Chapter 97: “The Two Donkeys

Huacheng is a literary journal from Guangzhou, launched in March this year; this November issue is its third overall, and it has already reached a circulation of 370,000—truly astonishing.

During his patrol, Wei Ming saw a copy at Chen Jiangong’s place and borrowed it to read; he opened it and saw, hey, another short story by that old fellow: “Winding Stream.”

This guy seems to have hit his creative peak—he appears in every monthly magazine, and always in major publications.

But Chen Jiangong’s short story isn’t the main reason for Huacheng’s high circulation.

Wei Ming spotted the name of a future Nobel laureate in the table of contents; perhaps he’s what ignited the sales.

Moreover, Huacheng’s cover design and interior layout are far more fashionable than those of northern journals, and very pleasing to the eye.

Besides traditional fiction, poetry, and essays, it also features two sections: “Overseas News” and “Hong Kong Dispatches.”

These overseas literary updates and international reports greatly attract domestic readers—that’s the perspective of an old, open city.

In fact, after Er Niu proved his hard power, Shiyue, Huacheng, and Zhongshan all sent Wei Ming solicitation letters.

But Mu Ma Ren went to Dangdai; for now, he hasn’t thought of what serious literature to write, and the long novel he’s brewing still feels beyond his grasp.

So now he’s writing popular literature to clear his head; after finishing each section, he reads it aloud in the dormitory and listens to the target audience’s feedback.

Zhao Debiao thought the protagonist was too timid, afraid of his wife, lacking his own swagger—but Ming-ge said the little wife was modeled after Yanzi, and the martial arts she uses are her specialties: Snake Fist and Twin Swords, so Zhao instantly felt it was fine.

Mei Wenhua thought the characters’ martial arts weren’t as impressive as Dragon Subduing Eighteen Palms or Northern Dark Divine Art, but the detailed portrayals still made his blood boil with excitement.

When writing fight scenes, Wei Ming borrowed the description style from online novels’ guoshu stream; it indeed stirs emotion more powerfully, with logic and evidence, as if ordinary people could truly master it, creating a dreamlike sense of blurred truth—and…

“This is low-martial fiction; you can wait until I write high-martial fiction to bring that up.”

It’s just writing something more mysterious—it’s not hard.

Qiao Feng loved it—he adores stories of overthrowing the Qing and restoring the Ming—and the young heroes are brave, smart, and righteous; he thinks these are the qualities the new generation needs.

The next day, Qiao Feng was heading into town again.

Wei Ming found it odd: when did you two become so clingy, wanting to see each other three times a week?

Feng-ge is the squad leader, doesn’t do night shifts; unless it’s Sunday, he needs to use vacation days to enter town—is he planning to skip the New Year?

But he couldn’t interfere in their affairs; guessing Zhu Lin had finished listening to that tape, Wei Ming asked Feng-ge to deliver another new tape to Lin-jie.

Two tapes a month for ten yuan—she should be able to handle that.

“Ah, I can’t take it anymore!”

With Mu Rong’s cry, Qiao Feng fell utterly still.

After a long while, they turned off the still-sounding tape recorder.

The tape recorder was borrowed from a colleague; hearing that Qiao Feng had brought a foreign music tape Wei Ming gave Zhu Lin, they wanted to hear what made it so magical.

Then, accompanied by the energetic “Kung Fu Fighting,” they passionately climaxed.

This was an annual anthem born from Bruce Lee’s popularity in the West, selling 11 million copies.

Though they didn’t understand the lyrics, Qiao Feng felt more energized.

When Mu Rong gave the tape to Zhu Lin at work, Zhu Lin was overjoyed—she’d thought the kid had forgotten her.

But after hearing the first song on the tape, forget it—just forget me already, what is this? I don’t even want to pay.

Luckily, the songs after the first weird one were gentle; she’d let him off this time, but she’d repay him when she had time to visit Peking University.

At this point, Mei Linda had returned the original manuscript of Tian Shu Qitan to Wei Ming and given it high praise.

“When you have a new work, let me see it.”

“Oh, soon,” Wei Ming thought, “a novella will be published in a few days.”

At this moment, Shouhuo’s November issue was in final countdown, though the initial print run had not yet been finalized.

Huacheng, so small, has guts—370,000 copies? Can you even sell them all?

The intent to climb to power by stepping on the elder is too obvious.

After much discussion, they finally settled on an initial print run of 400,000 copies!

This is the highest initial print run since its relaunch.

The reason for such confidence? Wei Ming, then still a newcomer, was a major factor.

Since September, Wei Ming had been in the literary scene for barely over two months, yet already made a name for himself with “Duck’s First Knowledge” and “Er Niu,” and with his two poems, he’d gathered a solid fanbase.

Moreover, Shuang Lu Ji isn’t just the hottest intellectual youth novel right now—it’s also Wei Ming’s true debut work, sure to draw significant attention to the journal.

And besides Wei Ming, the other authors in this issue of Shouhuo are no less formidable.

There’s also Feng Jicai’s novella “Ah!”

At 37, Feng Jicai hasn’t been in the literary world long; he was formerly a center for Tianjin’s men’s basketball team, switched to art after injury, and worked as a painter at Tianjin’s Painting and Calligraphy Society. His first writing was co-authoring “Yihequan” while researching the Boxer Rebellion, laying the groundwork for his later “Divine Whip.”

This year, Feng Jicai truly became a writer; his scar literature piece “The Flowered Forked Road” was published in Shouhuo’s March issue.

This “Ah!” on the same theme shows even greater mastery and can be considered his early masterpiece.

Besides Wei Ming and Feng Jicai, another young writer, Ye Xin, will publish the finale of his serialized novel “Our Generation of Youth” in this issue of Shouhuo.

While Wei Ming isn’t a specialist in intellectual youth literature, Ye Xin is its most representative figure.

Next year, his “Wasted Years” will directly push Shouhuo to a million-copy circulation peak, later adapted into a TV series.

Though these three debuted recently and aren’t literary veterans, Huacheng’s high circulation doesn’t rely on elders either.

Elders’ writing and stories have become disconnected from today’s readers; the literary world belongs to the new generation.

On November 25, 400,000 copies of Shouhuo began rolling out nationwide to bookstores, newsstands, and post offices.

Though not all copies sold out on day one, 400,000 didn’t last long—the momentum was already blazing.

!

At the newsstand outside Peking University, the old man had prepared—he knew Wei Ming’s popularity on campus; hearing Wei Ming had new work, he stocked twice as many Shouhuo as last issue.

But when Dai Jinhua from the Chinese Department of Class 78 came to buy the magazine at noon, it was already sold out.

Luckily, back in the dorm, she saw her roommate had bought one and left it on the table, so she read it while her roommate napped.

Of course, she went straight to Wei Ming’s “Shuang Lu Ji.”

It’s a novel that’s delightfully light at first read; Dai Jinhua couldn’t stop grinning as she read.

Ma Jie, an intellectual youth sent down from the big city, is a handsome guy who shouts slogans loudly but loves to slack off.

Though he constantly quotes classic lines from “How the Steel Was Tempered,” he never does any actual work.

To slack off, he wanted to become a livestock handler; to become one, he stole from the clinic an anesthetic dose several times stronger than needed for an adult and injected it into Heiwu, the breeding bull assigned to the production team.

Later, he pretended to be a shaman and “awakened” the bull, winning the head of the brigade’s trust and securing his position.

These scenes are highly lifelike and hilarious; Ma Jie feels both wicked and likable, his behavior and mannerisms just like those kids from Yanjing courtyard compounds—rough and roguish.

When Ma Jie and the livestock handler discussed why Heiwu could be a breeding bull, using toothpicks and chopsticks as metaphors, Dai Jinhua blushed uncontrollably—this description was too lewd.

She didn’t know if Wei Ming was the first writer to use toothpicks for such imagery.

But as the plot progressed, the humor faded and tension rose; Dai Jinhua’s expression turned serious, as if deep in thought.

When Ma Jie caused Heiwu to lose his breeding ability, Dalian, the brigade leader who once doted on him, abruptly changed her attitude; because Heiwu became unruly and uncooperative, she decisively ordered Ma Jie to end his life, and everyone shared the meat.

Yet Ma Jie felt a pang of pity for Heiwu, but couldn’t resist Dalian’s threats—he ended Heiwu’s life as quickly and painlessly as possible.

All of this was watched by Heiliu, tied nearby.

Heiliu is Heiwu’s brother; lacking his brother’s strength, he’s just a laborer.

But this laboring donkey would soon do something extraordinary—he began to avenge his brother against Ma Jie.

Next, Ma Jie suffered endless torment; his scandalous affair with the village beauty Caifeng was exposed to the entire village, forcing him to marry far away.

Thus began the struggle between man and donkey.

In Wei Ming’s pen, Heiliu was divine—exaggerated beyond reason—but Dai Jinhua knew that at this moment, Heiliu was no longer just a donkey; he was an emblematic symbol.

One horse, one donkey—they’re the same. Both are bottom-tier producers; before those in power, they kill and wound each other.

But in the end, Dalian, perched atop the production team’s power pyramid, who decided Heiwu’s fate, sat calmly, untouched.

Finally, smelling the dried hide of Heiwu’s older brother, Heiliu seemed to know whom to target—he set himself ablaze, burning the entire year’s harvest to ashes, and himself reduced to a standing skeleton!

Dai Jinhua felt this novel was electrifying, perfectly matching her impression of Wei Ming.

She immediately picked up her pen, preparing to write a literary critique for submission.

At the same time, her classmate Liu Zhenyun had finished his literary review and brought it to Wei Ming for feedback.

“Can I earn this money now?” Wei Ming asked cautiously after reading.

Wei Ming: “Better than last time. Try submitting to larger publications.”

“Shuang Lu Ji” is an atypical intellectual youth novel, portraying Ma Jie—a vividly drawn intellectual youth unlike the previously idealized or tragic archetypes—and the story quickly sparked heated debate in the literary world.

While “Er Niu” received almost universal praise, “Shuang Lu Ji” still drew considerable criticism…

(End of Chapter)