Fantasy Writers 1860

"You said your store has an official single-volume copy of 'The Million Pound Note'?"

The boss wasn't surprised at all by the purpose of these people's visit. He knew that the book had a large potential audience, which was why he sourced it from his friends in Britannia.

During its peak popularity, underground clippings and pirated copies circulated everywhere. Although the hype has died down now, there might still be people who thought it was good back then and now want to buy a single volume for collection or to decorate their home.

"Yes, sir. Our shop is the only one in Lutesia that sells the official single volume of 'The Million Pounds.' We have a direct licensing agreement with Britannia," the shopkeeper explained solicitously, while moving more books from the warehouse onto the outdoor shelves.

While waiting for the shopkeeper to return from the warehouse with the books, the gentlemen in the shop began to chat amongst themselves:

"Mr. Hakimi's writing is really good. I've actually read it before, and now that I see it's available here as a standalone book, I might as well buy one to keep as a souvenir," said a gentleman wearing gloves.

Just as the boss thought.

"That's right. This Mr. Hakimi is the most clear-headed Britannian writer I've ever met. Others just sing praises to the empire, but he alone sees the corrupt nature beneath its glamorous facade."

"You think so too? Me too! That's why I like it. I think this work truly exposes the Britannians' greed and their inhumanity. Unlike us Iris, who are full of human compassion." Another gentleman seemed to have revealed something even deeper.

"That's right, especially that old nobleman who hoarded Henry's notes. We've long since swept him into the dustbin of history. But in Britannia, that morally corrupt nobleman still holds a high position so openly. We Irises are so much better!"

Finally, someone revealed the real reason why this book has gained some popularity on Iris magazine:

"I enjoy any work that satirizes the Britannian Empire! Do these savages with little cultural background really think that their slight advantage in magical technology in recent years will allow them to surpass the Iris?"

"That's right, Mr. Hakimi writes very well, it's just a bit unfortunate that he was born on the other side of the strait. In my opinion, he would have been an Iris Man long ago!"

"At least he's an honorary Iris member!"

Upon hearing this, a cheerful atmosphere filled the store, and everyone laughed along. Everyone spoke highly of Mr. Hakimi.

The more they admire Mr. Hakimi, this Britannian, now, the more they will hate another Britannian named Dorian soon.

……

"Bentley Magazine, what is that? Didn't I submit my work to the Britannian Literary Gazette? How did it get accepted by this magazine?"

Dorian looked at the acceptance letter he received, and was about to marvel at the competence of the editors of such a major newspaper, but upon seeing the somewhat odd organization that replied, he had to swallow his admiration.

What's going on?

Even if the Britannian Literary Gazette was blind to his talent, they should have sent a rejection letter or simply ignored him completely. What's going on with him being accepted by another magazine?

Would they really distribute manuscripts they deem unsuitable to other publishers? When did the publishing industry in Lentinion become so harmonious and united?

Louis XVI was completely baffled.

The latter half of the reply enthusiastically expressed the hope to establish a long-term cooperative relationship, inviting me to become a columnist. If I accepted, they also invited me to visit their magazine office soon to discuss further cooperation.

Then, naturally, came the royalties slipped into the envelope.

Two short stories, worth a total of two gold pounds.

That's equivalent to two months' salary at the Taiwan Creative Content Agency.

The salary offered by the Academy of Literature is already at the level of a mid-level clerk in the Imperial government.

And he was still a penniless newcomer.

It seems this magazine really values ​​me and has gone to great lengths to recruit me. At the end of the letter, they even wanted to directly recruit me as their exclusive writer.

Dorian read the letter in his hand again and began to seriously consider whether or not to take on the job.

She's just a writer, so she probably doesn't need to work in the office. She just needs to submit articles every month. Isn't Lily a columnist for "Our Cats and Dogs" magazine? I occasionally see her in the office, and most of the time she's writing articles about cat and dog food reviews, pet store visits, and cute pet facts.

At that moment, his gaze swept over the signature area at the end of the letter.

I didn't look at this area carefully just now, thinking that since it's someone I don't know, there's no point in looking at it.

But now he felt a strange familiarity with the name.

He should recognize the name, but the name he remembered was not exactly the same as the signature on the letter, creating an eerie sense of ambiguity.

"Charlie Johanna Dickinson? This..."

"Could it be a parallel universe version of Dickens in this world?" Dorian exclaimed. "But why does this name sound...like a girl's?"

Now there's no need to think about it anymore, I definitely have to go check out their newspaper office!

Dorian put the letter away, planning to visit it over the weekend. He also stuffed the two gold pound notes into his pocket, feeling much more at ease.

Next month's rent is settled.

……

"A masterpiece that would put even Dickinson to shame; you're not a Britannian if you don't see it!"

"The Secret History of the Iris Upper Class: A Respectable Young Woman Sells Her Youth for a Necklace!"

"Police and Hymns: An Ending You'll Never Guess!"

"Don't miss Bentley Weekly! You'll regret it for the rest of your life if you don't!"

The next morning, the damp, cold fog still enveloped the foggy city, but newsboys had already obtained today's newspapers and magazines from various publishing houses and printing plants and began hawking them in the streets and alleys.

Although everyone knows that these newsboys always use exaggerated and sensational slogans to sell newspapers, the reality is often not that exciting.

Even so, it still attracted the attention of many passersby.

A gentleman stopped and pulled a few dollars from his pocket. "Give me a copy of the 'Iris: The Secret History of High Society'."

"Yes, Bentley Weekly, sir!" The newsboy enthusiastically pulled a magazine out of his bag.

The gentleman, clutching the magazine, hurried away.

He walked to a secluded café he frequented, sat in his usual corner, and began searching for the story of that respectable young woman.

He found it quickly, as the article was on the first few pages of Bentley Weekly.

"The wife of a junior employee in the Iris Education Department? I get it. She must be having an affair with her husband's boss, and the incompetent husband can only eavesdrop at the door while listening to the sounds... The promiscuous Iris people love doing this kind of thing."

This gentleman muttered to himself with righteous indignation, engaging in a fiercely critical reading.

"Borrow a necklace... I understand, the next step is at the ball..."

"Lost? I see. Next up is Madam Mathilde. You wouldn't want your husband to know you've lost such a precious necklace, would you...?"

"Buy a string of them and return them? How much money would that leave me in debt?" He began to sense something was wrong, but he still continued reading.

"They fired the maid, moved, and rented a shabby rooftop room? I get it, next they still couldn't pay off their debts, and the incompetent wife had no choice but to..."

"Hmm? Ten years from now?"

"What? That necklace is fake, worth at most five hundred francs?!"

Although the gentleman did not see what he expected, he was still filled with a sense of loss, as if he had entered a period of profound reflection.

He stood there stunned for a long time before finally letting out a sigh, and couldn't help but slam his hand on the table, attracting the attention of the guests sitting next to him.

He didn't care, only feeling that all his previous presumptuous speculations about dampness had been proven wrong, but a strange soreness arose in his heart.

What a wonderful story! It has absolutely no erotic elements that I was expecting, yet it's more captivating than any other erotic story I've ever read.

"Let me tell you, the newsboys were right, you'll regret it for the rest of your life if you don't read this!"