1978 Synthetic Writers

Chapter 128 Young Artists

Bang, bang, bang.

After staying in Beijing for some time, Jiang Qin and his family set out to return to Shanghai.

The scenery outside the car window slowly receded, and Bian Huawei and Jiang Qin talked about the changes at home.

"It's only been a year, and there have been so many changes at home. I don't even want to go to Shanghai and live that hard life with you anymore," Jiang Qin joked.

"I have no objection, but I don't know whether your two sons will agree or not."

Jiang Qin patted her son's head and said, "Next year when we come back, the second son's courtyard house should be finished. We can also take advantage of it and live in a house in the imperial city. I have never lived in such a big courtyard before."

"I think the yard is OK. It should be ready in a few months. Wait until summer and you can take them back to live there for a while."

"."

After the train had gone a little further, Bian Huawei picked up a copy of China Youth Daily on the table to relieve his boredom.

After looking through the sections one by one, I actually saw an interview article with Jiang Xian.

The article highly praised Jiang Xian's advanced and glorious qualities, his active role as a pioneer in spreading the spirit of reform and opening up in various art fields, and gave an evaluation of Jiang Xian at the end:
“He’s a young artist!”

Bian Huawei's eyes widened instantly.

"Young Artist!"

At the Beijing Film Studio, Zhu Lin read a copy of China Youth Daily for a while, her eyes flickering, "They gave you a pretty high evaluation."

"It's just a comment from the China Youth Daily comrades." Jiang Xian was clear-headed, "It's not a title."

"People's Artist", "Literary and Art Worker with Both Morality and Art", "National Advanced Worker". These are the real titles.

especially--

"People's Artist".

This is a national honorary title and the highest honor for literary and artistic workers.

For a long time, there were only three people in the country who enjoyed this honor, three masters in different fields: Lao She, Qi Baishi, and Chang Xiangyu.

As for these honors, Jiang Xian can only fantasize about them for now, but he still has to have dreams.

"Writer Jiang!"

"Writer Jiang!"

Hearing the shout, Jiang Xian looked in the direction of the voice and caught a glimpse of the comrades in the communication room.

"There's a man named Li Jingfeng looking for you."

"Jingfeng is here?"

Jiang Xian's heart skipped a beat and he vaguely guessed something.

I quickly walked to the message room and caught a glimpse of a tall and strong man from Northeast China sitting on a chair.

"Jingfeng! Why did you come here in person?"

Li Jingfeng grinned, put his hands behind his back, walked in front of Jiang Xian, and then shook a thick new book in his hand.

"Don't be proud."

Jiang Xian took the book in his hand. On the white cover, there was a simple and elegant painting of a bunch of hibiscus flowers with blooming branches and green shades on the bank. In the upper right corner, the three large simplified Chinese characters "Furong Town" were written vertically, which was fresh and bright. Below it was the author: Jiang Xian.

"Furong Town" is finally released.

No book cover!

Anyone who sees a new book with their name printed on it for the first time will find it difficult to contain their excitement.

At this moment, Jiang Xian was no exception and laughed foolishly a few times.

"Mr. Mao originally wrote the three characters 'Furong Town' in traditional Chinese characters, but later found that it was difficult to print, so the old lady went to find Mao Dun again and changed the three characters 'Furong Town' to the vernacular characters." Li Jingfeng said.

"Mr. Mao and Mrs. Mao have taken so much trouble." Jiang Xian felt a warm feeling in his heart.

When I open the book, the wind with the fragrance of ink blows on my face. The first page is the table of contents. Turning further, four luxurious prefaces come into view, by Ba Jin, Mao Dun, Shen Congwen, and Jiang Xian.

The main text comes last.

The back of the book is printed with the name of the editor, Li Jingfeng, and the name of the People's Literature Publishing House in small regular script. "Great, it's printed really well."

"How about giving your date a call?"

"No need for this, my girlfriend works at the Beijing Film Studio, I'll show it to her later."

"I see. I was wondering why you always stayed at the Beijing Film Studio."

Li Jingfeng suddenly realized.

The two chatted for a while, then simply strolled out and walked around the yard of the Beijing Film Studio.

"You should have heard that the Publishing Bureau has introduced new standards for remuneration for manuscripts."

"I heard that the basic remuneration is 3 to 10 yuan per thousand words, and it is also paid together with the remuneration for the number of copies printed."

"Well, our Renwen Press has also received the notice from above. There is no problem with the quality of Furong Town. The press will definitely give you a basic remuneration of 10 yuan per thousand words."

10 yuan per thousand words!
Jiang Xian held the sample book of "Furong Town" in his hands, his heart burning with excitement.

The original manuscript of Furong Town had 190,000 words. After some revisions and including his author's preface, it now had more than 200,000 words.

This means that he can get more than 2,000 yuan in basic royalties alone!

"How is the remuneration calculated based on the number of copies printed?"

"The higher-ups have informed us that the remuneration for printing is calculated based on 2 copies. We have discussed this within the publishing house and are planning to implement a remuneration of % per copies printed."

The royalty fee is 2% of the print run for every 2 copies. That is to say, for every copies of "Furong Town" printed, % of the basic royalty fee must be paid to Jiang Xian, which is about yuan.

If 500,000 copies can be printed, Jiang Xian will directly earn more than 2,000 yuan in royalties. If 1 million copies can be printed, Jiang Xian will directly earn more than 4,000 yuan in royalties.

Please note that this is only the print-count royalty payment, and it must be combined with the basic royalty payment.

That sounds like a lot.

Little-known fact: in 1958, the royalties were calculated based on the number of copies printed, which was truly a astronomical amount.

"Have you decided what to do with the money?" Li Jingfeng asked.

Jiang Xian said without hesitation: "Pay off the mortgage."

"?"

"I bought a yard and borrowed several thousand dollars from others and still haven't paid it back."

"." Li Jingfeng was shocked, "Why is the yard so expensive?"

"It's in Jingshan East Hutong. You can't live in it right now. When it's repaired, you can come and warm the room for me."

"I'd better push for the publication of the book, and try to sell it better so that I can help you fill this huge hole."

"Those who know me say that I am worried, those who don't know me ask what I want. Jingfeng knows me."

"Ha ha ha ha."

The two chatted for a while, and then Li Jingfeng said goodbye and left. Before leaving, he told him that he would send him the invoice for the basic remuneration for "Furong Town" later.

Jiang Xian turned around and went back to the guesthouse. He placed the single volume of "Furong Town" on the desk where he usually did his homework. He really liked it no matter how he looked at it.

After thinking for a while, he opened the cover of the book, picked up the pen, and quickly wrote a line of words on it.

After a while, we arrived at the door of Zhu Lin's room. She lived in a double room with Chen Hong, who played the role of the girl from Ma Dache's family.

Jiang Xian knocked on the door and it soon creaked open. Zhu Lin held the door and took a look, then came out in cotton slippers and immediately noticed the "Furong Town" in Jiang Xian's hand.

"This is - published?" Zhu Lin picked it up with great enthusiasm.

"Renwen Press just sent me a copy. It has a unique meaning. I'm giving it to you."

"Give it to me?" Zhu Lin was surprised, and her slender white fingers gently stroked the pages of the book.

Jiang Xian said goodbye and she returned to her room.

Sitting at the table, I took a look at it first, then found something on the title page, opened it again, and sure enough, I saw a line of elegant pen handwriting.

The brushstrokes are looking back and forth, rising and falling.

[At four o'clock in the morning, I couldn't sleep because of the crabapple blossoms.]
(End of this chapter)