Sixty thousand?
Wen Ying was bold to guess that high.
Zou Weijun teased with a laugh, “Not bold enough.”
A rush of excitement hit Wen Ying.
Did that mean it was more than sixty thousand?
“Auntie Zou, how many exactly?”
Zou Weijun wasn’t one to keep people hanging. After a bit of teasing, she gave Wen Ying the answer, “721,124 copies.”
Seventy-two thousand!
Teen Idol, in six months since its release, had sold 1.289 million copies, just a few hundred shy of 1.29 million, a figure Wen Ying never imagined before publication.
“How could it be so much?”
Wen Ying murmured, and Zou Weijun’s laughter grew, “Because your book is great. Good books, paired with effective promotion, naturally explode in sales. It’s normal.”
The essay contest was the best promotion for Spark magazine and for Wen Ying.
Yuan Fenghui had Wen Ying, Li Mengjiao, Yun Chen, and Zhang Yangning shoot a promotional video. The latter three were entertainment stars, but Wen Ying, a writer, drew the most attention.
The controversy fueled Teen Idol’s sales.
Old Master Fu’s endorsement helped more people judge Teen Idol and Wen Ying fairly.
With such a stir, selling seventy-two thousand in the second quarter was reasonable, Zou Weijun thought.
Xie Qian, listening to Zou Weijun’s call, calculated Wen Ying’s pre-tax earnings: 721,124 × 15% × 32, roughly 3.4614 million yuan.
That wasn’t her final royalty. Per her contract, once total sales exceeded a million, earlier royalties, paid at 14% for the first quarter’s 568,329 copies, would be topped up to 15%, adding 181,800 yuan.
In total, Wen Ying’s royalties this time were 3.643 million yuan.
Pre-tax, of course, with the publisher handling taxes.
Even after tax, Teen Idol earned Wen Ying five million, equivalent to a first-prize lottery win.
Lottery odds were slim; Xie Qian always saw them as a tax on the naive.
Writing was different.
Beyond financial rewards, high sales showed Wen Ying’s work resonated with countless readers, likely bringing more joy than the money.
Teen Idol was Wen Ying’s first million-seller, but not her last.
The hamster must be thrilled, right?
After Zou Weijun hung up, Xie Qian’s phone buzzed instantly.
“I’m rich again!”
“Teen Idol sold over 700,000 in the second quarter!”
“Xie Qian, you short on cash?”
Three texts in a row showed Wen Ying’s excitement.
Zou Weijun ended the call, and Wen Ying texted Xie Qian first, sharing the news with him. In early February’s chilly Rongcheng spring, it felt like warm sunlight on his heart. Xie Qian’s pulse quickened.
Thump.
Thump, thump, thump.
Once he noticed his heartbeat, it raced, beyond his control.
Compared to negotiating with his deadbeat dad Xie Jinghu, this stirred him more.
Zou Weijun saw Xie Qian smiling at his phone and smiled herself.
Youth was wonderful.
The spring breeze brushed her face. Reflecting on her career efforts over the past year, she wanted to ask Xie Qian: Can Mum be your role model now?
She didn’t voice it.
She felt it wasn’t enough.
Publishing bestselling science books, discovering a million-selling novel, launching Spark magazine, and hosting an influential essay contest were career successes.
Men might deceive women, but career efforts didn’t.
To be Xie Qian’s role model, Zou Weijun felt she needed to strive harder.
Perhaps it was time to face some things.
Xie Qian, not yet eighteen, should enjoy carefree youth, maybe fall in love, not stand as a fighter shielding his timid mother.
Zou Weijun’s eyes grew misty.
Her mother, recovering in Qiongdao, never mentioned her marriage troubles, also protecting her.
In that moment, Zou Weijun decided she couldn’t hide behind Xie Qian anymore. She wouldn’t let him bear the burden alone.
Change from quantity to quality took time. No one knew how hard it was for a depressive to overcome themselves.
Xie Qian, head down at his phone, missed his mother’s tears.
He was crafting a reply to Wen Ying.
Initially, he typed, “Are you daft? I’m with my mum, how wouldn’t I know Teen Idol’s sales?”
He knew the sales and calculated the royalties.
But that reply might dampen the hamster’s enthusiasm.
This hamster, prone to cocky tail-wags, genuinely valued him, asking if he needed money before her royalties even arrived.
Xie Qian deleted the text, typing instead, “Just got back to Rongcheng. Let’s talk in person.”
…
Ahhh!
Xie Qian was back in Rongcheng.
Wen Ying, clutching her phone, laughed aloud, quickly covering her mouth to avoid Wen Dongrong’s notice.
Days ago, she asked when he’d return, but he kept mum. Now he was here.
Her stifled laugh was too late. Wen Dongrong, hands behind his back, approached suspiciously, “You seem awfully happy today. Who were you calling?”
Wen Ying tucked away her phone, denying, “No one. I’m happy for Big Aunt, she found the perfect shop.”
Wen Ying and her father were with Zhu Meiqun’s stalls. Zhu Meiqun refused to stay for free in Chen Ru’s spare new house, helped with the big cleanup, brought homemade wontons to the New Year’s Eve dinner, and, upon hearing Wen Dongrong claim financial hardship, immediately offered her family’s savings. These actions made Chen Ru genuinely respect Zhu Meiqun as her “sister-in-law.” family, signing a lease.
Wen Dongrong suggested Zhu Meiqun switch to a fruit business and offered a partnership. Zhu Meiqun inspected his suggested shops, consulting Deng Shangwei before deciding.
Following Deng Shangwei’s advice, she chose this shop.
It wasn’t large, the building low and unimpressive.
But it sat at a three-way intersection, near several residential complexes. Even just serving those residents could sustain a fruit shop.
One path led to the provincial hospital.
Besides locals, hospital visitors might stop to buy fruit.
For Zhu Meiqun to snag such a prime spot, it wasn’t all perfect. The shop’s low facade wasn’t eye-catching, and its size, including a back room for sleeping, was just over ten square metres, limiting business types.
The rent was steep too.
Those who could afford it would opt for larger shops.
Zhu Meiqun trusted Deng Shangwei’s judgment but winced at the rent.
Wen Ying, eyeing the open space outside, admitted her uncle-in-law’s sharp eye.
“Big Aunt should not only rent this place but lock it in for years. If her business takes off, others might want it back.”
