Chapter 22

“What do you want with me?”

Lu Fang turned his head in confusion, sizing up the visitor.

“Is this Lu Fang? Your junior uncle?” He Zixuan asked, startled.

“Yes, that’s him.”

Li Yu nodded reluctantly and asked, “Why are you looking for him?”

He Zixuan waddled past Li Yu, his small eyes scanning Lu Fang from head to toe, hesitating: “Did you write the Image-Level ‘Dang Yao Ci’?”

Lu Fang nodded: “Mm.”

He Zixuan swallowed hard. “And the elegant prose ‘Liaozhai Yi Zhi Nie Xiaoqian’ and ‘Dream of the Red Chamber’—also yours?”

“Yeah.” Lu Fang offered a polite smile and leaned back, putting distance between himself and the “big pancake face.”

“How old are you?” He Zixuan’s fat face twisted in disbelief.

“Twenty.” Lu Fang answered honestly.

He Zixuan groaned in anguish, pounding his chest and stomping his feet: “How is it possible someone so young could compose such exquisite lyrics and write two pieces of elegant prose?”

“I’ve even condensed a Book Spirit.”

Lu Fang added appropriately.

“Cough, cough, cough…”

He Zixuan choked on his saliva, coughed violently, then stopped and raised a thumb, his expression wildly exaggerated—as if to say, “You’re incredible.”

It wasn’t surprising he reacted so strongly.

A twenty-year-old producing an Image-Level ‘Dang Yao Ci’ and two pieces of elegant prose—this was truly beyond heaven’s norms.

It could be called unprecedented and unsurpassable.

Lu Fang had merely copied them; he felt nothing extraordinary about it.

But imagine a modern university student still studying, while a high schooler has already built a listed company from scratch—that’s how Lu Fang appeared in the eyes of others in the Zhou Dynasty.

After calming his excitement, He Zixuan explained his purpose:

“The Emperor wishes for your ‘Dream of the Red Chamber’ to continue serialization in the Zhou Literary Gazette. I’ve come to discuss this matter with you.”

“Discuss?” Lu Fang smiled bitterly.

The Emperor had spoken—what could he say? Let it be published in the Zhou Literary Gazette; it was perfect for him anyway.

The Gazette’s reach would ensure countless people read his elegant prose—and thus, the scent of literary grace would spread.

“How many characters remain in your ‘Dream of the Red Chamber’?”

He Zixuan asked.

Hearing this, Li Yu, seated nearby, couldn’t help but prick up her ears; she had reread the first few chapters repeatedly, growing more enamored each time.

She was curious about what stories remained in the later parts.

“I’m not sure exactly how many characters—I plan to write a hundred and twenty chapters. Why do you ask?”

Lu Fang countered.

He Zixuan smiled. “Texts published in the Literary Gazette are paid by the imperial treasury. Since ‘Dream of the Red Chamber’ is your elegant prose, I’d like to know how much silver you expect, so I may report it to His Majesty.”

Lu Fang grinned broadly—he hadn’t even considered asking for payment, and now someone was coming to hand him money. A rare stroke of fortune.

But how much to ask for? He was stumped.

Too much or too little would be inappropriate.

“I’m unfamiliar with the norms—how much do you think is suitable?”

Lu Fang tossed the question back.

He Zixuan chuckled. “Elegant prose is priceless, unquestionably—but the Literary Gazette is merely a medium. The silver offered won’t be high. Previously, the highest rate was one tael per character. What do you think?”

The Zhou Literary Gazette often commissioned respected figures to write articles on state policy or military affairs—usually a few hundred characters.

One tael per character wasn’t high, especially since one might get only one such chance in a lifetime.

The real value lay in reputation and fame.

“No! Too high!”

Lu Fang shook his head vigorously.

One tael per character meant a thousand taels for a thousand characters.

He vaguely remembered ‘Dream of the Red Chamber’ was around seventy thousand characters—that would be seventy thousand taels. Too much. It would make him uneasy.

“Huh?” He Zixuan blinked his small eyes in confusion.

Was there really someone who thought silver was too much?

Lu Fang paused, then solemnly raised his fist in a respectful bow:

“The Zhou Dynasty has far more urgent needs than I do. Across its four borders, tens of thousands of soldiers guard the frontiers amid unimaginable hardship.”

“Especially in the northern frontier—enduring bitter cold, countless warriors have died resisting barbarian raids.”

“One tael per character for my words is too much.”

“I’ll accept one tael per thousand characters. The rest should go to clothe those ‘heroes’ and secure better lives for the families of those ‘heroic spirits.’”

“I cannot defend the realm or expand its borders as they do—but I ask only to offer a faint glimmer of light in their honor.”

“Well said!” Li Yu exclaimed in approval.

Previously, Li Yu had admired Lu Fang’s talent; now, after hearing this impassioned speech, her respect for him was heartfelt.

This was the true image of a great literary master in her mind!

Clap, clap, clap!

He Zixuan couldn’t help but applaud, then bowed deeply to Lu Fang with solemn respect: “Your noble virtue and gentlemanly conduct serve as a model for all scholars.”

…

Due to his house arrest, Lu Fang spent the next several days transcribing ‘Dream of the Red Chamber’ in Li Yu’s guest quarters.

The rule of Ink Brush Realm was: until a book was fully written, no matter how much literary grace one possessed, one could not summon the next book.

Lu Fang planned to use his month-long confinement to transcribe the entire ‘Dream of the Red Chamber’—he eagerly awaited the reward upon completion.

The Zhou Literary Gazette published three chapters per day; it had already reached Chapter Nineteen.

“What book is ‘The West Chamber’?”

Holding pages of ‘Dream of the Red Chamber,’ Li Yu, having read more chapters than others, frowned as she reached Chapter Twenty-Three.

Lu Fang’s corporal punishment wounds had healed; he sat at the desk, continuing to transcribe ‘Dream of the Red Chamber,’ and replied offhandedly:

“Didn’t the book mention it twice?”

Lu Fang had omitted many details in ‘Dream of the Red Chamber’ for fear of taboo; after writing them, he always had He Zixuan submit them to the Minister of Literature for review.

According to He Zixuan, the Minister had shown them directly to the Son of Heaven, who merely praised Lu Fang’s literary talent and said nothing else.

Meaning the Son of Heaven tacitly approved the writing.

Li Yu frowned and said:

“‘Dream of the Red Chamber’ has received excellent reviews in the capital. Storytellers in teahouses and taverns love reciting it, and the novel’s novel world delights common folk—but a tiny minority criticize you for writing a tale of romance and sensuality.”

Lu Fang smiled, unconcerned. Calling ‘Dream of the Red Chamber’ a romance wasn’t wrong—but it didn’t diminish its value as a great book.

In the Zhou Dynasty, talented scholars visiting dance halls were praised as refined; some, after too much wine, would even cry out: “Food and sex are human nature!”

Some sensual descriptions were not a major issue.

What is good is good—even if questioned momentarily, time will prove it.

“Those who criticize have some fame in the capital, mostly connected to the Xiao family—like Xiao Xun, the supervisor of Wenyuan Academy, and Xiao Jin, the chief lecturer.”

Li Yu warned: “My mother says the Xiao family may use this to attack you. Stay alert.”