Chapter Thirty-Seven: Means

“Nothing much,” Zhou Xuan said, collecting himself and forcing an easy tone.

To keep himself from being consumed by the anger in his heart, he went on playing with the others as though nothing were wrong, laughing and talking all the while.

Meanwhile, in the county town, Wei Xiyue—who had just spoken with Zhou Xuan by phone—was smiling broadly at Yan Ling, the editor in chief of the Central Province Publishing House, beside him. “He actually hung up on me. I hadn’t even finished.”

“After hearing all that news, Zhou Xuan’s anger is hardly difficult to imagine. In a single day, public opinion has reversed itself; what had once been an excellent situation can be said to have been ruined in an instant. If this were a war, then today would mark the beginning of Zhou Xuan’s defeat,” Yan Ling said with a pleased smile of her own.

It was as if the humiliation she had suffered at Zhou Xuan’s hands yesterday had all at once been recovered here.

Just yesterday morning, she had unexpectedly learned that at an internal gathering the night before, the celebrated director Zhang Yimou had spoken highly of the serialized novel The Love of the Hawthorn Tree in Novel Monthly and intended to adapt it into a film.

The instant Yan Ling realized this was an opportunity, she quickly discussed it with several of the publishing house’s leaders in Central Province. In the end, they decided that before the news spread, they would secure both the book publishing rights and the screen adaptation rights for The Love of the Hawthorn Tree, and wait to cooperate with Director Zhang on the film.

And so Yan Ling did not even bring an assistant. At six in the morning she booked a flight directly from Central Province to Rongcheng, then took a car straight to Rongzhou after landing. After more than half a day of hurried travel, she finally met the famed Zhou Zixuan in the afternoon—the bestselling author, the writer of The Records of Ming and The Love of the Hawthorn Tree.

Though she was astonished by Zhou Xuan’s youth, she had personally come forward as editor in chief of one of the leading publishing houses in the country. Added to that were the generous publishing terms offered by her house, and she had believed that the Chinese publishing rights and film rights to The Love of the Hawthorn Tree would be all but in hand.

Yet the result had far exceeded Yan Ling’s expectations, leaving this woman of more than twenty years in the publishing industry deeply embarrassed, and challenging the authority of a top-tier publishing house’s editor in chief.

Given her position, apart from a handful of the most famous literary masters in the country, which writer, on seeing her, did not greet her with deference? Although the first-week sales of The Records of Ming had broken a record that had stood for more than a decade, Zhou Xuan was, after all, still a newcomer in the literary world.

In her eyes, Zhou Xuan was merely a little ungrateful, arrogant just because he had achieved a few results. Yesterday, when she heard him say that he would absolutely not transfer the film rights and that the royalty share would have to be twenty percent, she had truly wanted to walk out on the spot. But years of cultivation and self-restraint had calmed her down, and she began to think about how the publishing house might still profit.

Thus she had not returned to Central Province at once. Instead, she went back to the best hotel in the county town and sat in the lobby, thinking as she watched people coming and going. She wanted to see which other publishing houses would arrive, ready just like her to take the film rights to The Love of the Hawthorn Tree from Zhou Xuan’s hands.

Her prediction proved entirely accurate. At five in the afternoon, in the hotel lobby, she ran into an old acquaintance—the editor in chief of Xiling Publishing House, Wei Xiyue.

Seeing that Wei Xiyue’s expression was no better than her own, Yan Ling’s mind instantly became lively. She had originally thought that Xiling was the most likely to obtain The Love of the Hawthorn Tree, but now it seemed she had been wrong.

Given Xiling’s wholehearted promotion of The Records of Ming, and its willingness to devote resources and make enemies of the Northern Publishing House and others, Xiling had clearly intended to enter the ranks of the nation’s first-tier publishers by doing everything in its power to secure The Records of Ming and protect Zhou Xuan as a person.

But because of Zhou Xuan’s outrageous demands, Wei Xiyue and the president of Xiling Publishing House were both dissatisfied.

It had to be said that Yan Ling was indeed formidable. In her conversation with Wei Xiyue, she subtly magnified Zhou Xuan’s arrogance and ignorance, gradually steering Wei Xiyue away from his original intention of binding Zhou Xuan to Xiling Publishing House at all costs.

“Editor Wei, long time no see. Your face looks so dark—could it be that you came away empty-handed at Zhou Xuan’s place?”

“You...” Wei Xiyue was startled by Yan Ling’s words. He had just been wondering why Zhou Xuan would rather die than transfer the film rights, and now that he saw Yan Ling here, everything suddenly became clear.

Thinking of this, Wei Xiyue believed he understood everything and said coldly, “Editor Yan certainly moves quickly! You must have taken the morning flight directly to Rongcheng, then rushed here without stopping, only to end up with a bellyful of anger?”

Yan Ling did not refute his mockery, only saying, “The blame lies with Xiling for driving Zhou Xuan’s value up too high. The rest of us publishing houses now have to raise royalties to twenty percent just to publish The Love of the Hawthorn Tree. And to think that when we serialized The Love of the Hawthorn Tree, it cost only a little over a hundred yuan per thousand characters. By rights, since Xiling has worked so well with Zhou Xuan, the publishing rights and film rights for The Love of the Hawthorn Tree ought to have gone to you. Could it be that the price you offered did not satisfy him?”

“Sixteen percent, plus one hundred thousand in film-rights transfer fees. What about you?” Since Zhou Xuan had already said he would not transfer the rights to The Love of the Hawthorn Tree, Wei Xiyue saw no reason to keep the publishing house’s terms secret. Of course, he did not mention that Zhou Xuan had said he could forgo the film rights if the royalty share dropped to fifteen percent.

Yan Ling wore an expression of indeed, just as I thought, and laughed. “This Zhou Xuan has really been spoiled by you people. Even a sixteen percent royalty share wasn’t enough to satisfy him. We offered fifteen percent, but he wanted twenty, and that was only for the Chinese publishing rights. As for the other film rights, he won’t sell them? Tell me, what exactly does he think he’s relying on? The Records of Ming?”

Wei Xiyue said nothing.

“The Records of Ming has only been on sale for half a month. True, it has already sold hundreds of thousands of copies and can be called the best book of the past ten years. But the Northern Publishing House and the other top-tier publishers are suppressing it fiercely now. If anything unexpected happens, who can say? It’s not as if this sort of thing has never happened before—someone writes a book, gets a little success, and becomes so arrogant that they dare to demand all sorts of conditions. Heh. In the end, aren’t they still brought under control by the publishing house? Honestly, your Xiling should never have indulged him. Twenty percent of the royalties? In the end, you may not even earn as much as Zhou Xuan.”

Yan Ling’s words were not wrong. Even the most elite authors in the country only received a twenty percent royalty share. On top of that, Xiling had invested so heavily in this promotion, and in the struggle with the Northern Publishing House and the others, that its spending had clearly far exceeded budget. Zhou Xuan merely wrote manuscripts and did nothing else, yet in the end he would actually take more than the publishing house. How could Xiling be willing to accept that?

Wei Xiyue felt bitterness rise in his heart as well. This time, because those from the Northern Publishing House had poured so much in just to block Xiling, the publishing house had been placed in a very passive position. If this went on, a large portion of Xiling’s publishing profits would have to be shared away, and by then it might well be that Zhou Xuan earned more than they did.

And the publishing house had only wanted to pick up a bargain and obtain the publishing and film rights to The Love of the Hawthorn Tree. Yet Zhou Xuan would not sell. It infuriated Wei Xiyue to no end.

“Could it be that we really ought to let Zhou Xuan learn what methods a publishing house can use?” A light began to gleam in Wei Xiyue’s eyes.

Yan Ling looked at him and seized the moment to say, “On this matter, I think our Central Province side can also contribute a share.”

“Good. Then let us talk properly.”

At last, Wei Xiyue temporarily put aside his original determination to win Zhou Xuan over at all costs and instead began to think in terms of measures to control him.

But was Zhou Xuan someone they could control?

Clearly not.