Chapter 45: Reprint, Reprint

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Zheng Fei had no trouble getting copies of the Storm Clouds comic, but Editor Mo had given him only two. If he wanted more, he would have to buy them with his own money.

Even if he had wanted to buy them, he could not have done so now. The entire first print run of seven thousand copies had sold out on the second day of release.

This reminded Zheng Fei of certain old writers from his previous life. To publish a book and join the writers’ association, they not only had to spend tens of thousands of yuan publishing at their own expense, but once the books had been printed, the publishers were unwilling to distribute them. The writers had to haul the books home and rely on their own connections to sell them.

When Zheng Shuyao saw the comic, her eyes seemed to light up. She instantly turned into an ardent admirer and shameless flatterer, praising Zheng Fei without pause.

Then she picked up a sheet of writing paper, intending to tell the family that her big brother had already published a comic.

Uncle Sun stared at the book in disbelief. After a long while, he finally managed to squeeze out a single sentence.

“Seems like you’re even more impressive than your father.”

Zheng Shuyao immediately began flattering him. “Of course. They say the pupil surpasses the master—”

She scratched her head halfway through, having forgotten how the rest of the saying went.

Zheng Fei, however, felt that purely from an artistic standpoint, he still fell somewhat short of Zheng Yuanshan.

Back then, he had seen several of his father’s picture books. Most had been rendered in meticulous brushwork. To be honest, Zheng Fei had not yet reached that level.

While they were chatting, Auntie Zhang from next door arrived with a little boy. The child stared fixedly at the comic in Zheng Fei’s hand.

“My little Ran went to the Xinhua Bookstore yesterday too, but couldn’t get a copy of your comic. Little Fei, do you happen to have an extra one?”

Zheng Fei thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I only have two copies myself, and the other one has already been promised to someone.”

Auntie Zhang looked puzzled. “You’re the author. How come you only have two copies?”

Zheng Fei smiled smugly. “Because it sold far too well. If the publisher hadn’t given me these two, I’d have had to pay for my own copy.”

He planned to mail the extra copy to Brother Hong, so that Hong could show off in front of his relatives and friends.

Meanwhile, in one of the houses in Tanzwan, several middle-school students sat huddled together, four faces pressed close as they stared at an unfamiliar picture book.

At this time of year, they would normally have already run off to the Suzhou Creek to set off firecrackers in anticipation of the New Year. But for the past two days, they had been unusually quiet.

They studied the comic in their hands with great care, afraid that if they read too quickly, they would finish it.

…

On the afternoon of the second day after Storm Clouds went on sale, the Xinhua Bookstore on East Nanjing Road placed a small blackboard beside the new-book shelves. It read:

Storm Clouds is out of stock.

Many of those who had hurried over to buy the book were furious when they saw the notice.

“What’s the meaning of this? They printed so few copies. If it’s sold out, they should print more immediately.”

“Exactly! We came all this way for nothing.”

The sales clerk apologized with an ingratiating smile. “We’re very sorry.”

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That very morning, Manager Li, who was responsible for sales at the Xinhua Bookstore, reported the sales figures to his superiors at once.

To be honest, even he had not expected the book to sell so well. The last time customers had demanded a reprint had been several months earlier.

At that time, their Xinhua Bookstore had taken ten thousand copies of the inaugural issue of Wenhui Monthly.

That issue had featured Ba Jin’s “In Memory of Comrade Lao She,” Tang Tao’s “Remembering Xuefeng,” and Feng Yidai’s elegy for Yao Ping. It had also published letters from writers such as Mao Dun, Ye Shengtao, and Yao Xueyin…

There had been a whole host of celebrated writers. They had even put up advertisements outside the store, yet on the first day of release, the crowd had broken two panes of glass.

But the inaugural issue of Wenhui Monthly had been filled with famous writers and literary heavyweights. Storm Clouds, an unknown comic, had received such an enthusiastic response immediately upon publication.

His instincts told him that Chen Qingshan this book—no, this series—would sell in terrifying numbers.

The comic called Storm Clouds had the qualities of a picture book, yet was different from the picture books of old. It felt like an upgraded version.

Although its artwork was not as accomplished as that of the older masters, how many people read picture books for the sake of art? They came for the illustrations and the story.

More importantly, Storm Clouds was no longer about heroes of the War of Resistance. Nor was it another adaptation of Journey to the West, Dream of the Red Chamber, or Water Margin…

As the manager of a Xinhua Bookstore, Chen Qingshan naturally knew that Hong Kong had a great many entertaining and fascinating martial-arts novels.

If not for the various restrictions, he truly wished he could bring in a batch to sell at the bookstore. They would certainly be bestsellers.

Storm Clouds belonged to the same genre as those martial-arts novels. This made Chen Qingshan wonder whether Zheng Fei might be an artist from Hong Kong.

After Chen Qingshan reported the sales figures for Storm Clouds to his superiors, the leaders were already holding a meeting and communicating with the publisher.

They planned to reprint the comic immediately after the New Year. This time, they would no longer be stingy and would print at least fifty thousand copies.

When Chen Qingshan learned that the print run would be only fifty thousand, he could not help sighing.

“The leaders are still being too cautious. They should start with at least a hundred thousand.”

…

The twenty-eighth day of the twelfth lunar month.

Zheng Fei had originally planned to visit the publishing house to offer New Year’s greetings and see whether they might have any holiday gifts to spare. Even a publishing-house calendar would have been welcome.

But when he reached the entrance to the lane, he found quite a crowd gathered there. Though he had already guessed what they had come for, he could not help asking, “What is everyone doing here?”

A young man cracking sunflower seeds said, “I had nothing better to do, so I came here to demand your manuscript. Want to join me, brother?”

Another man said, “I’m an artist too. I think Teacher Zheng Fei’s work is wonderful, and I want to take him as my master.”

As soon as he finished speaking, he pulled out his own masterpiece and began promoting it to Zheng Fei. “What do you think? Not bad, right?”

“It’s very well drawn.” Zheng Fei gave an awkward smile.

What he actually wanted to say was: It’s very well drawn. Please never draw again.

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Seeing the doorkeeper in the gatehouse waving at him, Zheng Fei realized the old man was about to call out his name.

“Zheng…”

Zheng Fei hurriedly slipped away through the lane. Had people really become this fanatical about chasing authors for manuscripts? Fortunately, his address had not yet been made public. Otherwise, he truly could forget about enjoying a peaceful New Year.

Zheng Fei decided that next time, he would sign another agreement with Editor Mo, forbidding the public disclosure of his address.

Seeing the crowd downstairs demanding manuscripts, Mo Changshan was grinning from ear to ear. The publishing house had already closed for the holiday, but he had deliberately come over just to witness this scene.

He had already received word from the Xinhua Bookstore that they wanted another fifty thousand copies printed. This year’s New Year celebration was turning out to be exceptionally pleasant.

At this time last year, Advanced Publishing House had been one of the main targets of criticism. But this year, it had finally managed to stand tall.

Mo Changshan knew perfectly well that Advanced Publishing House owed this day entirely to that young man named Zheng Fei.

Zheng Fei was now the publishing house’s indispensable treasure. They had to treat him with the utmost care.

The trouble was that the young man was extremely shrewd. Somehow, he had learned a great deal about copyright law and understood far more than expected. He had forced the publishing house into signing one unequal agreement after another.

As a result, the publishing house had no way to control Zheng Fei. Instead, it could only let him lead them by the nose.

The New Year was only a few days away. Mo Changshan was considering buying some holiday gifts to pay a visit to the publishing house’s artist friends.

There were only two of them: Zheng Fei and Xu Sansui. Yet Mo Changshan could see hope in both.

They had chosen the right path.

In the future, Advanced Publishing House would surely go very far. It would no longer be the perpetual bottom-dweller singled out for criticism at every meeting.

…

In a lane in the J.A. District.

Li Wenwen had thought that Haitang’s discovery of the Storm Clouds comic might disrupt her plans to go abroad.

Unexpectedly, Haitang, who had grown much thinner, suddenly became even more determined.

“I’m going abroad. I’m going to study hard. Even if I have to wash dishes, I’ll still finish my education.”

Li Wenwen was utterly baffled.

“How did you suddenly become so motivated?”

Haitang puffed out her cheeks. “All of you are so talented. Zheng Fei has published a comic, and your short story has appeared in the Wenhui Daily. I don’t want to drift through life in a daze anymore. I want to become like you.”

Li Wenwen turned her head away. She wanted to say: You already come from an extraordinarily privileged background. Could you please stop working so hard and leave ordinary people a little room to breathe?

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