A Literary Life Starting from the First Year of High School

On Saturday, February 19th, at 1:40 PM, Lin Shubai was sitting in a car heading to the city.

Last week, Wang Shouyi, an editor at People's Literature Publishing House, contacted him. After Chen Yuanshan recommended the manuscript, Wang Shouyi and the editor-in-chief, Lao Sun, both read it and felt that the book was worth publishing. They agreed to meet in Shanghai this week to finalize the contract.

The bus swayed for forty minutes before stopping near Nanjing Road. Lin Shubai got off and walked towards the "Half-Day Leisure" coffee shop.

Lin Shubai pushed open the glass door, and the aroma of coffee beans wafted out. There weren't many people in the shop, and the seats by the window were empty. He walked over and sat down, then took out his phone and sent a text message to Wang Shouyi: "Teacher Wang, I've arrived."

The reply came quickly: "I'll be there in five minutes, there's a bit of traffic on the way."

The waiter came over, and Lin Shubai ordered a latte. After a while, the door was pushed open, and a slightly overweight man in his fifties walked in, wearing a dark gray jacket over a white shirt, with a gentle smile on his face.

He glanced around the shop, his gaze landing on Lin Shubai. He walked over and extended his hand.

"Lin Shubai? I am Wang Shouyi."

"Hello, Teacher Wang."

"Sit down, sit down, don't be shy." Wang Shouyi sat down opposite him.

After exchanging a few pleasantries, he opened the folder, pulled out a stack of documents, and said, "Let's get down to business. I brought the contract. Take a look at it first, and ask me any questions you may have now."

Lin Shubai took the contract. The royalty terms were on the third page, ten percent, just like "The Little Prince." Lin Shubai hadn't expected the royalty for "Four Generations Under One Roof" to be so high, after all, it was his first time publishing a novel of this genre. He had initially thought it would be around eight percent.

"Teacher Wang, this royalty—"

"Old Sun set the price. He said this book is worth the price, not because your first two books sold well, but because this book itself is worth it."

Lin Shubai is no longer in a hurry for royalties. The money for "Charlotte's Web" had already arrived at the beginning of the winter vacation. More than 80,000 copies were sold, and he received nearly 160,000 yuan. Now he accepts royalties as long as they are within a reasonable range.

He continued reading and saw that the first print run was 30,000 copies. That was 10,000 fewer than the first print run of "The Little Prince." But he understood that "Four Generations Under One Roof" was not a children's book, and the target audience was different. The publisher also needed to control the risks. 30,000 copies was a safe number—if it sold well, they would print more, and if it didn't sell well, they wouldn't have too much inventory.

The other terms were similar to the previous contract. After reading the last page, he placed the contract on the table.

"no problem."

"If there are no problems, you can sign now or go back and have a lawyer take a look." Wang Shouyi took out a pen from his pocket and handed it over.

Lin Shubai took the pen and signed his name on the last page. He felt it was unnecessary to hire a lawyer; the name of People's Literature Publishing House alone was trustworthy.

Wang Shouyi took the contract back and put it in a folder. Then he pulled a brown paper bag out of his briefcase. "There's one more thing. The publishing house has put forward three options for the cover of this book. You can choose one, or none of them. Give us your feedback, and we'll revise it."

He poured the contents of the paper bag onto the table—three printouts, each a cover design proposal.

The first image, with a dark gray background, depicts the outline of a traditional courtyard house. The lines are so fine they are almost invisible, only discernible upon close inspection. The title, "Four Generations Under One Roof," is written in regular script, black, upright, and solemn. Lin Shubai felt this image was too "cold." The book is about war, but its core is not war itself, but rather how people survive within it. The outline of the courtyard house is correct, but the gray is wrong; gray is too despairing. Despair is not absent from the book, but it is not the only theme.

The second one, with a dark red background, like the color of an old brick wall, has the book title written on it in handwriting, messy but powerful, as if it were written with a brush dipped in ink. This one is better than the first one; the dark red is like blood, like brick, like the color of that era. But he felt that the handwriting was too "forceful," as if it were shouting, "Look, I am tragic." This book doesn't need to shout; it should stand there quietly, waiting for you to walk in.

The third image features silhouettes of three generations of the Qi family—an elderly person, a middle-aged person, and a child—standing in a row, facing forward. Their faces are not clearly visible, but one can feel the power of their unity.

Lin Shubai placed the three manuscripts side by side on the table and looked at them for a long time.

The third one.

Why?

"Because this book is about a family standing together, no matter what happens outside, they stand together."

He paused, then said, "The first one was too cold, the second one was too forceful, the third one is just right. The off-white color is like the color of old newspapers, like something left over from that era. The silhouettes don't show their faces, which is just right—they are not just a few people, they are that generation."

Wang Shouyi put the two photos away and placed the third one in a separate folder. "Okay, then it's the third one. But the details will be adjusted. I'll show it to you later."

"Teacher Wang, when will this book be available for publication?"

"The printing schedule has been set by the end of March at the earliest. Printing will begin in mid-March, and the books will be available by the end of the month." Wang Shouyi picked up his coffee and took a sip. "There's one more thing. After the book is released, some media outlets may want to interview you. It's up to you whether you accept the interview or not. The publisher won't interfere, but if you do, the publishing house can help you coordinate."

"it is good."

Interviews are unavoidable. When "The Little Prince" was published, he was interviewed by three media outlets and answered countless questions such as "Why do you write fairy tales?" and "Will writing affect your studies?" He didn't want to answer these questions, not because he couldn't, but because he felt the questions themselves were meaningless. However, he knew that if he didn't say something, others would think he was arrogant. This is the price of fame—your time no longer belongs entirely to you.

"Okay, that's settled then." Wang Shouyi closed the folder, put it back in his briefcase, then took out his phone from his pocket and glanced at it. "I'm taking the train back to Beijing tonight, so I won't chat any longer. I'll take the contract back to the company to get it stamped, and then I'll send it to you. Keep a copy for yourself."

He pulled a business card from his briefcase and handed it over. "This is my phone number and email address. Feel free to contact me anytime if you have any questions, whether it's about books, contracts, or just want to talk to someone about writing."

Lin Shubai took the business card, which read "Wang Shouyi, editor of People's Literature Publishing House" and had a phone number and email address below it. He carefully put the business card into his wallet.

"Thank you, Teacher Wang."