Chapter 33: The Visitors of Story Weekly (Requesting Monthly Votes!)

After leaving the Second Traditional Chinese Medicine Factory, Wei Ming took the bus; after leaving the TV station, he caught the evening rush hour, and the bus was packed—he stood the entire way.

He missed the toad-like bus driver.

Back home, Wei Ming immediately plunged into new writing, putting off revisions for a while.

While writing furiously, Wei Ming went downstairs for a meal, deliberately avoiding the peak time; he ate the leftovers alone, then returned to his room to continue.

As he wrote, someone knocked on the door.

“Who is it?”

“Me.”

It was Professor Qu.

When he opened the door, it wasn’t just Professor Qu—beside her stood a refined young man.

Professor Qu introduced: “Little Wei, this is Comrade He Chengwei, deputy editor of Story Weekly.”

“Oh my, Comrade He, you’re already an editor at such a young age?” Wei Ming shook his hand.

He Chengwei was twenty-nine, yet already the de facto leader of Story Weekly; he was merely given the title of deputy due to his youth, but later, thanks to Story Weekly’s brilliant achievements, he also became director of the Magu Literary Publishing General Society, a powerful figure in control of major authority.

Wei Ming invited the two in; He Chengwei explained his purpose—he had come to deliver the manuscript fee.

“Such Love” was roughly two thousand characters; He Chengwei pulled out an envelope containing fifteen yuan—calculated at the highest rate of seven yuan per thousand characters, it even slightly exceeded the standard.

Yet paying the fee before publication, and having the deputy director personally deliver it, was highly unusual.

Afterwards, He Chengwei honestly recounted what had happened that day.

“Today’s meeting was a storytelling session; storytellers from all over brought new tales, but our editors and several experts weren’t satisfied.”

Professor Qu added: “They were all clichés, so I thought of your story and had one of the master storytellers tell it.”

The result goes without saying—this story earned thunderous applause; even among all stories published in Story Weekly’s history, this one stood out as worthy of mention.

Everyone agreed it was the best and most mature story of the day, and it offered valuable inspiration for their own creative thinking.

He Chengwei learned from Professor Qu that the author of this story was a rising star of the literary world, also from Peking University, a young writer invited by Harvest to revise manuscripts.

At just eighteen, publishing a novel in Harvest—and from Peking University—his future achievements were boundless; he would surely become a pillar of the literary world!

For such a person to submit to Story Weekly was clearly a gesture of humility and deep respect—truly touching!

So He Chengwei immediately took fifteen yuan and came personally to deliver it to Wei Ming; anything more would violate regulations.

He also wanted to hear Wei Ming’s thoughts on Story Weekly’s development.

An author capable of writing such a fine story must know what readers truly want.

“What do they want? Good stories, of course,” Wei Ming said something obvious, then elaborated further.

“We all grew up listening to stories, most of us still remember them, and likely will tell them to our descendants; the strength of stories is that they can be passed orally, giving them lasting vitality—this makes them more grounded than novels.” The phrase “more grounded” was something He Chengwei had never heard before—he found it vivid.

Wei Ming: “So the stories Story Weekly needs must inherit the strengths of folk tales, adopt forms beloved by Chinese commoners, depict characters with plain description, structure them clearly and concisely, ensure stories are complete and coherent, favor single-line plots, and use short sentences as much as possible.”

He Chengwei recalled Wei Ming’s “Such Love”—it perfectly matched all these points, especially the emphasis on short sentences, making the reading experience far more comfortable than those literary works that crammed entire pages without paragraph breaks.

“As for themes, I have some suggestions too: diversity. Take ‘Such Love’ as an example—have recent issues of Story Weekly featured any stories centered purely on romance?”

He Chengwei nodded; indeed, editors feared romantic themes might invite criticism, but Wei Ming’s story itself satirized and critiqued misguided views on love—it was perfect.

Wei Ming said: “To attract the most readers, each issue should include romance, family ties, officialdom, suspense, jokes, horror, and foreign tales—so readers buying the magazine, even if they don’t like all types, will feel they got their money’s worth from the variety. Also, serializing some mid-length novels can boost reader repurchase rates and cultivate subscription habits.”

This later became Story Weekly’s own stable style—so many stories, there’s surely one for everyone.

He Chengwei listened, enlightened at once—brilliant insight, truly brilliant!

He chatted with Wei Ming for over an hour, feeling greatly enriched; he sincerely invited Wei Ming to attend their discussion meeting tomorrow.

Wei Ming politely declined, pointing to his desk: “I just got a novel idea—I’m in the thick of writing.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to have disturbed you! Then let’s end here—thank you very much, Comrade Wei Ming, for your generous advice. May I have your Beijing contact number? It’ll make future communication easier.”

“Of course.” Wei Ming gave the phone number at Peking University’s south gate.

!

He Chengwei added, “We’ll publish your ‘Such Love’ in the upcoming November issue. We warmly welcome more submissions—we’re willing to offer the highest possible manuscript fee.”

It was hard for Wei Ming to earn top-tier fees in Harvest or Beijing Literature, but submitting to Story Weekly was like a level-down strike; He Chengwei was happy to pay a premium to attract talent, setting an example for other creators.

“Fine,” Wei Ming agreed, “but I’d like to use a pen name for my work in Story Weekly.”

“Huh?” He Chengwei had planned to promote the magazine using Wei Ming’s name once he became famous—now he wanted a pen name?

Wei Ming, fearing misunderstanding, added: “It’s my writing habit—I use different names for different styles.”

Professor Qu added: “That’s right—you may not know, Little Wei is also a children’s literature writer; he uses another pen name for his fairy tales—something like Wei something.”

“Oh my, sir, you’re truly gifted!”

He Chengwei admired him even more—he could write serious literature, children’s stories, and popular tales for the masses; what couldn’t he do?

As for the new pen name, Wei Ming thought for a moment: “I’ll call myself Wei Kuangren.”

He Chengwei thought: No wonder he’s such a bold young man—his pen name is just as audacious.

Wei Ming explained: “I greatly admire Lu Xun, especially ‘Diary of a Madman.’”

“Ah, now I understand.”

Wei Ming also loved Lao She, especially “Camel Xiangzi”; between Wei Kuangren and Wei Xiangzi, he decisively chose the former.

After seeing He Chengwei off, Professor Qu asked Wei Ming: “You’ve got such strong creative drive—what are you writing now?”

Wei Ming smiled: “A short story.”

(End of Chapter)