his pay.
In those days, author fees were fixed.
Magazines could treat authors to good food and travel, but raising fees or increasing royalties was out of the question!
Take Zheng Yuanjie, for example.
Early in his career, his fees were meager.
He noticed that whenever his stories were published, the magazine sold exceptionally well.
Confident, he approached the magazine, demanding a raise.
The magazine responded, "How can you prove it’s your work driving sales?"
Zheng Yuanjie said, "Simple. Let me be the sole contributor, and you’ll see if sales are tied to me."
The magazine replied, "Are you crazy?"
Eventually, Zheng Yuanjie achieved his goal by founding King of Fairy Tales, where he was the sole contributor.
He worked himself to the bone but earned a fortune, buying ten houses in Beijing just to store reader letters.
One of those houses was once burglarized, and the thief was sentenced to 12 years.
…………
The September issue of Story Collection was an unexpected yet understandable hit.
It spread rapidly across Jiangnan, with a few copies making their way to other provinces.
No one realized that The Cotton Cassock was the first martial arts/wuxia novel to emerge in mainland China after the reforms.
In those days, there was a clear distinction between "writers" and "authors."
To be called a writer, one had to join the Writers’ Association, where a group of critics would hold discussions to analyze the significance of your work before it could be published.
Only then could you be called a writer.
Otherwise, you were just an author.
Chen Qi was merely an author, and a popular fiction author at that, which made him particularly unappealing to the mainstream.
Naturally, no one bothered to study his work.
Story Collection and The Cotton Cassock didn’t make a splash in the mainstream literary world.
The mainstream literati looked down on such a small, insignificant magazine—unless they felt threatened by it.
(End of Chapter)