A Literary Life Starting from the First Year of High School

Before Chapter 111 arrives

Thursday, April 11.

The sky over Shanghai has finally cleared up completely. The continuous rain for several days had been quite unbearable for people.

Lin Shubai sat in the classroom. The math teacher was writing an auxiliary line for solid geometry on the blackboard. The sound of the chalk hitting the blackboard reminded him of last September when he had just transmigrated. No matter what he did, he felt out of place in this world. That feeling had disappeared for a while now.

He turned his gaze from the blackboard to his phone in the drawer, where a text message from Allen was displayed: "I'll arrive tomorrow. When would be a convenient time to meet?"

After class, familiar footsteps echoed in the corridor outside the classroom. It was Old Chen, who waved to Lin Shubai.

Lin Shubai stood up and walked out.

"What's wrong, Teacher Chen?"

Old Chen considered for a moment before speaking, "I heard your book is going to be released overseas?"

"A British agent contacted me and said he'll be in Shanghai tomorrow to discuss this in person."

Old Chen nodded and didn't ask any more questions. Finally, he patted Lin Shubai on the shoulder and said, "Keep it up, don't be nervous. Foreigners aren't anything special."

At the same time, on Shaoxing Road, at the October Magazine office.

Chen Yuanshan sat in his office with two things spread out in front of him. The first was a neat row of sample copies of all of Lin Shubai's published works, including "Story Club," "October," "Science Fiction World," and "People's Literature."

The second item was a handwritten list of works, from "The Most Precious Gift" to "Life on a String" to "A Young China" to "Night on the Galactic Railway," each with the publication date, publication, and reader feedback summary, densely filled three pages.

He knew that the British agent probably wouldn't even look at these things—they were there to do business, not to do literary research—but he still wrote them because he had been an editor for thirty-two years and had seen too many talented young people buried, and he didn't want Lin Shubai to be one of them this time.

Some of those young people lost to time, some to the market, and some to themselves. Lin Shubai will not lose to anyone, but he needs someone behind him to organize and present those things that others cannot see, and hand them over when he reaches out.

Strictly speaking, October only published two articles by Lin Shubai: "Life is Like a String" and "The Wrong Station." However, the editor's responsibility is not just to revise manuscripts, but to lend a helping hand to authors before they have a firm footing.

He was going to meet the Englishman with Lin Shubai. Having worked as an editor his whole life, he knew when to be present and when to step back. He was a little worried if he didn't go to that occasion tomorrow. It wasn't that he was worried about Lin Shubai; that young man was more composed than most adults. He was worried about the Englishman.

He picked up the phone and dialed Zhou Mingyuan's number.

"Old Zhou, are you going tomorrow?"

"I'm not going."

Why?

"I'm afraid I won't be able to control myself. If that Englishman says something unpleasant, I might turn on him on the spot."

Chen Yuanshan smiled and said, "You do have some self-awareness."

Zhou Mingyuan and Chen Yuanshan never expected that Allen was much more eager than they were, and they were even more afraid that the cooperation would fall through.

"What about you? Are you going or not?"

Chen Yuanshan was silent for a few seconds, then said, "I'll go. I'm still a little worried. Xiao Lin is very mature, but he has never dealt with foreigners before. If I go, at least I can help him keep an eye on things."

"Old Chen, take that data with you. I'll give it to you tonight. Don't lose it. Whether you're going or not, you still need to give them the data. You can't just say 'I don't remember' if that Englishman asks."

"OK."

The two people, whose combined age was over a hundred, were silent for a few seconds on either end of the phone. They both knew that tomorrow's meeting was not just about the copyright of a book, but about sending this young man's name to a place he had never been before, a place called the world.

That evening, after finishing dinner, Lin Shubai returned to his room. His phone rang, displaying an unfamiliar number with a Shanghai area code. He answered it.

"Lin Shubai? I'm Fang Chongguang. From the Shanghai Writers Association."

Lin Shubai paused for a moment, then said, "Hello, Teacher Fang."

"I heard you're planning to meet a British literary agent?" Fang Chongguang asked directly, without any preamble.

"Yes."

"I heard that person is very interested in your book and wants to promote it in England?"

That's what he said; we'll discuss the specifics of the collaboration when we meet tomorrow.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. Lin Shubai could hear Fang Chongguang turning over papers, probably holding something in his hand.

"I'm calling mainly to ask you one thing—do you need a lawyer? The Writers' Association has several long-term cooperative copyright lawyers who are very experienced and specialize in handling overseas copyright contracts. If you need one, I can help you contact them. You don't need to worry about the fees; the Writers' Association has some funds to support young writers, which can cover this expense."

Fang Chongguang's tone was serious, not just casual politeness. In his position at the Writers Association, he would help almost all the young writers in the province. After all, every Writers Association hopes that the writers they support can go abroad, let alone a genius like Lin Shubai.

Lin Shubai thought for a moment, "Teacher Fang, thank you, but I don't need it for now. We're just meeting to chat, and it's not time to discuss a contract yet. I'll trouble you when it really comes to that."

"You're right, a lawyer isn't really needed during the initial meeting," Fang Chongguang said, his tone softening. "But I have something to tell you."

"Please speak."

"When discussing cooperation with foreigners, no matter how sincere they are, you must read every word in the contract carefully. Don't be shy about bringing it up. The British value rules, and so do we. Only when the rules are clearly stated can cooperation last."

This is based on Fang Chongguang's experience. He has seen too many collaborations sow the seeds of problems because of "being too embarrassed to be clear." Moreover, the relationship between writers and agents is different from that between writers and editors. Editors and writers are colleagues with the common goal of making a good book, while agents and writers are business partners with different goals. Agents hope to sell the book as far as possible.

"I understand, thank you, Teacher Fang."

"Okay, then you can talk it over properly. If there's any progress, let us know to the Writers' Association. We'll definitely help if we can."

"it is good."

After hanging up the phone, he found Fang Chongguang's number and saved it. If everything went smoothly, he would need a lawyer someday. Fang Chongguang had once said, "Cultivating young writers is the mission of our Writers' Association." At the time, Lin Shubai thought it was just empty talk, but now he felt that Fang Chongguang might be serious.