Chapter 162: Wen Leyu: I

Two K.

Two A.

Don't play anything under nine! Li Ye only has two eights left.

Wu, you're peeking at my cards again, aren't you?

Who's peeking at your cards? Do you even need to look at yours and Xiao Yao's?

In Dorm 209, Li Ye was playing cards with several roommates.

Since Wu Runfu and a few other roommates collectively complained about Li Ye being "never around," Li Ye had been regularly joining them for meals, drinks, and card games.

He came to Jingda to build bonds with classmates—how could he let things stay too cold with his roommates?

But eating and drinking? He handled those well; young people quickly warmed up. But card games? He'd shot himself in the foot.

Because Wu Runfu and the other two were math majors—though they looked dull and slow all day, their card calculations were terrifyingly accurate, like cheating, leaving no room to resist.

Now, whenever Li Ye showed up in the dorm after class, the guys would drag him into a few rounds to vent their frustrations on the "dorm boss."

What else could you expect?

He had money, looks, a girlfriend, and always came out on top—how was anyone supposed to live?

"Last hand! After this, I'm going out for a walk—I'm suffocating under your crushing wins."

As expected, he lost again. As he shuffled, he surrendered.

But his teammate Sun Xianjin said: "Bro, we haven't won a single round tonight—are you really okay with that?"

Li Ye glared at him: "Why fight these number monsters? They can guess your cards with their eyes closed. Accept your loss and hand over the stakes."

Sun Xianjin reluctantly turned, grabbed two packs of sugared peanuts from his bed, and threw them on the table in a huff.

Wu Runfu and Chen Sihai snatched them up, grinning, deliberately crunching the peanuts loud and crisp.

The sugared peanuts cost a few cents—what mattered was the triumph.

"Draw your cards, draw your cards. Damn, already done?"

New hand. Li Ye held nothing but 4s, 5s, 6s, 7s, 8s, 9s—what was the point of playing?

He wanted to cheat and quit, but the two across from him were already salivating, determined to claim the last of his and Sun's snacks.

"Li Ye! Li Ye! Letter from the publisher! A letter from the publisher!!"

Li Huai's voice suddenly rang from outside, then Dorm 209's door was flung open.

Li Ye and Sun Xianjin simultaneously and decisively tossed their cards aside, escaping the game.

Wu Runfu and Chen Sihai didn't get angry—because the newcomers were Li Huai and Yang Yumin; as freshmen, they still felt some restraint around third-year students.

Li Huai spotted Li Ye and beamed: "Li Ye, look—the publisher sent us a letter!"

Li Ye smiled: "So what? Isn't it already officially published? Why send a letter now?"

"You don't get it," Li Huai said proudly. "This is reader mail forwarded by the publisher. Our 'Wangxiang Gujun' already has loyal readers."

"Oh!"

Li Ye replied, eyeing the stack of letters in Li Huai and Yang Yumin's hands, and asked casually: "Just these few?"

"."

Li Huai and Yang Yumin froze. Their smug expressions stalled, like winter's first ice forming on a lake.

"What do you mean 'just these few'? Do you know how hard this is?"

Li Huai's face darkened: "To get reader letters, first you have to get published. Then, readers have to think your writing is so good they feel compelled to write you."

Li Huai launched into a long lecture. Sun Xianjin and Wu Runfu both stared, eyes sparkling.

After all, Lanhai Publishing was a legitimate domestic press; "Xinfeng" had seen explosive sales and acclaim these past months. For a student to be published there was unquestionably something to be proud of.

"Oh oh oh, I was wrong—it really is impressive."

Li Ye smoothly admitted fault, and Li Huai and Yang Yumin's faces brightened again.

After all, these two genuinely treated him like a little brother.

If Li Ye said—"You two look under your beds—those two big boxes? Full of letters from readers to my 'Seven-Inch Blade.'"

"Sent in bulk, a hundred at a time, by mail. Some even had photos inside. I haven't even had time to read them, let alone reply."

If he said that, their friendship would end right then and there.

"Come on, let's go to the activity room—we'll reply to our readers together."

Li Huai grabbed Li Ye's arm and pulled him out, ignoring that Li Ye was still in slippers.

Naturally, Li Ye's sidekick Sun Xianjin followed along.

After they left, Wu Runfu frowned: "Why did the third-year student bring Li Ye to reply to reader letters?"

Chen Sihai hesitated: "I heard Xiao Yao say Li Ye likes literary writing—maybe he co-wrote it?"

"Damn. His 'dorm boss' title's not going down easy."

Wu Runfu tossed his good cards aside, suddenly feeling bored.

Li Ye followed Li Huai to their literature activity room and found everyone already there.

Back then, authors still took reader feedback seriously—unlike some modern writers who just tune out when readers demand more chapters, more updates, or harem plots.

"Come on, everyone, take one letter, read it carefully, and reply thoughtfully."

Li Huai and Yang Yumin handed out over a dozen letters to the students; even Sun Xianjin, who'd tagged along, got one.

Li Huai opened one first, read the opening line, and grinned aloud:

"Dear author, I love history. After reading your work, I'm genuinely delighted. I hope to see more and better stories like this."

"Clap clap clap~"

Everyone clapped together—Li Ye was stunned. Li Huai beamed, as if a poet had just recited a perfect verse.

Yang Yumin and the others opened their letters, reading silently or softly, savoring the readers' enthusiasm.

But Li Ye noticed Sun Xianjin's face looked odd—like he was constipated.

"What's wrong?"

Sun Xianjin handed his letter to Li Ye. Li Ye glanced at it, then casually slipped it into his pocket.

But Li Huai had noticed. He walked over and took the letter back.

"Author, you wrote 'Wangxiang Gujun'? But I feel like I'm reading a history textbook. Who's the main character anyway? Is this just a patchwork?"

It was a scathing "bad review." The reader criticized "Wangxiang Gujun" for lifeless characters and an overload of dry, tedious historical facts.

Li Huai read the letter twice, then looked up at Li Ye.

"Li Ye, why does this reader's opinion match exactly what you warned us about?"

【You think readers only give praise? They won't give criticism?】

Li Ye smiled: "You don't think I faked this letter, do you?"

Li Huai hurried to say: "Li Ye, don't misunderstand—I'd never believe you'd do something like that."

At that moment, the tall girl spoke:

"My reader letter says the same thing—he thinks we wrote a history textbook, not 'Wangxiang Gujun.'"

"Mine too."

Four or five letters all voiced the same complaint.

Reader letters were like modern book reviews—no one gets only praise. Many readers' opinions were sharp, even cruel.

Everyone turned to Li Ye.

Before submitting "Wangxiang Gujun," Li Ye had warned Li Huai and the others: the opening overloaded the worldbuilding, hurting readability.

What year was it in Tang Dynasty? What was the origin of the era name? Was the emperor good or bad? Who led the western frontier troops? His father? His grandfather?

Li Huai and the others had poured their hearts into it—the historical details were abundant—but the reading experience was painfully dull.

Li Ye had suggested learning from "The Legend of the Condor Heroes"—start with a storyteller in Niujia Village, slowly revealing the era's setting.

But Li Huai and the others ignored him. Now, readers were questioning them.

Finally, Yang Yumin said seriously: "Li Ye, how should we write the next issue?"

Li Ye stopped holding back. He took a sheet of paper and began writing.

"First, clearly define the main character. All other characters must be treated as 'supporting leaves.'"

"Even if a leaf is strong, talented, or you love it—it's still just a sidekick. The stronger the sidekick, the stronger the protagonist must become."

"Second, only selectively include historical facts. Anything unnecessary—cut it."

"Third, you need a female lead. Our main readers aren't monks—without romance, no one will care."

Li Ye gave them an impromptu writing masterclass. Li Huai and Yang Yumin listened thoughtfully; Sun Xianjin and the tall girl stared, dumbfounded.

Li Huai suddenly said: "Li Ye, why don't you take over writing the next part?"

Li Ye shook his head vigorously: "I can't—I've got plenty of ideas, but my writing's nowhere near yours."

"That's fair. Then after class, come over and give us advice. When we get royalties, you'll get your share."

Li Huai and the others were sincere—but Li Ye smiled awkwardly: "I'll do my best, but I'm swamped right now. Really no time."

Seeing them about to insist again, Li Ye added: "I've made a promise with someone to study and grow together—you can't ruin my big plan!"

"."

Everyone fell silent. They all knew who the girl was. Li Ye's "big plan" couldn't be delayed.

Li Ye really was busy—he'd just started a second novel.

He met Wen Leyu at the library and handed her a manuscript.

"Remember when I told you before that I was going to write a 'masterpiece' and would need your help? Well, the time has come—want to join me in earning royalties?"

Wen Leyu, who had been rummaging through Li Ye's lunchbox for the sweetest fruit, immediately brightened up.

She picked up the manuscript and began reading it carefully, but only a few minutes later, she stared at Li Ye in surprise.

"A Song of Ice and Fire? You wrote a Western tale of the strange and supernatural? I've never seen a subject like this—will domestic readers even like it?"

"Tales of the strange" meant works similar to Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio—Wen Leyu had read many Western works and found Li Ye's story uniquely original.

"You can call it a Western tale of the strange, but I think it should be called 'fantasy.'"

Li Ye said: "You don't need to worry whether domestic readers will like it, because I need you to translate it into English and publish it in Hong Kong."

"."

Wen Leyu stared blankly at Li Ye, her big eyes wide open, not blinking for a long, long time.

After a long while, Wen Leyu said with a faint smile: "Li Ye, do you know literary translation isn't like data translation? It's a highly rigorous job—most people can't do it."

Li Ye nodded: "I know that. Just use accurate words and straightforward descriptions to translate it into English."

"That still won't work! It's not the same thing at all!"

Wen Leyu didn't know how to explain it to Li Ye, because for a native Chinese speaker, translating a pile of literary manuscripts from Chinese to English was infinitely harder than translating from English to Chinese.

Otherwise, there wouldn't even be such a title as "translator."

When translating a world classic, the translator doesn't just need high foreign language proficiency—his or her native literary skill is even more crucial.

The translator must use his or her native language to re-create the atmosphere, emotion, and thought of the classic—not simply churn out a flat, literal account like translating technical documents.

For example, imagine a high school student who grows flowers and an accomplished writer, both with identical English proficiency.

If they both translated the same foreign work, would their Chinese versions be of the same quality?

Conversely, Wen Leyu's Chinese was decent, but her English was nowhere near translator-level—even many English professors couldn't meet that standard.

They might get the plot right, but foreign readers would find it "boring" and refuse to buy it.

Li Ye waved his hand at Wen Leyu: "If you really can't handle it, ask Teacher Ke if she can help."

"My mom?"

Li Ye knew Teacher Ke had excellent English and strong literary cultivation.

Wen Leyu thought for a moment: "My mom might not be up to it, and even if she were, she probably doesn't have time now—but she does have a classmate with very high ability."

"No, we can't bring in outsiders," Li Ye firmly refused. "We don't need perfection—just do an accurate preliminary translation following my outline, then I'll find a foreigner to do a second revision."

When The Lord of the Rings first entered the Chinese market, the translation was terrible—it was only after a young electrician retranslated it that the book became wildly popular.

That's why Li Ye had a similar plan.

Wen Leyu frowned: "Then why even ask my mom? Why not just hire a foreigner directly?"

Li Ye sighed quietly: "If we do that, there might be copyright disputes. Do you want a foreigner to take most of the royalties that should belong to us?"

Wen Leyu froze for a fraction of a second, then blurted out: "No way—we can just pay them a salary."

Tomorrow I'll be helping my wife with some errands, so tonight's update will be late—just letting you all know in advance, please understand.

Also, thank you to the reader who tipped 1000 coins—thanks, brother.

(End of chapter)