Rebirth 04: Starting from Taking an Unconventional Approach

Han Fei sat in his office, flipping through sheets of paper.

It was Monday, three days after the letter was sent to the mobile company. Logically, these three days should have been difficult, but Han Fei had a very pleasant time.

Because of the remarkable effect of the "New Rural Novel Competition" he initiated, the publishing house received several, or even a dozen, new manuscripts every day. Han Fei could always find surprises in the manuscripts, which perfectly masked the anxiety caused by waiting.

To date, 34 entries have been received.

A soft knock came at the door.

"Please come in!" Han Fei said, looking down at a manuscript called "The Burial of the Moon" without looking up.

The manuscript, written by a female author, is over thirty pages long and tells a story about a "ghost marriage".

It is said that in the remote village of Yue'ao, if a man under the age of thirty dies suddenly, his family must find a living woman of suitable age to complete a ghost marriage. The woman's coffin and the man's coffin are then locked in a tomb for one night, a ritual called "suppressing the yin." The woman is then regarded as a ghost wife and can never remarry, living a life guarding her memorial tablet.

The narrator, due to poverty, was sold by her elder brother and sister-in-law for five bags of rice to be married off to the son of a village bully who had drowned. The tomb chamber was cold and terrifying; in despair, the narrator cried out to the coffin about the injustice of fate.

The door opened, and Han Fei casually waved for the person outside to come in before turning to the next page.

The rest of the story is that after spending a night in the tomb, I discovered that I could communicate with the spirit world. The vengeful ghost of the village bully's son, still harboring resentment, wanted to possess my body to seek revenge.

So we used this terrifying power to cause strange occurrences in the village: livestock died suddenly, well water turned red, people always heard me singing folk songs at the grave at night, and saw the village bully's son wandering at the village entrance without a shadow at his feet...

Han Fei was feeling a chill run down his spine when he suddenly caught a glimpse of a face approaching him, which startled him.

"Lu Hai?" Han Fei finally looked up and said, letting out a long breath, "You came in without saying a word, what's wrong?"

Lu Hai made a face: "Didn't you let me in?"

Han Fei coughed lightly and lit a cigarette: "What is it?"

"A letter has arrived," Lu Hai said, handing the envelope to Han Fei. "For the old president."

Han Fei immediately took it, and saw on the envelope that it was addressed to Brother Baohua.

"Great!" Han Fei said, opening the envelope.

Three days ago, when Han Fei left the hospital, Han Baohua anticipated that if Zhang Qiming was willing to reply, he would definitely send it to the publishing house, so he granted Han Fei the right to open and read the letter in advance.

Han Fei opened the letter and began to read it intently.

"My dear brother Baohua, I hope we can meet again:"

I was overjoyed to receive your letter, as if seeing an old friend. Your handwritten letter, every word sincere and every sentence full of affection, I read it again and again, deeply moved. I recall when we were editing "The Wave Riders" together, you, with the vision of a publishing master, silently refined my humble manuscript, correcting even the smallest errors, making this book a testament to systematic reform. I will never forget this kindness and friendship.

I am deeply worried to hear that you are ill. I hope you will take good care of yourself and recover soon. When you are discharged from the hospital, I will prepare a small feast and we will reminisce about our time together – I have always owed you that feast from years ago and I dare not forget it.

Furthermore, the letter mentioned your son, Han Fei, which I found quite interesting after reading it carefully. Mobile communications have now reached over 300 million users, yet content services are mostly superficial applications like news and gadgets. Your son, observing the changes in communications from a publisher's perspective, wants to deliver in-depth content to users via SMS. This idea is quite innovative and aligns with the company's strategic direction of "exploring new growth points in data services."

If your son has the time, please come to my office at 3 pm this Monday. I will take an hour to hear his thoughts.

Wishing you a speedy recovery

Please inquire about Han Fei's well-being.

Your younger brother, Qiming, respectfully submits this.

July 13, 2004.

Han Fei put down the letter and breathed a sigh of relief. Monday afternoon, which was this afternoon.

He glanced at his watch, then stared intently at Lu Hai. Lu Hai was wearing a Swedish brand pinstripe suit, which was expensive—or at least looked expensive.

Lu Hai looked at him suspiciously: "President Han... what's wrong?"

Han Fei didn't answer, but just stared at Lu Hai, then turned his gaze to his own black T-shirt and jeans, and finally looked back at Lu Hai.

"Could I borrow your suit jacket to wear?"

......

Han Fei could tell that the suit was too small. Although he and Lu Hai were about the same height, around 185 cm, when he stood in front of the elevator mirror, he saw his socks sticking out between his suit trousers and shoes.

Perhaps it was because he was a bit stronger than Lu Hai.

The elevator doors slid to the sides, and Han Fei walked forward, following the click-clack of her high heels and her large, energetic buttocks encased in a leather skirt.

She suddenly stopped in front of a door, almost causing Han Fei to bump into it, and then she reached out and gently knocked on the door.

Han Fei saw that the door read "Deputy General Manager's Office".

The door opened, and Han Fei looked over her shoulder. A familiar face, the one he had only seen in photographs, appeared in the doorway, wearing the same polite smile as in the photos.

"President Zhang," she said, "President Han has arrived."

"I understand. You can go ahead and get busy, Xiao Zhou."

Zhang Qiming extended his hand to Han Fei and said eagerly, "Baohua's son, the current president of Qingniao Publishing House!"

"Mr. Zhang, it's a pleasure to meet you." Han Fei shook hands with him, and heard the clatter of high heels on the floor as he walked past, as if fleeing for his life.

"Calling me General Manager Zhang is too formal. Just call me Uncle Zhang."

Zhang Qiming's eyes still looked young, but his face looked like he had at least five children to support. His black and white hair was combed back, and he wore a gray suit. His handshake was warm yet firm.

"Okay, Uncle Zhang."

The two entered the office. The office was decorated rather simplistically, containing only a desk, a computer, and a sofa and coffee table. There were no photos on the wall, only a cheap, hand-torn old Chinese calendar worth 3 yuan.

"As I get older, I prefer a simpler environment," Zhang Qiming explained, gesturing for Han Fei to sit on the sofa and then placing a chair for himself opposite her. "How's your father's health?"

"It's the same as always, he needs to rest," Han Fei said, giving a wry smile. "But I also know that he can't let go of things, he's always thinking about the publishing house."

Zhang Qiming nodded, sat down in the chair, and placed a cup of tea in front of Han Fei.

"Your father has spent his entire life working with words; he's a true scholar at heart. His feelings for publishing houses are probably unimaginable to others. You came to see me this time because you wanted to collaborate with our mobile publishing house, didn't you?"

"Hmm," Han Fei picked out a few representative excerpts from his briefcase and handed them over. "Uncle Zhang, please take a look at this first."