1978 Synthetic Writers

Chapter 230 Self-synthesized drama script

After Jiang Xian left No. 2 Shatan North Street, he went straight to No. 166 Chaoyang, Renwenshe.

"Dudu!" Jiang Xian saw Yang Dudu delivering newspapers to each office. He called him and Yang Dudu trotted over.

He took out all the empty cigarette boxes he had recently collected from his bag and handed them to him.

"This time the harvest is rich."

"Where did it come from?" Yang Dudu was very happy. He had never seen such a cigarette label before.

"It was seized from the Japanese." Jiang Xian replied jokingly and walked up the stairs to the North Group of the Novel to find Li Jingfeng.

The tall and strong man smiled as soon as he saw Jiang Xian, "Oh, I've been looking forward to seeing you for so long, and finally you're back."

"Jingfeng, don't be so corny, my wife doesn't even say that."

Jiang Xian took out another bag of chocolates and put it on the table for Li Jingfeng, "Take it back and let the children taste it."

"Then I would be disrespectful."

Li Jingfeng smiled and took out a payment slip from the drawer. This was also one of the purposes of Jiang Xian's trip.

It has been three months since the publication of "Rice", and Renwen Publishing House naturally wants to settle royalties with him based on the number of copies of "Rice".

"In just three months, you have broken the circulation of one million!" Li Jingfeng said excitedly.

The first print run of "Rice" was 10 copies, which were sold out in just ten days. Afterwards, Renwen Publishing House continued to print more copies.

Thanks to the continuous publication of literary reviews in the Literary Gazette and various literary magazines, neither the topic nor the popularity has decreased in the past few months.

Thanks to this, the subsequent sales trend of "Rice" remained very stable. After three months, the circulation was exactly 1.01 million copies, breaking the one million circulation mark.

Jiang Xian glanced at the number on the payment slip:
3100 yuan.

This is the amount of remuneration for a book of 155,000 words with a print run of one million copies.

This is certainly a huge sum of money, but Jiang Xian is not quite satisfied now.

Having tasted the sweetness of royalties in Japan, I can't help but wonder how much money this would be if converted into royalties.

I slapped my forehead and realized that I have been deeply poisoned by capitalist society.

Three thousand yuan is enough to buy a small courtyard house in Beijing.

"Why do you look unhappy?" Li Jingfeng was a little puzzled. "This is a million copies printed! It was achieved in just three months. Isn't it worth being happy?

Da Feng's "The Boxer" has not even reached the million print run mark in three years!"

"Oh, didn't "Furong Town" break once before? The novelty has worn off now." Jiang Xian said lazily.

"Furong Town" was published for three months at the time, with a total print run of 67 copies. When it was published for half a year in September, the circulation had reached 9 million copies, announcing that the print run had exceeded one million in half a year.

"Rice" is twice as fast as "Furong Town".

After collecting the manuscript fee receipt, Jiang Xian and Li Jingfeng exchanged a few words before leaving.

Li Jingfeng took a sip of water and couldn't help sighing, what does it mean that those who are suffering from drought will die of drought, and those who are suffering from flood will die of flood.

This guy broke the million sales mark, and he didn't even raise an eyebrow when he received 3,000 yuan in royalties.

As I was thinking about it, I realized something.

He strode downstairs and happened to run into Jiang Xian pushing a bicycle out. There was a net bag tied to the handlebars, which was filled with green-grid manuscript paper from their humanities publishing house.

"I've already paid you for the manuscript, why are you still stealing our manuscript paper?"

"I'm used to it. I can't write anything without your 500-grid large manuscript paper from Renwen Press."

"Damn it." Li Jingfeng smiled helplessly and watched him go away.

Wu Yuan felt that the three thousand yuan in royalties might not be enough to cover the pile of manuscript paper that Jiang Xian was thinking about. Three thousand yuan! How many years of salary would he have to add up to make that much? If you can earn so much, who will pay taxes if you don't pay taxes?
The next day, Cui Daoyi's eye bags were as big as Ni Dahong's.

It took him an entire afternoon and an entire evening to finish reading Jiang Xian's "Xu Sanguan Selling Blood" in one go.

Shocked!

Cui Daoyi never expected that Jiang Xian could use such simple sentences to portray a small character like Xu Sanguan so deeply in people's hearts!
So much so that when he watched the movie, he cried and laughed at the same time, especially when he saw the part where Xu Sanguan was cooking, Cui Daoyi could no longer control his tears.

Spiritual feast, that is an indelible memory for their generation.

Jiang Xian not only wrote about the bitterness of that period, but also the warmth of that time.

After Cui Daoyi came to the unit, he reorganized the manuscript.

He calculated how many times Xu Sanguan had donated blood.

Eleven times!
The first time was out of blind obedience, and he earned 35 yuan. With this money, Xu Sanguan married Xu Yulan, the "Youtiao Xishi".

The second time was ten years later, when Yile injured the blacksmith's son and sold his blood to pay for his medical expenses, also for thirty-five dollars.

The third time was when he slept with Lin Fenfang and sold his blood to buy meat bones, soybeans, mung beans and chrysanthemums for Lin Fenfang.

The fourth time was because he couldn't bear to see his family go hungry, the fifth time was because he gave money to Yi Le who went to the countryside because he was weak, and the sixth time was to please Er Le's production team leader.

From the seventh to the eleventh time, that was the most heart-wrenching part for Choi Do-yi to watch.

In order to save his eldest son Yile, Xu Sanguan sold blood all the way from Linpu to Shanghai. He had blood drawn five times in three months and almost died from excessive blood loss.

He almost risked his own life in exchange for his son Yile's life, but he didn't shed a single tear of grievance along the way.

Xu Sanguan held back until the very end before he finally cried, and he cried twice.

Neither time was it because of me.

The first time I thought Yile was dead, the second time I saw Yile was still alive.

Xu Sanguan sold his blood eleven times, all for others.

The ending was his twelfth blood donation. At this time, the blood donor was no longer willing to take his blood, and Xu Sanguan broke down and cried.

Cui Daoyi couldn't help but be moved when he saw this.

As a man, couldn't he realize that what Jiang Xian wrote was exactly a man's life?

He swallowed his broken front teeth and silently devoted himself to his family.

Xu Sanguan donated blood, and they donated other things.

Cui Daoyi put the manuscript in order and said, "What Wang Fu said was absolutely right. This is definitely a good novel and they must not miss it."

"Mr. Guang!"

Holding the stack of manuscripts, he knocked on Guang Weiran's office door. He told Guang Weiran about his and Wang Fu's bold plan, and Guang Weiran was surprised.

“Is it written so well?”

"Comrade Wang Fu and I agree that it should be published in its entirety. It all depends on whether you are willing to set such a precedent."

Guang Weiran smiled.

"Don't try to defeat me. People's Literature cannot be a one-man show. Whether this novel will be published or not is up to the editorial board to discuss and decide."

While Cui Daoyi was busy working on "Xu Sanguan Selling Blood", Jiang Xian also completed an independent synthesis using the newly unlocked random terms [Roast Duck] + [Time-honored Brand].

The result of the synthesis is a drama script.

(End of this chapter)