Chapter 82: The Heavenly Book: Completed (410 Requests for First Subscription!)

The *Beijing Literature & Art* accepts fiction, essays, essays, and poetry—poetry is certainly acceptable, especially since Wei Ming is already renowned for his poems.

After publishing *Er Niu*, *Beijing Literature & Art* included a brief introduction to Wei Ming, and many readers wrote in, surprised to learn that the Wei Ming who wrote *The Duck Knows* and the Wei Ming who wrote *Ideal* were the same person.

If new poetry could achieve the same impact as *Ideal*, that would be fine too.

Zhang Dening immediately smiled: “That’s perfect—I’ve reserved space for you in the November issue!”

“Ah, appearing in two consecutive issues—wouldn’t that be too much?”

“What’s wrong with that? Chen Jiangong appeared in two consecutive issues too. For writers like you, fresh voices in the literary scene, we should offer stronger support—especially since *Er Niu* was such a success.”

“Oh, was it that successful?”

“Of course!” Zhang Dening said. “After the reprint, circulation has matched the previous issue—reaching 180,000 copies!”

“Ah, is that considered successful?” Wei Ming asked. Only 180,000? It still felt far behind *Shouhuo*.

“How isn’t it?” Editor Zhang said. “The previous issue was a special fiction edition—entirely fiction, naturally more attractive—and it was our highest-circulation issue this year. But this October issue only had two stories, and to hit this circulation is already a miracle. If we reprint once more, it’ll become the highest-circulation issue since the magazine’s relaunch!”

She also believed another reprint was inevitable, because literary giants like Sun Li had already published reviews of *Er Niu*, inevitably sparking a “Wei Ming craze,” and demand for this issue of *Beijing Literature & Art* remained strong on the market.

She told Wei Ming: “From reader letters, eight out of ten discuss *Er Niu*. Tell me—is that success or not?”

She patted her bag: “I brought you the letters sent to the editorial office—you probably received some at school too.”

He had indeed received many; he was barely keeping up with opening them—the bottom shelf of his cabinet was already full.

“Then maybe we can raise the rate next time!” Wei Ming raised a cheerful topic.

Five yuan per thousand characters was already generous, but he wanted six—or even seven!

“I’d love to,” Zhang Dening scoffed, “but what’s the point of you, a poet, talking about raising rates?”

Wei Ming slapped his thigh: Right!

“Back to the matter at hand—is this another long poem?”

“You’ll see when you read it,” Wei Ming teased.

He finished eating, so Zhang Dening urged him to go back and fetch the manuscript.

Leaving the cafeteria, he glanced at the sun, then the clouds, walking slowly, troubled by what to write.

“Editor Zhang, no need to come down—boys’ dorms stink. I’ll bring it up to you.”

Back in his dorm, Wei Ming opened a blank notebook, thought for a moment, and hastily scribbled a few words.

“You’re it!” He tore off the paper, blew on the ink to dry it.

Seeing Wei Ming return, Zhang Dening eagerly took the paper.

Just one sheet—seemed short.

But when she opened it.

How short! Less than half a page!

Title: three characters—*Far and Near*.

The body was only about twenty words.

(You

Look at me

Then look at the clouds

I feel

When you look at me, you’re far away

When you look at the clouds, you’re close)

And that was it!

Though dissatisfied with the brevity, Zhang Dening read it once, then read it again—hmm, this poem had something to it!

It seemed obscure, yet wasn’t just nonsense—it touched on the distance and closeness between people, hinting at some philosophy.

“Fine, I’ll accept this one. Next time, remember *Beijing Literature & Art* when you have new work—fiction, essays, reportage, poetry—any genre.”

“No problem, but skip the introduction this time—I’m afraid poetry fans will flood me with letters.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

Wei Ming: “I don’t have time to reply, but if I don’t, I feel guilty—it’s torture.”

“Alright, I’ll add a note: Author’s whereabouts unknown,” Zhang Dening chuckled.

“Perfect! Editor Zhang, take care,” Wei Ming sighed in relief—he’d finally gotten through it.

*Far and Near* was a poem Gu Cheng would write next year, one of his masterpieces, originally meant for *Poetry Magazine*—now, if *Poetry Magazine* wanted it, they’d have to reprint it.

After Zhang Dening left, the October issue of *Beijing Literature & Art* was indeed reprinted by another 20,000 copies, bringing total circulation to 200,000—still below *Shouhuo* and *People’s Literature*, but easily outpacing *Contemporary* and *October*, matching *Huacheng* in Guangzhou.

As expected, literary critics showed little interest in *The Duck Knows*, but great interest in *Er Niu*—related review articles indeed multiplied.

Wei Ming shed the label “reform literature writer” and entered a broader realm.

Yet many literary analyses left him baffled—I didn’t think that deeply when I wrote it!

A Shandong writer even traveled to Yimeng Mountain to investigate the real-life prototype and wrote a reportage piece.

Amid the chilly wind stirred by *Er Niu* in the literary world, more young writers were inspired. Yu Hua, a dentist from Yan County, learned from the story that ending with a man and an old ox evoked profound loneliness and atmosphere.

Hunan writer Gu Hua distilled from this novel one idea: Survive—survive like an animal!

Military man Guan Moye from Gaomi was struck by the name “Jiu’er”—perfect for bold, extraordinary women.

Jiang Wen, who had failed the college entrance exam and planned to retake it next year for the Central Academy of Drama, became deeply interested in the possible story between a timid, kind farmer and a captured Japanese soldier after reading this novel.

Under this backdrop, Liu Zhenyun’s review article was accepted, earning him three yuan per thousand characters—six yuan total.

For the first time earning money, Liu Zhenyun immediately asked a classmate to buy him chocolate.

…

“Jianmei, don’t ignore me—I didn’t mean it that way that day… If you won’t forgive me, then, then to atone, I’ll just eat this!”

That was… poop?

Guo Jianmei gasped: “Brother, don’t do that—it’s not real, right… Oh no, don’t eat it! Throw it away! You… puking… puking…”

And after eating it, Liu Zhenyun leaned close so she could smell it.

Guo Jianmei realized something was off—it didn’t stink?

At that moment, Liu Zhenyun pulled out another chocolate: “Just kidding—I ate this chocolate. I bought it with my own fee. Now you eat one, I eat one… Isn’t it extra sweet?”

!

Guo Jianmei bit into it, scowling: “Hmm, weirdly sweet—sweet with a hint of bitterness.”

Liu Zhenyun: “Oh? Really? Mine melted and didn’t taste bitter. Let me taste yours.”

With a little trick, Liu Zhenyun successfully shared a chocolate with Guo Jianmei—her lips were smudged, but her ears were red.

Their relationship took a solid new step forward; Liu Zhenyun secretly gave Wei Ming a thumbs-up.

Far away, Zhao Debiao and Mei Wenhua exchanged glances, feeling like lonely dogs.

What the hell? Aren’t we on patrol? Why are you two doing this?

If the school didn’t ban dating, we’d lock you both up—one from Beida, one from Qinghua—only allowed to meet once a year on Qixi!

When work ended, they quickly changed out of their uniforms and rushed to the English Corner Wei Ming mentioned.

Meanwhile, Wei Ming had just finished the final segment of *The Heavenly Book*.

After Yuan Gong was taken by the heavenly gods, Dansheng met a white monkey who stayed by his side; since the earlier text had hinted Yuan Gong was a white monkey who cultivated into a god, Dansheng named it “Monkey God.”

Two days ago, Cheng Long came to Peking University again and brought ten illustrations—he could finally submit his manuscript!

It was getting late, so he decided to go out for a walk tomorrow. As he stepped outside, he ran into Uncle Anping.

Wei Anping first congratulated his nephew on the success of *Er Niu* in the literary world.

“A few of my neighbors are from the Chinese Literature Department—they’ve all read this story. They say if you keep going, you’ll become the new leader of the literary scene!”

Wei Ming waved his hand, smiling: “I can’t possibly be that.”

Internally: Besides me, who else could it be? Who else?

“Oh, by the way.” After chatting about *Er Niu* for a while, Uncle Anping pulled out a magazine for Wei Ming.

It was the October issue of *Children’s Literature*, its cover showing a shepherd boy riding a donkey. Inside was a remittance slip.

“This is your royalty slip—your auntie asked me to bring it.”

This royalty was forty yuan—five yuan per thousand characters, high for a fairy tale, surely thanks to Xiaoyan’s efforts.

“Thank your auntie for me!”

“Family doesn’t need thanks. By the way—have you finished your new piece?” Uncle Anping suddenly switched topics. “Oh, your auntie isn’t pressuring you—just curious.”

Don’t lie—she’s pushing for the manuscript. Editors and readers alike want to lock us authors in a dark room, writing from dawn till dusk, withholding meals if we’re slow, whipping us if we lag!

Wei Ming said: “Actually, I just finished today—I haven’t even corrected typos yet.”

“Why bother correcting typos? Let the editors handle that. Come on, grab your manuscript and come home with me!”

At Wei Anping’s home, looking at the thick stack of manuscript, Lu Xiaoyan asked: “How long did this take?”

Wei Ming: “Including preparation, about half a month.”

“That’s already fast. Don’t stress yourself. If it gets accepted, it’ll support you for at least three months.” Then Lu Xiaoyan began reading.

She noticed beside *The Heavenly Book* was a subtitle: “Adapted from *Pingyao Zhuan*”—she was puzzled.

Wei Ming explained: “It’s a Ming dynasty fantasy novel, compiled by Luo Guanzhong and Feng Menglong. I read it from Professor Qu.”

“Oh~” Lu Xiaoyan continued reading.

The story begins with a grand peach banquet in Tiangong.

Yuan Gong, the guardian of the Heavenly Book, was too low-ranking to attend and had to remain on duty.

Though he had guarded the Heavenly Book for three thousand years, he never knew what it contained—so while the Jade Emperor was away, he secretly opened it.

While Lu Xiaoyan was reading, Wei Anping finished putting the child to sleep.

When he returned to the living room, he saw his wife’s face flushed with barely contained excitement.

She lowered her voice, thrilled: “The literary quality, the philosophical depth, the entertainment value—all have reached a brand-new height, Xiao Ming, you’ve improved so much!”

(End of Chapter)