Rebirth 04: Starting from Taking an Unconventional Approach

Sunlight streamed through the languidly swaying curtains, shimmering brightly. The car slowly drove along Wutong Lane, its rumbling sound fading into the distance.

Han Fei groaned, opened his eyes, and lifted his head from the writing desk. His arms were numb and sore from being pressed down.

His face was covered with a layer of cold, sticky sweat, like a layer of makeup. His heart felt light yet heavy, like a billiard ball on a concrete floor.

The air conditioner on the wall creaked, and the computer screen was lit. The clock showed it was a little past 8.

He paused for a moment before remembering that he had spent more than four hours last night typing the manuscript into an electronic document, sending it to the authors' group, and then falling into a deep sleep at his writing desk.

He stretched, mentally prepared himself, and then opened the QQ author group.

As expected, it caused quite a stir.

He quickly browsed the messages, as if he could see through the screen the wide-eyed, incredulous expressions of many authors.

Yamashi: "?????? President Han, this is... an example of a new direction???!!!"

White Streak in the Waves: "Are you kidding me??"

Hongxiu: "I've finished watching the beginning. President Han, this style... is very bold and very direct. The market orientation is very obvious."

Hedgehog: "Holy crap! This is amazing! It's way more exciting than those mundane family stories in 'Story Collection'! Readers will definitely love it!"

Lan Xin: "I'm sorry, I can't accept this. If the publisher decides to publish this kind of content, I think we won't continue working together. (Smiles)"

Old Huai: "It's like a narrative of urban desire disguised as rural life. I think I'm starting to get a feel for it."

Shan Shi: "You! Sigh! President Han, forgive my bluntness, but this is a regression for literature! It's pandering to lowbrow tastes! If Qingniao Magazine can establish itself on this basis, where is its former glory? I absolutely disagree!"

......

The group quickly split into several distinct factions: the strong opposition, represented by Shanshi and Lanxin, who believed it was a desecration of literature; the supporters, represented by Ciwei; and the observers, represented by Hongxiu and Laohuai, who, despite being impacted, were calmly considering its feasibility and creative possibilities.

Han Fei watched the messages flashing across the screen, took out a cigarette from the pack, lit it, and decided to make one last attempt: to retain as many authors as possible.

Young authors often face financial pressures and write more to "get by," so they actively cater to the demands of publishers and the market. He wasn't particularly worried about that.

He no longer held much hope for those opponents who had a firm pursuit of literature.

The key is to keep the high-level observers.

So he posted an announcement in the group, inviting authors with questions or suggestions to come to the publishing house for a face-to-face meeting.

After a quick wash, Han Fei got dressed, took a bus to the publishing house, and headed towards the conference room.

Before he even opened the door, he could hear a cacophony of voices.

He placed his hand on the doorknob, hesitated for a moment, and then opened the door. He quickly scanned the room and saw that the publisher's most influential authors, who had published the most articles in Qingniao Magazine, were all present.

The argument abruptly stopped when a scraping sound came from one of the table legs, and everyone turned to look at him.

"I'm so sorry to trouble you all to make this trip," Han Fei said with a smile, as he walked to the end of the conference table and sat down.

A polite chuckle came from the table.

"Everyone already knows the situation, so I'll get straight to the point. The publishing house needs to transform to survive, and the new direction is these kinds of more straightforward and eye-catching stories. For those who are willing to follow the new direction, I can increase the royalty rate by 20%, and their stories will be given priority. If you feel that it goes against your original creative intentions, I understand. Let's part ways amicably, and I will settle the previous royalties as soon as possible."

Han Fei's gaze moved across each face, sweeping all the way to the end of the table, finally settling on the face of the observer, Old Huai.

This is actually a "push-pull" strategy of Han Fei. On the surface, it presents a tough choice, but in reality, it creates a sense of urgency and a screening mechanism, so that those who are hesitant and have an ambiguous attitude but do not want to leave will choose to stay under pressure.

By establishing such a seemingly strict boundary, we can filter out those who are not committed, while also fostering a stronger sense of belonging and commitment in the remaining members.

The conference table fell silent until a middle-aged man using the pen name "Shanshi" cleared his throat.

He sighed, took off his glasses, and wearily wiped his face with his hand.

"Our Bluebird Magazine used to publish proper novellas, so why do we have to publish this kind of...toilet literature now?"

"You can't say that," said a young female author, pen name Hongxiu, who used to write relationship columns. "I found it quite interesting; at least it makes you want to keep reading. Magazines are barely surviving these days, what's the point of putting on airs?"

"Literature shouldn't bow to online traffic!" Shan Shi raised his voice, pulled a copy of "Li Yuanyuan" from his canvas bag, and slammed it on the table. "What kind of stuff is this? Vulgar! Obscene!"

Several authors at the table were startled.

"But readers sometimes vote with their feet," the young man, who wrote under the pen name Hedgehog, leaned back in his chair, yawned, and lightly flicked a pencil between his middle and index fingers. "Although President Han's approach is unconventional, he might actually be able to carve out a path to success. Besides, his writing style is actually quite good; that rough, rustic flavor is quite appealing."

Whispers came from the table.

Shan Shi let out a cold laugh, stood up, and said, "Those who walk different paths cannot make plans together. President Han, remember to settle my royalties." He put on his glasses, picked up his canvas bag, and left the meeting room.

Immediately afterwards, three more authors quietly got up and left.

Han Fei waited quietly until he was sure that none of the remaining people had any intention of leaving before he spoke again.

"To all the teachers who remain," Han Fei said slowly, his tone emphasizing, making sure every word resonated with them, "this means that you have chosen to join me in building a new content kingdom on a virtually unexplored wasteland. We will set the rules here, and we will reap the rewards. There are risks, but if we succeed, you will not only be authors, but the founders of this new genre."

A moment of complete silence followed by enthusiastic applause.

Han Fei listened to the applause and was quite satisfied with the effect he had created. It seemed that the words "founder" were like a small spark that landed on the parched heartwood of everyone.

Just then, a cheer suddenly came from the end of the conference table. A chubby figure slapped his thigh and stood up. It was the author, whose pen name was Lao Huai. He hadn't said a word since Han Fei came in.

"I understand!" he said, his voice unusually loud.

Everyone in the room turned to Old Huai.

"President Han, this type of story demands a much higher level of emotional tension and pacing than traditional stories, doesn't it?"

"That's right." Han Fei nodded, looking at his round face and bright eyes bathed in sunlight.

"I know how to write it! President Han, wait for me, I'll show you the manuscript tonight!" Old Huai said, and dashed out in a flash.