A Literary Life Starting from the First Year of High School

Chapter 137 Award Ceremony Part Two (Combined)

Welcome to the 2011 Bath Prize for Fiction ceremony.

Lin Shubai sat at seat number 3 at the main table, with Allen sitting next to him.

The host began to introduce the history and purpose of the Bath Prize, including phrases like "discovering promising emerging authors" and "no age, nationality, or place of residence restrictions"—words Lin Shubai had heard before.

"This year, we received a total of 2,412 submissions from 37 countries and regions around the world." The host paused for a moment, "After three rounds of review, six works were finally shortlisted."

The big screen displayed thumbnails of six book covers, with Lin Shubai's "Hell is Where God Is Not Here" on the far left.

"Now, please welcome Ms. Caroline Ollie, the founder of the Bath Novel Prize, to read the comments for the shortlisted works."

A woman in her fifties walked onto the stage.

Mark Hamilton's, "a story about a father and son, quiet, restrained, with a heartbreaking ending."

American girls: "Sharp language, ingenious structure, and amazing imagination."

The Irish uncle said, "This is a work written with blood and flesh; every word is burning."

London's youth are "bold, crazy, and reckless."

New Zealand women are described as "gentle, delicate, like a slowly flowing river."

Caroline Ollie picked up the last card: "Sixth piece, 'Hell Is Where God Is Not,' by Lin Shubai, a startling reflection on faith, loss, and the impossibility of transactional faith."

Applause erupted from the audience.

Caroline Ollie put down the card, nodded slightly to the audience, and then walked off the stage.

The host returned to the stage, holding an envelope.

The golden envelope stood out under the light, and the host held it up and showed it to the audience—a tradition of the Bass Prize, where the envelope is shown to everyone that it is sealed before the winner is announced.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the host cleared his throat, "the winner of the 2011 Bath Prize for Novella is..."

At this moment, everyone is waiting for the same answer. Two thousand four hundred and twelve submissions from thirty-seven countries have been reduced to just six people. The fate of these six people will be decided in the next thirty seconds, and there can only be one winner.

Lin Shubai recalled Allen's words: "Being shortlisted is itself a showcase." But now, sitting under the lights, listening to his own heartbeat, he realized he wasn't so carefree after all; he wanted to win too. Not to prove anything, but because he had already flown halfway around the world and spent so much time writing the English manuscript, and he didn't want to go back empty-handed.

The host opened the envelope, took out the card, and glanced at it.

Then he laughed.

"Lin Shu-bai, 'Hell is a place where God is not.'"

He walked onto the stage.

The stage wasn't large; there were only a dozen or so steps from the main table to the steps. The host handed him the Minerva statue with the trophy. The trophy was heavier than he had imagined; it felt quite substantial in his hands.

The host handed over the microphone and whispered, "Say a few words."

Lin Shubai took the microphone and took a deep breath.

"Thank you, thank you Bath Fiction Prize, thank you Ms. Caroline Ollie and all the judges, thank you my agent Alan Carter, without whom I would not be standing here, and thank you to my parents for encouraging me to stick to writing."

"This novel is about faith, about a man who spends his whole life chasing the holy light in order to reunite with his deceased wife, only to find in the end that faith is not a transaction. But what I want to say is that some things don't require faith, they just require belief. Believe in every word you write, believe in the path you choose, and believe in those who support you in places you can't see."

He held the trophy, looked down at the audience, and said, "Thank you."

bow.

The applause rang out again.

Lin Shubai placed the trophy on the table, sat down in his chair, and let out a long breath.

He barely listened to the rest of the segment. The host announced other awards on stage—the Best Novel Award, the Readers' Choice Award, and the Best Newcomer Award. One name after another was read out, and one person after another went up on stage to receive their award.

After the awards ceremony, the lights in the hall came on, and the waiters began to remove the chairs and replace them with higher round tables. The banquet was about to begin.

Allen stood up and walked to Lin Shubai's side. "Come on, let's go see someone first."

"Who?"

"Caroline Ollie".

The two walked through the crowd to a corner of the hall. Caroline Ollie stood there, holding a glass of champagne, talking to a gray-haired man. When she saw Allen approach, she nodded to the man, and he left.

"Allen." She reached out and shook hands with Allen, then turned to Lin Shubai.

"Lin Shubai," Caroline Ollie said, looking into his eyes, "is beautifully written."

She took a business card out of her pocket and handed it to him. "This is my phone number. If you ever need my help in the future—a letter of recommendation, publishing advice, or just want to know the rules of the British publishing industry—feel free to contact me."

Lin Shubai took the business card, which only had "Caroline0li" and a phone number printed on it, without a title or address. "Thank you."

Caroline nodded, then turned and left.

Allen stood to the side, watching Caroline's retreating figure. "Do you know what she just gave you?"

"business card."

"She rarely gives out business cards. I've known her for over ten years, and she's given them to no more than twenty people."

Lin Shubai glanced down at the business card in his hand and put it into his wallet.

He knew that what Caroline had given him wasn't a business card, but a pass. In the publishing industry, connections are everything. Her willingness to give him her contact information meant that she was willing to endorse him. For a seventeen-year-old newcomer who had just appeared on the British literary scene, this was far more valuable than tonight's prize money.

The dinner party began.

The round table in the hall was filled with cold dishes, hot dishes, and desserts, all served buffet-style. Lin Shubai picked up some food from his plate, but he didn't have much of an appetite.

He had just sat down when someone came over.

He was a middle-aged man in his early forties, wearing a gray suit and with his hair neatly combed. He was holding a glass of red wine. He walked up to Lin Shubai, extended his hand, and said, "Lin Shubai? My name is James White, an editor at Pushkin Press."

Lin Shubai stood up and shook hands with him. Pushkin Press—a small but reputable publisher specializing in translated literature—was one of the three publishers Allen had his sights set on.

Pushkin Press was interested in The Little Prince before the Bath Prize, but he was still hesitant at that time. Now that Jeremy Lin has won the award, Pushkin is no longer hesitant. James is not here to "talk" about it; he is here to "steal" it.

James smiled and said, "Congratulations on winning the award. Alan mentioned your English version of 'The Little Prince' to me, and I think we can talk about it."

Lin Shubai glanced at Allen.

"We at PushkinPress have come up with an English version of your 'The Little Prince.'" James pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it over. "The terms are negotiable, but we hope to sign it as soon as possible. When are you free? Tomorrow? The day after?"

I'll be waiting for you in my London office.

"Tomorrow morning," Allen's voice interrupted from the side, "10 a.m., in your office."

James glanced at Allen and smiled. "Allen, you're still as direct as ever. Okay, 10 a.m. tomorrow." He turned to Lin Shubai. "See you tomorrow."

No sooner had James left than another person arrived.

This time it was a young woman holding a folder. She walked over, glanced at Lin Shubai, and then at Allen.

"Ellen, it's been a long time." She extended her hand.

"Emily," Allen shook her hand, "this is Lin Shubai."

Emily turned to Lin Shubai, "I'm the copyright manager at Bloomsbury. We're also very interested in your English version of 'The Little Prince.' Did James just contact you?"

"right."

Emily smiled. "He's quick on his feet, but the terms we at Bloomsbury will be just as good. Before you go to Pushkin tomorrow morning, could you come to our office for a bit? It's at nine o'clock, right over in Bloomsbury Square, not far from Pushkin."

It's clear that Emily overheard James and Lin Shubai's conversation.

Allen glanced at Lin Shubai and nodded slightly.

"OK."

Emily handed over her business card. "See you tomorrow."

After she left, a third person arrived.

"Allen, aren't you going to introduce me?" He stood to the side, holding a glass of whiskey.

Allen turned around and smiled. "Jeffrey, you're late."

"It's not too late, good things come to those who wait." Jeffrey held out his hand. "Faber & Faber, Jeffrey Smith, we at Faber also want your English version of 'The Little Prince.' You can go to Pushkin and Bloomsbury first, check their terms, and then come over here. The last person to speak has the most chips."

Lin Shubai shook hands with him and said, "Okay."

Jeffrey's strategy differed from the previous two bidders. The first bidder sets the tone, and the last bidder can overturn it. Jeffrey didn't want to compete with others early on; he wanted to make a final bid that no one could match. Faber...

They were determined to acquire this book, not because they particularly liked Lin Shubai, but because they saw the market potential.

Jeffrey nodded, picked up his whiskey, and left.

Allen stood next to Lin Shubai, watching Jeffrey's retreating figure. "All three families are here."

Who do you think is most likely?

Allen picked up his water glass and took a sip. "Now that you've won the Bass Prize, things are different. Pushkin wants to be first, Bloomsbury wants to steal it, and Faber wants to be last. All three want it, so there's no question of who's the most likely to win; it's just a matter of who offers the highest price."

""

Who do you think will offer the highest score?

Allen thought for a moment, "Faber, they have the most money, but they are the most picky. If they want it, they won't mind spending a little more money."

"So you want me to go to Faber?"

"I hope you go to the one with the best conditions." Allen looked at him. "This isn't a choice. We'll decide after we've visited all three."

Lin Shubai nodded.

The banquet continued, and more and more people filled the hall. Lin Shubai took a few bites of cold meat from his plate; it tasted quite good.

Another person walked by and made him put down his fork.

It's Mark Hamilton.

"Congratulations." Mark walked over with a wine glass in hand, his expression sincere.

What are your plans for the future?

"I'm writing a long fantasy series, expected to have six parts."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "A six-part series? You've got quite the ambition."

Lin Shubai smiled and shrugged.

"Good luck with your writing. I'll be the first to buy it once you're done."

"Thanks."

As the dinner was drawing to a close, Lin Shubai went out onto the terrace for some fresh air. The night in Bath was much cooler than the daytime, and the wind was blowing in from the distant hills.

He took out his phone and called Wang Xiulan.

"mom."

"How is it?" Wang Xiulan's voice carried an barely suppressed tension.

"Take it."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, then Lin Shubai heard Wang Xiulan call out, "Old Lin, your son won! That British award."

The family chatted for a few more minutes, and then Lin Shubai walked back to the hall.

There were fewer people in the hall than before, but it was still lively. Allen was talking to someone when he saw Lin Shubai come in. He said something to the person and then walked over quickly.

"What's wrong?"

Allen didn't answer immediately. Instead, he pulled Lin Shubai to a relatively quiet corner in the hall and said in a low voice, "When you went out, another person came."

"Who?"

"People from Gallimard Publishing."

Lin Shubai was stunned for a moment. Gallimard—one of the most famous literary publishers in France, founded in 1911, has been involved in almost the entire history of modern French literature. This is not an ordinary publisher; it is the crown jewel of French literature.

"How did they get here?"

Allen took a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself down. "Galima sends people to the Bath Prize every year. They don't make a move easily, but once they do, it means they've seen someone worth investing in for the long term. The person who came was Philippe Dupont, a senior editor in the Department of Foreign Literature at Gallimard. He wanted to translate 'Hell Is Where God Is Not Here' into French and publish it. And I also told him about 'The Little Prince'."

That was an English manuscript, translated into French—

"That's not a problem. Gallimard has the best translation team in all of France. Your writing style has a natural place in French literature. French readers don't like overly explicit emotions; they prefer restraint and leaving room for interpretation."

Lin Shubai fell silent, processing the news. Gallimard was not Pushkin, not Bloomsbury, not Faber; Gallimard was in a completely different league. In the UK, Faber was considered top-tier; in Europe, Gallimard was the pinnacle.

What's the story behind "The Little Prince"?

"It's not certain yet. He just said he would go and see. If they are interested and the conditions aren't too different, Gallimard is our best option."

Lin Shubai suddenly remembered something. Allen had said before that his overseas promotion plan was divided into three phases: first the English market, then the European market, and the French version was placed in the second phase. Now, before the awards ceremony was even over, the French version had already taken the initiative to come to him. The Bass Award was much more prestigious than he had imagined.

"Allen".

"Um?

'

"You said three to five years before."

"What, three to five years?"

"With the overseas promotion plan in place, and Gallimard arriving on the night of the Bass Prize, shouldn't your schedule be changed?"

Allen was taken aback. He hadn't expected Lin Shubai to bring this up so suddenly. "You're right, the timetable needs to be changed. Galima came too fast, faster than I expected."