With a first print run of 100,000 copies of Youth Idol distributed to bookstores nationwide, each store got only a small share. Sichuan Province’s local bookstores received the most, while Shanghai got far fewer.
Xie Qian waited until the evening when he wasn’t busy to start reading Youth Idol.
The book was 300,000 words, and Xie Qian read it from the beginning again.
After finishing, he had one thought: Hamster was destined to make a living as a writer.
Unlike being pushed to do practice tests, this was Wen Ying’s true passion, her “career”, and the book was infused with her fervor.
Closing the book, Xie Qian vividly remembered its vibrant characters—not just because of his strong memory; even someone with average recall wouldn’t forget them easily.
Well-written, authentic—this was Xie Qian’s heartfelt assessment.
Of course, as Wen Ying’s first novel, her craft and plotting lagged behind literary giants, and the themes weren’t profound. But for her age, producing such a work demanded recognition of her talent.
She might never reach the peak of academics, but in writing, Wen Ying stood atop the mountain among her peers.
The book’s latter half didn’t collapse at all; it felt exhilarating, with the final 120,000 words written seamlessly, showing tighter details and logic than the first half.
The initial 100,000 copies would likely need a reprint soon.
Xie Qian ran his hand over the cover and sent Wen Ying a message: “Your book will sell big.”
“Huh?!”
Wen Ying wanted him to elaborate, but Xie Qian refused to gush further.
He wasn’t the first to say this. After bookstores closed that evening, Wen Ying met Wang Shuang and the others at their agreed spot. Wang Shuang, Tang Yifeng, and even the reserved Geng Xiao all said the same.
“My dad says you should sign some copies for him to gift; it’ll make him look good.”
Wang Shuang relayed her father’s request, her own face beaming with excitement, “I reckon just in Rongcheng’s bookstores, it sold over 3,000 copies today. Add in the rest of Sichuan and other cities nationwide, your book’s first-day sales definitely topped 10,000!”
A 100,000-copy first run selling 10,000 in a day would be gone in ten days.
Wen Ying thought Wang Shuang was exaggerating.
Few novels had precise first-day sales figures. Even abroad, where data cycles were shorter, they typically tracked weekly sales, not daily.
But Wang Shuang’s mention of 3,000 copies jogged Wen Ying’s memory.
She recalled a book like that.
In 2005, October or November, the simplified Chinese edition of Harry Potter 6 launched nationwide. In Nanjing alone, it sold over 3,000 copies on the first day, with hordes of “Potterheads” crowding bookstores to grab it, a frenzy akin to later Apple product launches!
That was a news-reported statistic, tucked away in Wen Ying’s memory, brought back by Wang Shuang’s comment.
Nanjing was bigger and more prosperous than Rongcheng, and that was Harry Potter 6’s first-day sales. How many books in China could compare to a global juggernaut like Harry Potter?
“You’re comparing me to J.K. Rowling?”
Before Wang Shuang could reply, Geng Xiao laughed, “Not now, but maybe in the future. Ms. Rowling didn’t publish a novel in high school—you’re years ahead of her.”
Was that a fair comparison?
You’re not Geng Xiao, you’re Geng Ah-Q!
Wen Ying laughed at her friends’ teasing.
“Then I’ll take your good wishes. If tomorrow’s data shows Rongcheng sold 3,000 copies on the first day, I’ll treat everyone to a big meal!”
The meal was a must. Wang Shuang felt she’d run her legs thin today. If Wen Ying’s book sold 3,000 copies in Rongcheng on day one, she’d be on her way to riches through writing—affording a big meal was no issue.
Qin Jiao and Tang Yifeng nodded; they should definitely have that meal!
Qin Jiao was thrilled for Wen Ying but teased Wang Shuang, “Last year, didn’t you say Wen Ying was using me as a cash cow?”
When Wen Ying first arrived in Rongcheng and went shopping with Qin Jiao, Wang Shuang eyed her like a thief.
When Qin Jiao bought Wen Ying a set of clothes, Wang Shuang thought Wen Ying was taking advantage.
Yes, Wen Ying’s family wasn’t wealthy, but she was impressive in her own right!
Among these young people, even Qin Jiao, admitted to Peking University’s Guanghua School, couldn’t match the wealth Wen Ying was about to earn without family help—excluding Li Mengjiao’s 2.8 million endorsement fee. She was a special case, fed by the heavens. Entertainment money came in bursts: high when you’re popular, gone when you’re not, unlike a writer’s steady royalty income.
Wen Ying would earn a lot, every cent from her own words. Spending her hard-earned money must feel exhilarating and grounded!
Wang Shuang denied Qin Jiao’s teasing, insisting he’d seen Wen Ying’s “exceptional” quality from their first meeting.
The group laughed and chatted before heading home.
Wen Ying didn’t know her uncle Deng Shangwei had contributed 100 copies to her first-day sales.
Back home, she saw a copy of Youth Idol on the table and panicked, thinking her secret identity was exposed.
But it was just Old Wen who bought it.
“This book’s pretty good, you should check it out.”
Unaware the author stood before him, Old Wen shared his thoughts.
Her friends’ praise might be flattery, but Old Wen saying it was “pretty good” made Wen Ying feel utterly content.
Wen Dongrong didn’t know he’d broadened his own path.
It was August 1, and when Wen Ying slipped him pocket money, he felt the envelope was thicker than usual. Hiding in the bathroom, he counted a full 1,000 yuan!
What was this about? Why the sudden increase?
Was it just for this month, or every month going forward?
Had he done something special today?
Or was this hush money for some future blame?
Wen Dongrong puzzled over it, unsure of Wen Ying’s intentions.
500 yuan a month felt natural, even exciting.
1,000 yuan made him feel guilty facing his wife, replacing confidence with unease.
Why the raise, though?
Over the extra 500 yuan, Wen Dongrong tossed and turned in bed half the night, unable to sleep. Wen Ying was also awake.
She was waiting for Youth Idol’s first-day sales data.
Zou Weijun and Xiao Ni were up too, calling bookstores to tally Rongcheng’s sales overnight.
As Xie Qian predicted, data from outside Rongcheng was hard to collect, but local data was manageable. Zou Weijun had records of which bookstores received how many copies.
At midnight, Xiao Ni rubbed her eyes, calculated once, then again to avoid errors. The number shocked her.
“Sister Zou, take a look!”
Was there a mistake? The figure was absurdly high, no wonder several bookstores requested restocking.
Xiao Ni’s face flushed. Zou Weijun, having experienced Hush, Little Secret’s success, was calmer, “Not surprising. Rongcheng is our promotional hub. Think about how much noise the papers and magazines have made lately. Youth Idol has piqued everyone’s curiosity. Even non-readers, driven by herd mentality, won’t let sales falter!”
Many bought the book on day one, but how many would become true readers depended on whether Youth Idol suited their tastes.
Zou Weijun said it was good, Xiao Ni said it was good, Wen Ying’s friends said it was good—but only readers would give the true verdict.
“Send Wen Ying a message. She’s definitely still up. The first-day sales are in, let her sleep easy,” Zou Weijun instructed.
Xiao Ni, hands shaking with excitement, typed, “Youth Idol sold 4,221 copies in Rongcheng on its first day. Little Fish, congratulations!”
