1985, the year of the great writer, began with Infernal Affairs!

The second document is a receipt for royalties.

The receipt from the Agricultural Bank of China bears Xie Lv's name and the amount: Lu Baiyuan.

The withdrawal location is "nationwide," meaning that the money can be withdrawn at any Agricultural Bank of China branch in any city.

Xie Lu stared at the two pieces of paper, momentarily lost in thought.

Six hundred yuan.

The standard of 20 yuan per thousand words was already a very high royalty rate in 1985.

Keep in mind that at that time, an average worker's monthly salary was only thirty or forty yuan, so six hundred yuan was equivalent to a worker's income for a year and a half.

He only took about ten days from writing to submitting the article to receiving a reply.

"How did it go? How did it go?" the boss asked impatiently. "Is it done yet?"

Attorney Xie handed over the official letter: "Approved, the payment is six hundred."

The boss snatched the official letter, his eyes wide with disbelief: "My God! Six hundred! Young man, you're really something!"

He examined the official letter closely, his fingers tracing the official seal as if it were a precious treasure: "Contemporary! This is Contemporary! How many years has it been since anyone in our county published an article in Contemporary? You really are something else..."

The boss was so excited he could barely speak.

However, Xie noticed that there was another piece of paper inside the envelope.

He pulled it out; it was an ordinary piece of paper with handwritten words on it:

"Comrade Xie: I have read the draft, it is well written."

The rhythm, characters, and tension are all excellent.

I feel the story isn't over yet, and there seems to be a sequel?

If it is already finished, please send me the full manuscript. I look forward to reading the complete story.

Note: The Wuhan University admission notice has been verified and has indeed been sent out. If there are any problems, please write to me.

He Chongshan, August 17, 1985

The letter was short, but every word was powerful.

The last sentence, "If you have any questions, please write to me," clearly states their stance.

As Xie Lu read the letter, a warm feeling welled up in his heart.

Lao He is still the same Lao He.

Although he has a short temper, he has always been a very righteous person and is always the first to stand up for what is right. This has led to him offending many people and preventing him from getting promoted.

Attorney Xie folded the letter and put it back into the envelope along with the official letter and the withdrawal slip.

"Thank you, boss."

Attorney Xie took the initiative to thank the newspaper owner.

The boss was still in a state of excitement and was a little confused when he heard Xie Lu's initiative to thank him: "Why are you thanking me? This is your own talent! I knew it! When I first saw your manuscript, I felt it was something special from the first few pages! I knew it! I knew it!"

He patted the counter: "Young man, I have to promote this for you!"

Our county has produced a writer who has published an article in "Contemporary" magazine. This is a big deal!

I need to write a report for the next issue of the county newspaper!

Xie Lu quickly waved his hand: "No, no, boss, that's not necessary."

Upon hearing Xie Lu say it wasn't necessary, the boss's eyes widened in astonishment: "How can you not use it? This is such an honor! We must let the whole county know that Liaobei County is also a place that produces talented people!"

The newspaper owner became more and more excited as he talked.

"I'll go write it right now! I've already thought of the title: 'A young writer from our county's work was published in the magazine *Contemporary*, and the payment is a whopping 600 yuan!' How about that? Pretty impressive, right?"

Xie Lu was both amused and exasperated, but he still managed to get his boss to omit the amount of the royalties.

These days, six hundred yuan is a huge sum of money.

The current public security situation is far from being as good as in later generations, so we should try to keep a low profile as much as possible.

In this day and age, being able to publish an article in a national-level journal is indeed something to be proud of, especially for a county town, it is a rare honor.

"Boss, please send this to the capital for me as well."

After saying that, Xie took a stack of polished manuscripts off the car and handed them to the boss.

The shopkeeper took it, weighed it in his hand, and clicked his tongue in admiration: "It's so thick! It must be tens of thousands of words!"

"It's 80,000 words." Xie Lu said.

"Incredible! I've never seen a young person write as well as you in my entire life. You're destined for great things!"

He turned to get the envelope and stamps, saying as he worked, "Young man, if you become a great writer in the future, don't forget our county newspaper. Come back and give a lecture to the young writers in our county about your creative experience."

Xie Lu smiled and agreed.

The shopkeeper placed the sealed envelope on the counter: "Alright, this is an express registered letter. It should arrive in Beijing in three or four days at most."

Xie Lu took out 50 cents and handed it to the shopkeeper: "Thank you, boss. This is the postage for this and last time."

Upon seeing the money Xie Lu offered, the shopkeeper promptly pushed it back.

"I'll pay if you tell me!"

"No, that won't do. You've already gone to so much trouble."

After a few rounds of polite refusals, the shopkeeper finally gave in and accepted the money.

He escorted Xie to the door, repeatedly reminding him, "Take the money and keep it safe. Be careful on the road. Don't worry about the report; I'll write it beautifully for you!"

Xie nodded and got on his bike.

Kyoto.

People's Literature Publishing House.

He Chongshan sat at his desk, with a small mountain of manuscripts piled up in front of him.

He picked up the top manuscript, read two pages, frowned, flipped through a few more pages, sighed, and tossed the manuscript aside.

No.

Or not.

This is the seventh draft I've reviewed this morning, and not a single one is acceptable.

Either the writing is so immature it's like a middle school student's essay, or the story is so clichéd you can guess every line of dialogue.

There was an article about rural reform that began with "The spring breeze sweeps across the fields of hope." He Chongshan immediately abandoned it after reading that sentence.

He rubbed his temples, feeling a slight headache.

He's been like this for the past few days, completely listless.

I always get distracted when reviewing manuscripts; after reading a few pages, I can't help but glance to the side.

On the corner of the table was a stack of manuscript paper, carefully wrapped in kraft paper, with three words written on it in pen: Infernal Affairs.

That was the first half of Infernal Affairs sent by Xie Lu.

He Chongshan reached out and took the stack of manuscript papers, untied the string, and turned to the middle page.

He doesn't read from the beginning; he just flips to a random page in the middle, glances at it, and then continues reading.

He knew the story so well that he could practically recite certain passages from memory.

Chen Yongren lit a cigarette in the dock warehouse, the sea breeze tousling his hair. He watched Han Chen directing his men to move goods, calculating in his mind how to send out the intelligence.

In his police station office, Liu Jianming straightened his police uniform in front of the mirror, making sure his tie was tied properly and his hat brim was flat. Looking at the young face in the mirror, he suddenly felt a sense of unfamiliarity.

Officer Huang was making a phone call in the phone booth, his voice low: "Hold on a little longer, we'll be closing in soon."

Han Chen drank in the luxurious private room, his eyes gloomy: "Not a single one of my people can be missing."

He Chongshan was engrossed in reading it. After a while, he shook his head, closed the manuscript, and put it back on the corner of the table.

It's no longer watchable.

If I keep looking at it, I'll miss work again.