Back to 17, My Brother is the Cult Leader

After its release, "Beyond the Temple" achieved results that exceeded Fang Yuan's expectations.

It received almost unanimous praise.

The introduction of the Chinese source's identity, in particular, sparked great interest among fans.

Soon, it topped the charts on China's largest music platform in June.

This also boosted the release of the album "Chinese Style" at the end of the month.

Throughout July, the album sold 50 copies.

The main songs "Red-Clad Girl", "Hair Like Snow", "Fireworks Fade Easily" and "Puppet Show" have consistently been in the top ten of the charts, and other songs are also on the charts.

Zeng Li has been directly promoted to the ranks of top-tier singers.

At this time, Fang Yuan had already arrived on the other side of the ocean.

We have signed publishing contracts with Random House for all of this year's planned publications, including the last two Twilight books, Prototype, Ready Player One, and Pacific Rim.

Fang Yuan's contract with Random House is now very lucrative; he's already a top author with a 50% profit margin.

The first two Twilight books have sold over 800 million copies, and Edge of Tomorrow has sold nearly 100 million copies.

The earliest "Flying Colors" sold around 15 copies, and Random House also made a profit.

In July in Los Angeles, the sunlight slanted into the small office from the direction of the Hollywood Hills.

When Ellie pushed the door open, Fang Yuan was hunched over the table writing something.

"Fang, it's time to go." Ellie leaned against the door frame, dangling her car keys in her hand.

"The meeting with Mr. Zhu is scheduled for 3 p.m., which is a 40-minute drive from here."

Fang Yuan closed the notebook and stuffed it into the gray backpack.

"Are you nervous?" Ellie asked as she started the car.

"What's there to be nervous about?" Fang Yuan put his backpack on the back seat and fastened his seatbelt.

"William Zhu is a more complex person than you think."

Ellie backed the car out of the parking space.

"He is an American of Chinese descent who grew up in California, graduated from UCLA with a law degree, worked as a police officer, and in 1994 went to Shanghai alone, made money with GG Company, and then started a literary website called 'Under the Banyan Tree'."

That website is now the largest original literature platform in China, receiving tens of thousands of submissions every month.

"Tens of thousands of articles." Fang Yuan repeated the number, finding it somewhat unimaginable.

In the writing class at the Central Academy of Drama, if a class submits twenty scripts, the teachers in the department will have to read them for several days. There are tens of thousands of scripts in that class. What kind of scene is that?

"And he doesn't make any money." Ellie glanced at him.

"He invested all the money he made from GG Company into it."

I've talked to him a few times, and he has a... how should I put it, missionary vibe.

He believes that literature should belong to every ordinary person, and the internet is the printing press of this era.

You'll see for yourself when you meet him later.

The car turned onto Highway 10 and headed towards Santa Monica.

Fang Yuan leaned against the car window, watching the palm trees along the roadside recede into the distance, one after another.

He recalled that last autumn in a class at the Central Academy of Drama, he listened to the teacher talk about the history of modern and contemporary Chinese literature, the literary craze of the 1980s, and how a copy of the magazine "Harvest" could be circulated around in university dormitories until the edges were worn out.

At that time, he was thinking about what changes were taking place in the form of literature in the late 1990s.

Since the advent of the internet, who is still reading, who is still writing, and who decides what constitutes good literature?

He had asked these questions in class, and the teacher's answer was: "Instead of thinking about this now, why don't you finish writing your play first?" He didn't ask any further questions, but the questions remained in his mind.

The meeting took place at William Zhu's private residence in Santa Monica.

When the door opened, Fang Yuan saw a young man in a linen shirt, who was more approachable than he had imagined, and whose smile shone brightly in the California sun.

William Zhu extended his hand and shook hands with Fang Yuan, the pressure neither too light nor too heavy.

"You're Fang Yuan?" Zhu Weilian's Chinese had a slight accent, but it was fluent.

"Come in, come in. I've heard so much about you, author of Twilight."

"No, no, I wouldn't dare." Fang Yuan walked in and looked around the living room.

A traditional Chinese ink painting of a landscape hangs above the fireplace, a set of purple clay teaware sits on the coffee table, and several rows of books in both Chinese and English are displayed on the bookshelf opposite.

This space, like its owner, stands firmly at the boundary between the East and West.

Ellie followed in and greeted William Zhu.

It was clear that this wasn't their first meeting.

The three sat down on the sofa, and Zhu Weilian began to make tea.

His movements weren't particularly skilled, but he was very serious. He did each step—washing the tea, warming the cup, pouring from a high position, and pouring from a low position—with great care and attention.

Looking at his hands, Fang Yuan suddenly felt that this person did everything with a certain, unquestionable seriousness.

Let me introduce myself first.

William Zhu poured himself a cup of tea, then picked up his own.

"I don't have much of a literary background. I didn't study Chinese literature, and I'm not a professionally trained writer."

I grew up in California and my English is better than my Chinese; I only learned Chinese systematically later.

A Chinese person who grew up in the United States went back to China and created a literary website—doesn't that sound strange to you?

Fang Yuan smiled. "That's true to some extent."

"It's hard for anyone to understand," Zhu Weilian laughed.

"But I did it anyway. Rongshuxia was launched in December 1997. It was originally my personal homepage, where I wrote some daily thoughts and submitted some articles from other people."

By 1999, the number of submissions had increased so much that I couldn't read them all by myself, so I decided to expand the platform and officially transform it into a literary website.

Do you know what our mission is?

"Life, feelings, and random thoughts," Fang Yuan blurted out.

William Zhu raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised. "You've seen it?"

"Ellie sent me your information," Fang Yuan said.

"Life, Feelings, Reflections"—these six words together are simple, but I feel they capture something very important.

At the Central Academy of Drama, the teachers repeatedly emphasized the words "observation" and "authenticity".

Observe life, feel real emotions, and then write them down.

You take these six words as the standard for literature, which sounds like a low threshold, but it is actually not easy.

Because what moves people most is often not the most complex technique, but the most sincere perspective.

Zhu Weilian put down his teacup and gave Fang Yuan a serious look.

When this twenty-year-old said these words, it wasn't just polite talk or affectation; he was genuinely using his own experience and thinking to understand things in another context.

"You know what," William Zhu said.

"Whenever I talk to people about Rongshuxia, their first reaction is to ask 'How do we make money?' and their second reaction is to ask 'How many users do we have?' You are the first person I've met who directly states our mission statement."

"Maybe it's because I haven't started thinking about how to make money yet," Fang Yuan smiled.