[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-rising-in-1979":3,"chapter-rising-in-1979-rising-in-1979-chapter-38":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","Rising in 1979",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2260746,4412,"Chapter 38: The First Published Novel","rising-in-1979-chapter-38",38,"\u003Cp>Wei Ming watched Li Xiaolin’s facial expression with some tension.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Only when she turned to the last page, read the final line, and smiled in satisfaction did the stone in Wei Ming’s chest finally lift.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He later stopped writing screenplays and became a boss, partly because he was tired of having investors demand endless script revisions—sometimes after ten rewrites, they’d say: “Just stick with the first draft.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Damn!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Writing novels is much better—it’s your own work, and editors share responsibility, so they must take the work seriously; but if they nitpick too much, you can always switch to another magazine.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After finishing it all, Li Xiaolin said: “I have no more issues. To save you another trip, let me show the chief editor now.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming exclaimed in surprise: “Is he here today?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Li Xiaolin nodded, then took Wei Ming to the chief editor’s office. An hour later, Wei Ming came out.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not only was the manuscript approved, but he also held a copy of Ba Lao’s *The New Life*, signed in his own hand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After Wei Ming said, “I love your novels the most, Ba Lao,” the old man happily picked a book from his shelf, signed it, and gave it to this rising writer, offering a few words of encouragement.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The title *The New Life* carried special meaning for Wei Ming, who carried a great secret.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After leaving her father’s office, Li Xiaolin teased Wei Ming: “I’m definitely telling him you love Lu Xun and Lao She the most.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming: “Among living authors, I love Ba Lao’s novels the most—what’s wrong with that?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Although Wei Ming had tricked the old man, Li Xiaolin still asked with concern: “Your novel is scheduled for the November issue. Our policy is to pay upon publication, but I can apply for an advance.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Unexpectedly, before Wei Ming could speak, Li Xiaolin had already brought it up.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He excitedly gripped Li Xiaolin’s hand: “Li Bian, thank you so much—you’re a good person!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Li Xiaolin: “Just remember to submit your best work to *Shouhuo* in the future.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Rest assured, I’ll save all my best manuscripts for *Shouhuo*—the average ones go elsewhere.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Li Xiaolin couldn’t help smiling: “Hmph, sounds good. Come on, sign here.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As Wei Ming was about to sign, Li Xiaolin revealed: “Next year, the state may raise the royalty rate. If you’re willing to wait until next year, you’ll get more.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hearing this, Wei Ming didn’t hesitate—he signed his name immediately: “I’ll earn next year’s money next year. Right now, I need to take care of today—and I’ll have new work next year anyway.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After all, he wrote fast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He then went to finance and collected 160 yuan—a rate of four yuan per thousand characters.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Today’s 160, yesterday’s 65, and the 15 yuan from *Gushihui* when he first arrived—that’s already 240 yuan, more than his annual salary as a temporary worker at Peking University!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Add in the subsidy, and it easily exceeds 250!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now he could afford a car and a watch—and still have money left over. He even thought of asking Zhang Dening if he could get an advance so he could visit his hometown.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After all, wealth without returning home is like walking in silk robes at night—he didn’t care much, but Old Wei was probably desperate to show off.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In high spirits, Wei Ming didn’t return to the hotel immediately. He strolled the streets of Shanghai until hunger struck.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Between the expensive but tasty state-run restaurant on the street and the free but tasteless guesthouse dining hall, he decisively chose the latter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Indeed, he still wasn’t rich enough to spare a few jiao for a meal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Back at the guesthouse, the young female attendant called out to him: “Mr. Wei, someone came looking for you.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Who was it?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’m not sure. They waited a while but left without you. They left something for you, though—said you’d understand after seeing it.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming took the bag and glanced inside—it seemed to be several glass bottles, somewhat heavy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He thanked her, took it upstairs, opened it, and examined the contents: three bottles of liquor. Two were identical to the ginseng and cinnamon tonic he had bought earlier; the third had the same bottle but no label, and a different color.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The bag also contained two notes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>One was signed by Liang Lu, sales manager at Traditional Chinese Medicine Factory No. 2.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“On that day, I was on official business at *Wenhui Daily* and learned that Mr. Wei had written a story titled *The Ducks Know the Spring River’s Warmth*. Everyone in the editorial office was amazed. After reading it myself, I was deeply moved—I saw my own reflection in Old Wang. Thank you, Mr. Wei, for affirming our factory and our product, and for writing such a fine story that reminds people of us. On behalf of the entire factory, I present these two bottles of ginseng and cinnamon tonic as a token of respect.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After reading it, Wei Ming cursed under his breath: “I should’ve never bought any myself!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He then read the second note. The sender identified himself as Wang Zhenxu, head of the medicinal liquor workshop at Traditional Chinese Medicine Factory No. 2—Wei Ming remembered him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Brother Wei, when I saw you that day, I knew you were extraordinary. Unfortunately, I was tied up with official duties and didn’t treat you well enough—my fault, my fault. I’ve taken this precious tiger bone liquor from my private collection—it was passed down to me by my master, made from the bones of a healthy adult male Northeastern tiger. It strengthens tendons and bones, and fortifies the kidneys. Don’t drink too much—no more than half a liang per day. Remember this!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing it was tiger bone liquor, Wei Ming scoffed—he didn’t need this kind of thing!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had always been confident in his abilities and had never used any medicine before age sixty.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming unscrewed the cap of the tiger bone liquor and sniffed it. He wasn’t sure if it was truly miraculous, but he worried it might cause problems—he promptly resealed it and carefully packed it away to avoid bumps.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The next day, Chen Rong was ready to submit her manuscript, and Professor Qu’s meeting had ended, so they planned to return to Beijing together tomorrow.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Two officials bought hard-sleeper tickets; Wei Ming still had a hard seat—but this time, no beautiful woman accompanied him, so he actually read some books.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When he stepped back onto Beijing’s soil after more than twenty hours, Wei Ming gripped his waist, feeling he might need the mysterious power of Eastern tiger bone liquor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Chen Rong rushed to the newsstand outside the station and asked if today’s *Wenhui Daily* was out—it wasn’t; only yesterday’s was available.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Professor Qu told Wei Ming: “Xiao Wei, your short story should be published in the next couple of days—keep an eye out.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming shrugged: “Why bother? I already got paid.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Chen Rong: “This is your first published novel—it’s meaningful!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In fact, *The Ducks Know the Spring River’s Warmth* was indeed published today—due to limited newspaper space, it was serialized over three parts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the second floor of a shikumen house on Chongqing North Road in Shanghai.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After work, Gong Yuandong, an artist at a clothing company, returned home to find his wife Zhuang Che cooking. On the table lay the *Wenhui Daily* she had bought for herself.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Any big news today?” he asked, picking up the paper.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Better to have less big news—let’s have a few quiet days,” Zhuang Che turned off the stove and brought out the dishes. “But there’s a story that’s quite interesting—you should read it.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh? Let me see—this one? *The Ducks Know the Spring River’s Warmth*...”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gong Yuandong quickly got absorbed, occasionally laughing out loud. His wife urged him to eat, but he kept one hand on his chopsticks and the other on the paper.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“This story’s interesting, but it’s not finished. Buy tomorrow’s paper—I’m curious how this duck knows how to sell medicinal liquor.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“TV commercials,” Zhuang Che said. “Isn’t this about ginseng and cinnamon tonic? Oh, you haven’t seen it—I saw the ad at my brother’s house. By the way, my son-in-law bought a bottle for Mom. She won’t drink it—still hasn’t finished it.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Huh?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhuang Che pulled out the expensive tonic and let her husband smell it: “There’s ginseng inside.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Smells good,” Gong Yuandong chuckled. “Mom won’t drink it—why don’t we have a little?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You, huh? Fine—just a small cup each.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming’s story, beyond its skillful narrative technique attracting many casual readers, may have done the most to revive Shanghai residents’ memories of the faded celebrity product: ginseng and cinnamon tonic.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After a few sips, the elderly couple began missing their only daughter who wasn’t with them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Xue’er had left two days ago. Of their four children, she was their favorite—beautiful and well-behaved.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But fate had been unkind to her—she hadn’t been able to stay in Shanghai, and at her age, she still had no partner—what a worry.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1506,"2026-06-19T16:30:57.111Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","5c1ad3e3971cc37e22ae218bf44eeb9f6642b55e3968f8a3c73e663d1ffde499","rising-in-1979-chapter-39","rising-in-1979-chapter-37",509,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Frising-in-1979-cover.jpg"]