The journalist was wary and reluctant to share contact details, insisting he had the freedom to report news.
Xiaoni remained unruffled, still smiling brightly, “This is our boss’s request. Xiaoyu is a heavyweight author signed with our publishing house, and our boss cares deeply about every report concerning her. We never refuse interviews from media journalists, but our boss wants to personally review things. I hope you understand what I mean.”
As she spoke, Xiaoni handed over an envelope, and the journalist suddenly understood.
A “gratuity” was an unspoken industry rule. Rongcheng Literature Publishing House was quite savvy.
Beyond the usual gratuity, they probably wanted to privately discuss with him, hoping he’d put in a good word for “Against the Current Fish” in his report.
Heh.
The author was young, brash, and arrogant, thinking she was something special, yet still needed the publishing house to clean up her mess behind the scenes.
Seeing Xiaoni’s respectful attitude, the journalist actually gave her his contact details.
Xiaoni gave a subtle signal, and the security guards dispersed.
“Hmph, that journalist has some sense. If he hadn’t left his contact details, he wouldn’t have left today!”
Xiaoni handed the contact information to Zou Weijun, who corrected her, “You little girl, where did you learn such underworld slang? We’re not the mafia. Is it wrong to want to build a relationship with our media friends?”
Xiaoni put on a “duly noted” expression.
Sister Zou was right. They were the most reasonable people, never wronging a good person, nor letting a bad one slip through.
Zou Weijun sent the journalist’s contact details to her son, Xie Qian, who passed them on to Detective Luo for further handling.
The man in the baseball cap who caused trouble at the Modu book signing had already been released from the police station.
Before his release, Detective Luo had visited the man’s home. Private investigators often operated in grey areas, and Luo used some methods to thoroughly search the man’s place, gathering useful snippets from neighbours. Upon receiving the journalist’s contact details, Luo whistled, “Let’s see what connection these two have!”
The journalist, having taken the gratuity, didn’t speak well of Wen Ying. The same words, used in different contexts, could convey entirely different meanings. Wen Ying’s responses thrilled her live audience, but to some, they were grating. With the journalist adding fuel to the fire, the news effect was explosive.
Young people should be humble. Being too arrogant was seen as disrespecting the seniors.
For a time, criticism of Wen Ying was rampant. The old diehard who led the charge against her during the essay contest was so furious he was hospitalised. After a long recovery, he seemed to have forgotten the pain and jumped back to criticise Wen Ying, saying she was arrogant and disrespectful to the literary giants of the domestic scene.
“I’m heartbroken. Literature is declining. So many dedicated literary creators work in silence, yet an empty braggart gains market recognition and praise.”
These reports left Wen Ying both pained and delighted.
Not because the negative comments affected her, but because the more she was criticised, the more her readers rallied to defend her.
On her blog, Wen Ying stressed her stance, urging readers to be civil and polite, to avoid personal attacks, and to embrace dissenting opinions.
Her readers, unable to vent their frustrations, wanted to do something for Wen Ying. At the third book signing in Jiangcheng, 2,000 local readers showed up, joined by many from nearby cities. The venue was packed, and after signing, Wen Ying felt her arm was no longer her own.
This was physical pain.
Alongside the physical pain was mental joy. The book signing results for *Galaxy and You* broke records again. Wen Ying’s three signings drove sales of nearly 20,000 copies.
Negative comments couldn’t suppress these dazzling results. Harsh criticism didn’t affect her book sales one bit.
Wen Ying was thrilled.
For *Galaxy and You*, Wen Ying only earned a 6% royalty, which seemed small, but with high total sales, she made a tidy sum.
The old diehard criticising Wen Ying was livid.
How could the more he criticised, the more her books sold?
Did today’s readers lack literary taste? Shallow people couldn’t produce profound work, so Wen Ying’s fans must be shallow too.
Readers: …?
What kind of lunatic was this?
Whose dog got loose and started biting people?
The readers were furious but had no platform to voice their anger, as the old diehard probably didn’t even use the internet.
Just when the readers felt stifled, the long-silent Elder Fu stepped in.
Elder Fu, always blunt, was no different this time, directly calling out, “Literature hasn’t declined. It’s the outdated era of certain people that has. The world belongs to the young, full of vitality. Everyone grows old, and ageing isn’t scary. What’s scary is becoming more stubborn with age. What’s laughable is when some people, clinging to their bit of industry seniority, love to criticise young people and speak on behalf of others.”
What was this about disrespecting the literary giants?
Elder Fu didn’t consider himself a “giant,” but he always felt Wen Ying’s respect.
This respect wasn’t about holiday greetings or expensive gifts, but Wen Ying’s seriousness in her craft, which was the greatest respect to Elder Fu.
To write the Jiuding series well, Wen Ying kept in constant contact with Elder Fu. She read every book on the list he gave her before starting. For the first book of the Jiuding series, *Xunyong*, Wen Ying scrapped several openings. This was her respect for literary creation.
The old diehard only saw the surface, not the substance. Seeing no public interaction between Wen Ying and Elder Fu after the essay contest, he assumed they’d lost contact. He deserved to be called out and harshly criticised by Elder Fu.
This time, the old diehard didn’t feign illness. He chose to be a shrinking turtle.
Wen Ying didn’t bother with such people. The day before the Jingcheng book signing, Detective Luo made a breakthrough.
Luo had found a connection between the journalist and the man in the baseball cap.
The man was the journalist’s “informant,” often providing news leads.
If no explosive news came up for a while, the man would help create some conflict.
The two had been working together for some time, the journalist gaining fame, the man profit. Their partnership was quite harmonious.
The man had no prior record because he hadn’t been caught. There are no secrets in the industry, and despite their low profile, peers noticed. Detective Luo followed this lead for his investigation.
“So someone first approached the journalist, who then called his old partner, intending to create a stir at Wen Ying’s book signing and report it to damage her reputation.”
Detective Luo showed Xie Qian the photos and scattered evidence he’d gathered.
This evidence wouldn’t hold up in court, but Xie Qian wasn’t a judge. He just wanted to confirm some suspicions.
“Anything else?”
Detective Luo glanced around, leaned in, and whispered to Xie Qian, “This journalist previously received a foreign payment.”
