Chapter 357

"Brother, it's right here!"

Wei Hong led everyone to the restaurant where she and Melinda had lunch, called Wagner German Cuisine, which she thought was quite good and still hadn't had enough of.

Mike said: "The apple cider here has a very unique flavor."

Wei Ming asked: "Mike, have you been here before?"

Mike replied: "I came once with the ambassador to entertain a guest; it's just a bit expensive."

Wei Ming: "Then it's settled."

Altogether there were only about fifteen or sixteen people; Wei Ming wasn't the least worried about being broke by this meal.

The restaurant was packed, mostly with publishers, writers, and onlookers from all over the world.

Inside, they saw rustic wooden tables and chairs surrounded by German-style decor, walls entirely adorned with beer mugs.

An English-speaking female server, seeing so many people, led them straight to the last available private room, which had two tables—enough to avoid crowding—and handed them two menus.

Wei Ming handed one menu each to Uncle Ye and Director Liu, letting them order; they traveled abroad often and were well-traveled.

But both men silently passed the menus back to Wei Anping and Wei Ming, the uncle and nephew; it wasn't right for the host to pick the dishes.

As the menus circulated, others glanced at them—the dish names were incomprehensible, but the prices were clear: the cheapest dish cost several marks, some reached over ten marks, and drinks had no upper limit, with some priced in the hundreds.

They couldn't help swallowing hard, growing even more excited for tonight's meal, yet also feeling a twinge of guilt about eating for free.

The two elders insisted, so Wei Ming sighed: "Fine, let my uncle order—he knows German cuisine better."

Wei Anping: "Nah, nah, this is my first time eating German food—you order."

Everyone laughed, then turned to Wei Ming; after a long day, everyone was hungry, so Wei Ming didn't refuse.

"Alright, I'll order directly—everyone, bear with me if you don't like it: one portion of crispy roasted pork knuckle and one Wagner pork chop per person, whole grain bread—no, skip the bread, we can get full on meat alone. Also, one large platter of assorted sausages and one large pot of mushroom sauce stewed pork cubes per table."

"Brother, dessert," Wei Hong whispered, recalling the Black Forest cake from lunch—chocolate, cherries, cream, and a small glass of cherry liqueur, not intoxicating but very sweet.

So Wei Ming added one Black Forest cake per person as dessert; Uncle Ye said he didn't want his—he was old and couldn't handle sweets anymore.

"Finally, drinks: one bottle of your champion apple cider per table, one bottle of grape juice per table, half a stack of dark beer, half a stack of pale beer—order more if we run out."

Then Wei Ming had Uncle Anping and Mike check if anything else needed adding.

Mike shook his head—it was already extremely generous; he was afraid he'd eat so much he couldn't walk out.

Wei Anping: "Still, add one portion of whole grain bread—too much meat gets greasy, bread helps cut through it."

Wei Ming: "Then one more portion of whole grain bread per table."

That was all. They did a rough calculation: this meal would cost at least three hundred marks in foreign exchange; their entire team's daily meal allowance was only two hundred marks, averaging less than seventy per meal.

Only Teacher Wei could pull this off!

Before the food arrived, people immediately began praising Wei Ming's spectacular achievements today.

"I walked up and down Hall Six—it's mostly Asian and Middle Eastern publishers here, and no one else is as popular as Teacher Wei!" said Old Song from International Bookstore, who handled book imports and constantly moved around the venue.

"Of course—German translation rights are completely sold out; that alone is beyond what most authors can achieve."

"The key is Teacher Wei has so many works, and such variety—I just found out 'The Madman Wei' is you!"

"Just writing some popular stuff—please forgive the crudeness."

Director Liu shook his head: "What surprised me most was 'The Madman Wei' and 'The Great Battle of the Terracotta Warriors'—I'd never even heard of this novel before, yet it turned out to be today's biggest hit."

Wei Ming: "Just as we think of the Colosseum when we hear Rome, or the Louvre when we hear France, foreigners first think of the Great Wall and the Forbidden City when they hear China—but in recent years, they've added one more: the Terracotta Warriors. When I did field research in Xi'an, the Terracotta Warriors site was flooded with foreign tourists; it's a label they've stuck on us, and one we should leverage. Director Wu Tianming from Xiyin Studio once considered adapting this novel into a film."

At that moment, beer arrived; everyone except Wei Hong filled their glasses. Wei Ming raised his and proposed a toast—to a successful opening day.

After one drink, the atmosphere relaxed.

Director Liu asked again: "Has it been filmed yet? When can we see it?"

Wei Ming: "It didn't pass review—probably due to concerns about historical nihilism."

A few more words were exchanged, then the main course arrived. Germany was a meat-lover's paradise; the first hard dish was the sausage platter.

It included local specialties like Frankfurt sausages, thumb-sized Nuremberg sausages, white sausages made of minced veal that looked unappetizing but were delicious, blood sausages made from pig's blood and offal, and more—all surrounded by dipping sauces, each sausage paired with its own sauce.

A publisher from Northeast China laughed: "We have blood sausage back home too!"

Mike also chuckled: "Germany has sauerkraut stew too—the sauerkraut tastes just like the kind in Northeast China."

"Why's that?" the Northeasterner asked, puzzled.

Wei Anping said: "Maybe because we're at similar latitudes, so similar eating habits evolved. Also, Germans love stews."

Wei Ming took a sip of beer and said: "Uncle, you really understand Germany."

Wei Ming and Uncle Anping sat at separate tables, acting as hosts, making sure everyone ate well, drank well, and chatted well.

Next came the individual portions of crispy roasted pork knuckle, Wagner pork chop, and Black Forest cake. Seeing such massive portions, everyone exclaimed: "How could anyone eat all this?"

Back home, even those with high salaries had to be careful about meat consumption; now two huge platters of meat sat before them, potatoes and vegetables mere garnishes, the aroma overwhelming—no one knew where to start.

Wei Ming picked up his pork chop and began eating; as soon as he did, everyone followed suit—and silence fell.

Only when the apple cider arrived did Wei Hong ask her brother if she could try some.

Wei Ming tasted it—tart and sweet, low alcohol—and let her take a sip, though he still preferred German beer.

Then Wei Ming chatted with Old Song from International Bookstore about which books he planned to import.

"How fast can we go? We can't compete with international giants—we have limited foreign exchange and must be careful. We didn't buy a single book today, but we've shortlisted a few; since we have no competition, we can take our time studying them."

"What about Taiwan?"

"They and Hong Kong publishers want Traditional Chinese rights—they don't compete," Old Song said, speaking of Taiwan. "But I do want to import a book written by a Taiwanese author."

"Oh, is that allowed?"

"That Taiwanese author is now a U. . citizen."

"Then no problem," Wei Ming said. His aunt, Wei Lingling, was also from Taiwan and now an American—she traveled freely in and out of the mainland, just like the female lead of "Lushan Love."

Wei Ming asked curiously: "Which author is it?"

Old Song: "Bai Xianyong's 'New Yorkites.' You know him?"

Wei Ming nodded: "The fifth son of Bai Chongxi."

"Wow, you even know his birth order! I only knew he was Bai Chongxi's son."

Wei Ming said quietly: "I checked Bai Chongxi's family genealogy while researching 'The Right Path of Humanity.'"

Old Song laughed and continued: "Since the 1979 'Letter to Compatriots in Taiwan,' the mainland has wanted cultural exchanges with Taiwan but feared responsibility, so no one dared initiate imports. Today I saw an American publisher holds the Traditional Chinese and English rights to Bai Xianyong's 'New Yorkites'—I thought I'd secure the Chinese rights; that way, we're ready to advance or retreat as needed."

Vice Director Liu at the other table also knew this situation. He put down his glass and said to Old Song: "Could you ask that publisher to import Teacher Wei's works into Taiwan? That would be fair."

Old Song slapped his thigh: "You're absolutely right, Director Liu—I'll ask them tomorrow."

Wei Ming asked: "What's the name of that publisher?"

"Tangren—Tangren Publishing."

Wei Ming: "..."

Gong Biyang felt today was a total failure—crushed in competition against global publishing giant Penguin.

He lost the bid for "Black Cat Detective," failed to win "The Legend of the Heavenly Book," and the story he wanted from "The Beast Within," "The Class of the Shepherds," was snatched away by the sharp-eyed Minford, who declared he'd personally translate the novella.

To fulfill his boss's task, Gong Biyang planned to carefully examine Wei Ming's other works tomorrow.

Or maybe he wouldn't even bother—he'd just close his eyes and buy whatever. Who cared about performance? The boss's happiness mattered most.

Just as he entertained this lazy thought, the Frankfurt Hotel front desk said someone was looking for him.

"A Chinese man."

Gong Biyang rushed downstairs—but it wasn't Wei Ming he'd been hoping for; it was a man named Wei Anping, claiming to be Wei Ming's uncle.

"I'm here on business and took the chance to visit Mr. Gong—I'd like to discuss the licensing of Wei Ming's works."

Gong Biyang sighed: "Mr. Wei, please sit. We're a small publisher, no match for Penguin's influence."

"Mr. Gong, don't undervalue yourself. I know your press has strong influence in Hong Kong, Taiwan, Singapore, and Malaysia."

"Those regions are indeed within our business scope."

Wei Anping smiled: "Then let's talk about the Traditional Chinese rights for Wei Ming's works."

"Traditional Chinese rights?" Gong Biyang's eyes lit up. "Of course—Traditional Chinese rights!"

He'd been fixated on securing the English rights and had completely forgotten about the Traditional Chinese version.