Chapter 17: Letter from Harvest: Novel Published

In addition to guarding and registration, security personnel at all gates of Peking University are responsible for mail delivery and collection.

Letters with specific addresses are delivered to the guards of each building; those without are left here for someone to pick up, and if no one claims them after a long time, they inquire with each department whether anyone named XXX is around, and tell them to come quickly to collect their mail.

That day, a security guard at Peking University’s east gate saw a letter with the address written as “Peking University South Gate.”

That was interesting—specifically addressed to the South Gate; was it perhaps meant for a guard?

He checked the name—and it was.

Wei Ming, the face of Peking University’s campus security team, nicknamed “Wei the Gate God,” was also excellent at telling stories and had great popularity.

He originally planned to deliver it personally when returning to his dorm, but just then Mei Wenhua rode by on his bicycle.

“Hey, Mei Wenhua, there’s a letter for Wei Ming—take it back for him.”

“Where’s it from?”

“Let me see… Shanghai, Harvest Editorial Office—what’s that?”

Mei Wenhua snatched it, his whole face turning red.

His mind held only one thought: Impossible! Absolutely impossible!

Though he didn’t know exactly what Wei Ming had written, he’d finished it in just a week with almost no revisions—if Harvest even noticed it, then Harvest must have no taste at all!

Who doesn’t spend a month revising and polishing a novel after finishing it? Even Cao Xueqin spent ten years revising and editing Dream of the Red Chamber five times!

Suddenly, Mei Wenhua thought of one possibility—the rejection letter!

Yes, that must be it. Harvest is a giant literary magazine; even if they rejected it, they’d surely send a polite rejection letter with a few encouraging words, like “You’re a good writer, but we’re not a good fit.”

The more Mei Wenhua thought about it, the more certain he became, and his bicycle pedals grew faster, fueled by determination.

When he arrived back at the South Gate, Zhao Debiao was on duty.

“Biaozi, where’s Wei Ming?”

“In his dorm—what’s up?”

Mei Wenhua waved the letter: “Harvest sent a letter—want to read it together?”

Zhao Debiao: “Holy shit! No wonder he’s my Ming-ge! Wait a sec, Lao Zhao, cover for me—I’m heading back to the dorm.”

“One fried dough stick for breakfast.”

“Hey, you old man… fine, fine, fine!”

At that moment, Wei Ming and Qiao Feng sat facing each other at the table, discussing the dialect of Yimeng Mountain.

His current novel was nearing its end; every page written had to be inspected by Brother Feng to ensure the dialect usage was correct.

Of course, he couldn’t use dialect entirely—many dialect words couldn’t be written down, and others were too unfamiliar to other Chinese readers, creating reading barriers; as long as the “flavor” was right, it was fine.

Just then, Zhao Debiao burst through the door like a heavy cannon, shouting excitedly: “Ming-ge, your letter—from Harvest magazine!”

Mei Wenhua added: “I even fetched it for you from the east gate.”

Qiao Feng leapt up and slammed the table: “I told you so—Xiao Ming, you’re no ordinary man!”

Wei Ming: “Only ten days? Faster than I expected.”

Mei Wenhua: “It’s a rejection—just a glance decides it, so of course it’s fast.”

“Open it quick, let us see what it’s like,” Mei Wenhua urged.

Wei Ming took the envelope, felt its thickness, and smiled: “So thin—it’s not a rejection.”

Mei Wenhua’s heart dropped: Wait, does a rejection letter return the manuscript too?

He’d never submitted anything—he didn’t know these things—but wasn’t there a chance they thought the manuscript was garbage, worthless, and just threw it away? Surely that could happen, right?

Mei Wenhua prayed silently: Please don’t be an acceptance letter, please don’t be an acceptance letter—even if I have to treat Wei Ming to dinner, I’d rather it be a rejection!

Qiao Feng beside him said: “Xiao Wei, read it out loud.” Wei Ming read aloud: “Comrade Wei Ming: Your manuscript has been read. ‘Donkey Five, Donkey Six,’ though a sent-down youth story, presents a fresh, original plot, avoids blind conformity and clichés, and its language style is refreshingly new—reading it brings laughter and admiration. However, some plot points are overly rushed and may require further discussion. Please come to the Harvest Editorial Office in Shanghai to discuss revisions; accommodation and meals will be provided. Keep your train ticket for reimbursement. Also, we are not affiliated with Story Weekly.”

—Li Xiaolin.

Zhao Debiao asked: “So this means it’s accepted?”

Wei Ming: “Yes, but it needs revisions—I’ll have to go to Shanghai.”

Zhao Debiao: “Holy shit! Shanghai—the glittering, decadent metropolis!”

Qiao Feng laughed: “And it’s free—they’re covering everything!”

Wei Ming asked Qiao Feng: “Brother Feng, will the school grant me leave? Things are busy right now.”

Since yesterday, the Fourth National Games had officially begun in Yanjing and would last half a month.

Peking University had such a large temporary workforce that some were drafted to help maintain order during the event; just a few days ago, Qiao Feng had said not to request leave for the next half-month.

Qiao Feng waved his hand: “We’ve got so many people—what’s one more? Besides, this is a huge honor—the leadership will approve it! By the way, you’d better inform Director Wei first.”

“Of course.”

!

Wei Ming sighed helplessly—he should’ve submitted to a Beijing magazine instead. At this time, a twenty-hour hard-seat train ride to Shanghai was brutal!

“By the way, Wenhua, thanks for fetching my letter—and thanks for recommending Harvest,” Wei Ming turned to Mei Wenhua.

Mei Wenhua: Aaah! Kill me, then stab me in the heart!

He forced a smile: “No big deal—it’s what I should do. Uh, I’ve got something else to do—you two carry on.”

Mei Wenhua hurried away from this painful place, then remembered the May Fourth Literature Society’s “Weiming Lake,” and his sister.

He’d submitted his own work a day earlier than Wei Ming—Harvest, so far away, had replied, yet their own school’s magazine hadn’t even notified him—how inefficient!

Are they even bigger than Harvest?

Mei Wenhua decided to ask his sister for answers.

Wei Ming changed clothes and went with Qiao Feng to the administration building; on the way, Brother Feng said: “When you return from Shanghai, I’ll transfer you to patrol duty.”

“Hehe, that’s great!” Recently, more and more female college students came to the South Gate just to see him—even students from Tsinghua nearby—it was insane.

After knocking on door 404, Wei Anping smiled at Wei Ming: “I was just looking for you—got some good news.”

“What good news?” Wei Ming shut the door behind him.

Uncle Anping pulled a brand-new magazine from his drawer: “Children’s Literature, September issue—it’s out. Your aunt asked me to give you a copy—take a look.”

Wei Ming stepped closer: it was a 16mo magazine, color-printed cover showing two little girls in ballet skirts, and the whole thing had real weight.

He flipped to the table of contents: in the [Fairy Tales/Folk Stories] section, his “The Toothless Tiger” was listed first, author “Wei Shenhme,” and the page number was near the front.

The next entry was also someone he knew.

“Heihei on the Island of Honesty”—Zheng Yuanjie

He hadn’t expected the debut of the future “King of Fairy Tales” to appear in this same issue—they’d become debut authors together.

Then who would get the title “King of Fairy Tales”?

Wei Ming didn’t read it right then—he closed the magazine: “I’ll read it slowly when I get back.”

“By the way, you never come upstairs to see me—what’s up today?”

“Well, I’ve got one piece of good news and one piece of bad news—which do you want to hear first…”

(The new book ranking is already in the top 40—brothers, you’re amazing! Keep pushing, don’t stop!!!)

(End of Chapter)