In the 90s, you could acquire max-level skills every 14 days.

"I saw the draft of the book you're writing, 'The Kingdom on Wheels,' on Editor-in-Chief Zhou's desk."

He lowered his voice a little further.

"Professor Chen Ping has conducted in-depth research on China's domestic automobile industry overseas, and he is very interested in this topic."

Lin Xuechang's tone was somewhat tentative.

"If you are willing to jointly adjust the authorship of this work—with Chen Ping as the first author and Zhang Yong as the assistant—then the magazine can handle the breach of contract penalty internally. The agreement can also continue to be implemented."

"Your subsequent royalties will remain unchanged, and may even be increased."

After he finished speaking, he pushed the new document over and placed it next to the agreement.

Zhang Yong smiled, quickly glanced at the document, and put the paper down.

"Does Editor Lin mean that if I give Chen Ping the attribution for 'The Kingdom on Wheels,' you'll waive the 2,000 yuan penalty for breach of contract, and the contract for 'October' will continue?"

Lin Xuechang's face showed a "you're very smart" expression.

"Not only will the penalty for breach of contract be waived, but the subsequent exclusive agreement will remain unchanged, and the payment standard will remain the same. You will still be our featured author, and your status will not be affected in any way."

He spread his hands.

"Zhang Yong, think about it. Two thousand yuan is not a small amount. Moreover, if your pseudonym Zhang Wengong is exposed, it will also affect your reputation in literary circles."

He emphasized the word "reputation" when he spoke it.

"Zhang Yong! I'm doing this to help you! As a writer, you must cherish your reputation!"

The living room was quiet for three seconds, with only the ceiling fan whirring.

Zhang Yong spoke up.

"Is this also Editor-in-Chief Zhou's idea?"

Lin Xuechang's lips twitched slightly, but he recovered quickly.

"Editor-in-Chief Zhou is away attending a mid-year topic selection meeting; there's no need to bother him with such a trivial matter."

"As the deputy editor-in-chief, I have the authority to handle this."

Zhang Yong nodded, it seemed that this matter was not revealed by Editor-in-Chief Zhou.

"Then I'll return a small favor to you."

He picked up the supplementary agreement, glanced at the back again—it was blank.

Then he pushed the agreement back in front of Lin Xuechang.

"I won't sign."

Lin Xuechang's finger stopped on the edge of the briefcase.

"The 'Workers' Life Weekly' publishes technical and popular science articles aimed at industrial workers. Zhang Wengong, on the other hand, writes industrial-themed literary works for 'October'." Zhang Yong's voice was unhurried, and every word was clear.

"Different types. Different audiences. Different publication positioning. You're using an exclusive agreement for a literary journal to apply to a technical popular science article, when Article 3 of the contract states that it's for a similar type of publication."

"The Workers' Life Weekly is a technology and science popularization magazine, while October is a literary magazine. When did they become the same type of magazine?"

Lin Xuechang's expression changed.

Zhang Yong didn't give him a chance to respond and continued, "Even if it's the same type, as Deputy Editor-in-Chief Lin just said, the verification methods were irregular. How can you stand up to scrutiny with irregular evidence?"

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed directly on Lin Xuechang.

"What's the difference between what you're doing and those thugs who were smashing and looting earlier? Aren't you just here to intimidate people?"

"As a writer, you must cherish your reputation!" said Deputy Editor-in-Chief Lin.

He finished speaking slowly and deliberately, and Lin Xuechang's lips tightened.

He hadn't expected Zhang Yong to be so tough.

Or rather, he considered this possibility, but didn't expect the other party to call back directly.

Standing to the side, Liu Jianguo took advantage of Lin Xuechang's lowered head to shake his head slightly at Zhang Yong, as if he were muttering something.

Zhang Yong couldn't see what he was saying.

But he knew that Liu Jianguo was trying to convey a certain message.

Lin Xuechang took a deep breath and stood up, supporting himself on the sofa armrest.

"Comrade Zhang Yong." His tone turned cold. "Do you think this is my decision alone?"

He closed his briefcase.

"Professor Chen Ping's paper is already in the layout stage. The next issue of the Academic Discussion section will critique your article 'The Ingenuity of a Great Nation' point by point. When it's published in black and white, how will you respond?"

"He has international standard documents to back him up. What about you? What do you have?"

He glanced around the cramped living room and gave a cold laugh.

"What makes a cotton mill repair shop apprentice, a continuing education student who failed the college entrance exam, have to compete with overseas returnees?"

"Think about it carefully. Young man, you chose this path yourself. It's not that you're afraid of it being narrow, it's that you're afraid of it being gone."

Liu Jianguo was really anxious this time.

He took two steps forward, lowered his voice, and spoke in a pleading tone.

"Zhang Yong, don't argue. Let me say something."

There was something indescribable about his eyes.

"Chen Ping has powerful backers; even Editor-in-Chief Zhou can't protect you now."

"The second-in-command at the big factory in Baoding is just the figurehead—think about it! These days, an overseas returnee can get directly into the joint graduate program with Peking University through the talent introduction channel, with all the procedures going smoothly. Do you think a deputy director of a big factory can achieve that?"

Liu Jianguo spoke very quickly.

"His background is more complex than it appears! Stop being so stubborn!"

The living room fell silent again.

This time, even the creaking of the ceiling fan was particularly jarring.

Zhang Defa didn't quite understand these convoluted stories about intellectuals, but he did understand one sentence—even Editor-in-Chief Zhou couldn't be protected.

Li Guilan also gripped the corner of her apron, her knuckles turning white.

Sitting on a small stool, Zhang Yong looked at Lin Xuechang, Liu Jianguo, and his anxious parents, but his mind was filled with thoughts of the TV series he loved to watch during the holidays.

Nirvana in Fire.

The more dangerous the situation, the more we must remain calm, proceed step by step, and not lose our composure.

He exhaled, picked up the new document, carefully folded it, and pushed it back to Lin Xuechang.

"Editor-in-Chief Lin."

"I understand what you're saying. Chen Ping has connections, academic titles, magazine space, and people paving the way for him."

"Indeed, they have more cards than I do."

He paused.

"But I'm not without one."

Zhang Yong stood up and walked to the desk.

He opened the drawer and took out an envelope from the bottom.

It's made of kraft paper and has already been opened.

The envelope had no sender's address on the front, only a single character printed in the lower right corner – "工" (gong).

That was something Tan Xingguo had taken out of his pocket and left for him when he came to our house last time to eat noodles with soybean paste.

At that time, Tan Xingguo only said one sentence.

"In case someone flips the table, you take this apart; I'm leaving it for you."

Zhang Yong placed the envelope on the coffee table.

It is not open.

He simply placed it next to the exclusive agreement.

Then he looked at Lin Xuechang.

"Editor-in-Chief Lin, I have one advantage, which is that I'm reasonable, but I also have one disadvantage: I'm extremely naive."

"So, you should go back and reconsider today's matter with your own people."

"As for this agreement—" He tapped the unopened envelope lightly with his finger.

"Let me be naive one more time. We'll talk face to face when Editor-in-Chief Zhou comes back."

Lin Xuechang stared intently at the kraft paper envelope, his right index finger unconsciously fiddling with the clasp of his briefcase.

He recognized this type of kraft paper envelope.

It was custom-made.

......