Chapter Nine: At Last, I Found You

As a university lecturer, Gu Wen had interacted with many publishing house employees, but these were merely superficial acquaintances—he could hardly call them friends.

Most of the publishers he dealt with were educational presses, with backgrounds both ideologically sound and professionally specialized, focusing on textbooks and study materials for schools. Beyond this, they published only the works or autobiographies of renowned professors and scientists.

Though Gu Wen was a professor at Deep Well University, his reputation meant nothing outside Deep Well City. At that time, Deep Well University was merely a second-tier institution, with little national recognition; most of its students were local.

Gu Wen spent several days working on behalf of his son, submitting manuscripts to no fewer than five publishing houses. Yet none were interested in this kind of novel, politely declining one after another.

Fortunately, fate provided a way forward. One editor, while rejecting Gu Wen’s submission, recommended another publishing house for him to try.

This publisher was called Guangming Daily Press. According to the recommendation, it was the first publishing house in China founded by a news organization.

Compared to other state-run publishers in the country, Guangming Daily Press, established in 1981, was still a youthful entity.

Born amid the surge of reform and opening, Guangming Daily Press had a more inclusive approach to works and published books across various fields, making it a comprehensive publisher.

After Gu Zhi submitted his manuscript to Guangming Daily Press, whose address was far away in the capital, just three days later, he received a personal phone call from the chief editor, He Jianping.

He Jianping was deeply impressed by the work, sensing the energy within its pages.

At the time, the New Concept essay movement was just emerging, and youth literature was becoming mainstream. Young readers formed a vast and untapped consumer market.

"Wukong Chronicle," the novel in question, was essentially a passionate coming-of-age story. While it held little appeal for older readers, it easily pierced the psyche of teenagers, moving their hearts.

Its spirit of rebellion against authority and its somber, enigmatic tone perfectly matched the mood of adolescent youth—rebellious yet inexplicably melancholic.

He Jianping predicted that "Wukong Chronicle," once published, would be a guaranteed success. He hurriedly called the author, Gu Zhi, fearing that another publisher might snatch this golden opportunity.

Yet he never expected the author to be so young.

After repeatedly confirming Gu Zhi’s identity as the original author on the phone, He Jianping recalled the wave of young writers who had emerged from the New Concept essay movement in recent years, and was no longer surprised.

With Guangming Daily Press committed to publishing "Wukong Chronicle," everything fell smoothly into place.

The publisher decided on a first print run of ten thousand copies, each priced at twenty yuan.

Gu Zhi’s royalty rate was eight percent, earning him one yuan and sixty cents per book, with twenty cents deducted for tax, leaving a profit of one yuan and forty cents per copy.

It wasn’t much, but Gu Zhi was mainly aiming to build his reputation, so he didn’t care about the modest payment.

Besides, a little adds up to a lot, and he was confident "Wukong Chronicle" would sell far more than ten thousand copies.

Publishing a book required a registration number, and the publisher would handle proofreading, printing, and distribution. In about a month and a half, "Wukong Chronicle" would appear in bookstores nationwide.

Three days later, two contracts from Beijing arrived at Gu Zhi’s home in Deep University New Village.

Gu Zhi carefully reviewed both contracts, signed his name, and sent them back to the capital.

Once Guangming Daily Press had stamped and processed the contracts, they would send one back to Gu Zhi, marking the formal completion of the agreement.

After settling the publication of "Wukong Chronicle," Gu Zhi turned his pen to his second book—"Those Years."

This was another household-name youth romance novel. Its cinematic adaptation was a massive success, and the theme song of the same name became a sensation across the Chinese-speaking world and even all of Asia.

In recent years, the movies from the island across the strait were often of this genre—youthful love stories—from "Hear Me" to "Those Years" to "Our Times," launching one young idol after another and winning legions of fans in the mainland.

In comparison, mainland youth films were a joke, filled with smoking, drinking, gambling, abortions, fights, promiscuity, and vulgar nudity—shoddy and inferior productions all.

How did our youth become associated with such meaningless nonsense?

A notorious example was the film "Adolescence," which stirred the hearts of countless teenage boys.

The heroine, Zhao Yihuan, since starring in "Adolescence," could never shake off the crude, flesh-baring label. Apart from being the object of late-night fantasies for many male students, she was soon forgotten by the public and never became popular.

Compared to the youth films from across the strait, these mainland productions were laughable, unable even to launch a single star.

Although Gu Zhi disliked the island, he had to admit that the gap between the two sides in the youth and fresh romance genres was enormous.

This was a hugely profitable niche market with boundless box office potential. Gu Zhi was writing "Those Years" to lay the foundation and seize the initiative in this field.

In the future, creating mainland idol stars would surely be better than producing a batch of scandal-ridden, duplicitous, and covertly separatist celebrities from the island.

Take Ke Zhendong from the island, for example—he even committed crimes, yet at the time, a crowd of brainless fans on Weibo defended him.

Chasing stars had reached such irrational extremes, utterly mindless.

With his plan set, Gu Zhi threw himself into his writing.

He intended to wait until "Wukong Chronicle" was officially published and achieved some success before submitting "Those Years" to a publisher.

If he sent it too soon, it would contradict the usual rhythm of writing and arouse suspicion and doubts. Gu Zhi didn’t want to waste energy dealing with such issues.

Furthermore, submitting the manuscript later would give him greater bargaining power if "Wukong Chronicle" performed well, ensuring higher royalties for his next book.

Royalties might not amount to much, but even a mosquito is meat.

In his spare time, besides writing, he purchased several books on screenwriting and directing, such as the famous "Syd Field Series" and "Save the Cat," to study the craft.

Gu Zhi’s plan was simple: first, publish bestsellers to build his reputation and establish himself as a leading young author.

Then, write scripts for films, formally entering the world of cinema.

As for the power of capital, that would only begin to show its value once Alibaba and Penguin started to exert their influence.

One meal at a time, one step at a time—Gu Zhi was steadily accumulating towards his goal.

Time flew by, and in the quiet flow of daily life, August was soon drawing to a close.

“Beep beep beep—”

A familiar and friendly sound rang out suddenly. Gu Zhi put down "Save the Cat 2" and walked slowly to his computer.

In the lower right corner of his desktop, a little penguin icon flashed incessantly. Gu Zhi clicked it open, and a faint smile immediately spread across his sharply defined face.

“At last, I’ve been waiting for you!”