Chapter 212: The Chopsticks and the Royalty

Midway through the meal, Li Heng reached for a piece of red-braised fish with his chopsticks while chatting with the girls.

As luck would have it, Zhou Zhou Zhou Shihe's chopsticks extended at the same moment, instantly intertwining with his, pressed tightly together.

Li Heng froze, looking up across the table.

Their eyes met; Zhou Zhou Zhou Shihe lowered her gaze slightly, silently released and withdrew her chopsticks, leaving them resting there.

Li Heng, engrossed in conversation with Sun Manning and Ye Ning, hadn't thought much of it—he simply switched to another piece of fish, chewed it happily, and found it delicious.

But halfway through, he suddenly paused, his gaze returning to the girl across from him. Had his chopsticks just brushed against her saliva?

Sensing his stare, Zhou Zhou Zhou Shihe hesitated, then moved her chopsticks again, picking up a small river shrimp into her bowl and eating it slowly with her rice.

Her lively lips, like cherry blossoms, were captivating—beautiful enough to make one want to bite them.

Li Heng guessed she'd wanted to change chopsticks, but felt too embarrassed to do so while he kept staring, so she'd reluctantly endured it.

Wouldn't changing chopsticks right in front of him be a blatant slap in the face?

To do this on their first meeting, at their first meal—was that appropriate? Could they even continue to get along? Could they still be friends?

As the saying goes, once bitten by a snake, one fears even a well rope—since the chopsticks had touched, Zhou Zhou Zhou Shihe no longer reached for any dish beyond the table's centerline; her chopsticks moved only between the two bowls before her, eating with deliberate slowness.

Sun Manning noticed this and asked curiously, "Zhou Zhou Shihe, is the food not to your taste? Why haven't you touched any of the other dishes?"

Ye Ning suddenly realized: "Right! Why are you only eating these two dishes? The others are delicious—you should try them."

Zhou Zhou Zhou Shihe didn't look at Li Heng; she replied gently, "I was too busy listening to you talk, I didn't notice."

Mai Sui glanced at Li Heng from the corner of her eye, picked up another pair of chopsticks, and served Zhou Zhou Zhou Shihe several bites of food: "Zhou Zhou Shihe, you really should try this red-braised fish and garlic sprout stir-fried pork—it's simple, hearty, and perfect with rice."

Zhou Zhou Zhou Shihe smiled sweetly and said yes.

Li Heng pretended ignorance, continuing to eat and drink as if nothing had happened, sticking to his motto: I won't be awkward, so don't make me awkward.

After the meal, it was already late—nearly ten o'clock—and the five began heading back to campus.

Passing through the campus gate, Li Heng, lagging behind, seized the chance to whisper to Mai Sui: "Come to Lushan Village tomorrow night."

"Mm." Mai Sui didn't ask why; she agreed.

At the fork in the road, the five parted ways.

The four women returned to their dormitory.

Li Heng headed straight for his rented room—he hadn't dared drink much to stay focused on his writing task, and he couldn't let tonight slip away like this.

Upon entering Lushan Village, Li Heng was surprised to see Editor Sister Sister Liao and editor Zou Ping chatting with a fake Daoist in the alley.

The fake Daoist, Fu Fu Fu Yanjie, circled several large burlap sacks by the door, muttering repeatedly: "Deeply hidden! Really deeply hidden! No wonder they snagged Building 26."

Sister Sister Liao and Zou looked frustrated and helpless—the burlap sacks contained reader letters, and when Zou had carried them from the van, he'd accidentally kicked a stone, slipped, and fallen face-first into a pile of dog shit, then

The sacks flew out, scattering reader letters all over the ground.

Just then, the fake Daoist stepped out of his house, planning to visit another professor for drinks; he'd kindly bent to help pick up the letters, but—

But there was no ending!

Li Heng's identity as the writer Writer Writer Shiyue was exposed!

Seeing Li Heng, the fake Daoist grabbed him without hesitation, scrutinizing him up and down, left and right, for a long time before finally blurting out: "You're really that awesome?"

Li Heng laughed: "Old Fu, you're a professor, a key talent the school is nurturing—how can you keep using such a vulgar word like 'awesome'?"

The fake Daoist adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses: "Hey, what's wrong with saying 'awesome'? What law says professors can't say it? Who else is this awesome?"

Li Heng was speechless, lowering his voice: "Alright, alright, keep it down—don't shout it everywhere. I still want to live quietly."

The fake Daoist shrugged: "This corner's empty except for Professor Yu—who's going to hear?"

Li Heng pointed to the building next door—Building 27.

The fake Daoist looked up at Building 27 and asked: "Have you seen that house's door open recently?"

Li Heng realized: "So they're not home?"

The fake Daoist clasped his hands behind his back, speaking with old-man wisdom: "You wouldn't know—Professor Guo and his wife retired last month. They've moved overseas to join their children. Whether they'll ever come back is uncertain."

Li Heng was surprised—he'd met Professor Guo and his wife more than once; they didn't look old at all. "Which country?"

"Which country? Obviously the U. S.," the fake Daoist sighed. He himself had returned from America, and now his neighbor of six years was heading there too—it was deeply melancholy.

After chatting a while, as Fu Fu Fu Yanjie prepared to leave, Li Heng held him back: "Remember to keep this quiet—if you don't, you'll lose a neighbor with this kind of cooking."

"Pfft! You think I'm a three-year-old? Ask Professor Yu—has anyone got a tighter mouth than Old Fu?" Fu Fu Fu Yanjie shot him a disgruntled look.

Li Heng smiled and let it go, inviting Sister Sister Liao and Zou inside.

He poured them tea and asked: "Uncle Sister Sister Liao, why are you here so late?"

Sister Sister Liao took the tea, beaming: "It's all thanks to your 'A Bitter Journey Through Culture'—since the latest issue came out, it's already been reprinted five times in less than half a month, reaching 2.6 million copies."

Do you know what that means?

He paused, then waved his hand with grandeur: "It's the highest sales record in the history of 'Harvest' magazine—even 'People's Literature,' the industry benchmark, has never achieved this!"

Two days ago, Sister Sister Liao represented 'Harvest' at a conference in Jingcheng and finally got to show off in front of peers and the editor-in-chief of 'People's Literature'!

After decades in the industry, this was his proudest, most glorious moment—this was why he'd rushed back from Jingcheng to see Li Heng.

To him, Li Heng was now a treasure—had it not been for Old Ba's backing, he'd have feared Li Heng being poached by another publisher.

Li Heng caught the "proud" look in Sister Sister Liao's eyes and replied humbly: "'A Bitter Journey Through Culture' didn't succeed because of me alone. Without Old Ba and you, Uncle Sister Sister Liao, and Old Zou, I can't imagine what the outcome would've been."

His words carried a hidden meaning: the royalty issue.

Had Old Ba not backed him, he wouldn't have been blacklisted—but he'd have struggled in obscurity for a long time. Didn't Wang from Jingcheng flee overseas for a while? Many experts believe it was tied to royalties.

As the first writer in Jingcheng to reap royalty benefits, Wang had been triumphant—but he also paid the price of backlash.

Sister Sister Liao, an old fox, smiled with narrowed eyes and gestured toward the sacks: "We get so many letters daily, two packages a day—more than when 'To Live' was published. In under two months, we've already piled up nearly thirty sacks."

I had Xiao Zou pick out three sacks for you—when you're bored, flip through them for some satisfaction."

Sister Sister Liao's meaning was clear: you chose to stay anonymous, so you can't enjoy the fame outside—so read these letters and see just how famous you really are!

Li Heng bent down and sifted through them—the letters came from all over the country, nearly every province and city. But after five minutes of scanning, he lost interest and stopped.

He feared one of them might be Huang Huang Huang Zhaoyi again—then he'd be in deep trouble.

After drinking half his tea, Sister Sister Liao shifted to serious business.

First matter: pushing for the manuscript.

Without hesitation, Li Heng went to his study and brought back six chapters.

Sister Sister Liao read a few pages carefully, then clapped: "Excellent! Quality's still top-notch. When do you think you'll finish?"

Remembering the 140 books Zhao Jing had given him—nearly 60 still unread—Li Heng calculated: "I was overly optimistic about finishing by November. I need to polish further—progress will slow. I'll likely complete it by mid-December, at the latest end of December."

Finishing by December exceeded Sister Sister Liao's expectations—he immediately supported it: "Good food waits for no one. You've got time. Take your time with the final stretch—I'll take you to see Old Ba then."

Hearing he'd meet Old Ba, Li Heng grinned and agreed.

After finishing the manuscript talk, Sister Sister Liao brought up the second major matter: "Every day, dozens of calls flood the magazine demanding a standalone edition of 'A Bitter Journey Through Culture'—the demand is even higher than when 'To Live' was published. Many professors and famous figures are involved. Old Ba and the magazine are taking this seriously. I came to warn you in advance—be prepared."

Perhaps, maybe, Sister Sister Liao had guessed Li Heng was dissatisfied with the 5% royalty rate—that's why he'd come all the way to Lushan Village.

Sister Sister Liao's words seemed empty, but Li Heng, sharp as ever, grasped the core implication: the glimmer of a royalty increase.

For a talent like Li Heng, whether Old Ba or Sister Sister Liao, everyone cherished him. But royalty rates touched 'Harvest''s core interests—so it was better if Li Heng raised it himself.

Sister Sister Liao's visit was a gesture, a sign of goodwill—to prevent future royalty disputes from breaking things.

For other writers at the magazine, Sister Sister Liao felt confident he could control them.

But Li Heng? Sister Sister Liao wasn't sure. After several interactions, he'd realized this kid, though young, was slippery, unpredictable, and a bit money-minded.

If the money wasn't right, literary integrity meant nothing to him—so better to set expectations early.

Sister Sister Liao's initiative made Li Heng feel genuinely valued—he felt comfortable, and replied tactfully: "Uncle Sister Sister Liao, let's not rush this. We'll talk after I finish writing."

Talk?

Talk about what?

Obviously, raising the royalty rate.

But given 'Harvest''s sincere attitude, he wouldn't ask for anything unreasonable. To a man who'd lived two lives, money was vital—but in some ways, not so much.

After all, his mind held countless future insights—he'd have many chances to make money later. Lose a little here, gain more there.

After settling the serious matters, the three chatted idly for another twenty minutes.

As the conversation wound down, Sister Sister Liao glanced at Zou Ping, who promptly made an excuse and stepped outside.

Once he was gone, Sister Sister Liao asked: "Can you play piano?"

Hearing this, Li Heng immediately thought of Huang Huang Huang Zhaoyi: "A little."

Sister Sister Liao nodded: "She mentioned the piano to me. Will you refuse?"

With the prior gifts of plane tickets, flute, and erhu, Sister Sister Liao no longer danced around—he went straight for the probe.

Li Heng paused, then shook his head: "Uncle Sister Sister Liao, piano's different—it's too valuable. I can't accept. Please thank her for me."

"Ah, I knew you'd refuse," Sister Sister Liao sighed.

Li Heng said nothing, offering only a weak smile.

They stared at each other, both awkward. Finally, Sister Sister Liao stood: "Well then, it's late—we'll be going."

"Alright, take it easy," Li Heng rose to see them off.

(End of Chapter)