My Years as a Copyist in Taiwan

The office of Editor Gao at Jiuge Magazine.

Editor Gao did indeed cry; he didn't even make it to the second article.

He closed the manuscript and looked at what was written on the cover:

Death is irreversible, but grief can be reconciled—Moon Shadow

What a child she is! How could you write such a healing piece?

"Huff!" Editor Gao blew his nose hard, tore off a small piece of tissue paper to wipe it clean, and was about to open the second manuscript when tears slowly welled up in his eyes again.

Zhao Wen didn't even have a chance to hand Editor Gao those two tissues, because when Editor Gao's eyes started to redden, he kicked him out of the office...

"May I smoke here?" Zhao Wen cautiously asked Yi An, the junior editor, for her opinion. Judging from the situation, the editor estimated that it would take a long time to review the three manuscripts.

"Of course!" Yi'an handed a small cardboard box to Zhao Wen so he could collect cigarette ash.

Yi'an casually drew abstract circles on the letter paper with her pen, but her eyes were secretly glancing at Zhao Wen.

She found Zhao Wen's smoking actions and expressions extremely incongruous. Such a handsome young man, who wrote such gentle novels, smoked even more thickly than Editor Gao!

It was late September, and the temperature in Tainan was still very high. All the windows were open and the fans were on the highest setting, so the smoke Zhao Wen exhaled did not accumulate in the room. This is why Zhao Wen dared to smoke in the editorial department.

An elderly man wearing glasses walked out of another office, carrying a stack of manuscripts, muttering under his breath: "Instead of learning anything good, he insists on using that old lady's clichéd formula. Yi'an, reject all three of these!"

Yi'an took the manuscript, stuck out her tongue, and methodically began the rejection process.

More than an hour passed before Editor Gao finally opened his office door and came out.

"I'll give you 150 per thousand words this time. I want all three of them, and the one called 'She and Her Cat' will be published tomorrow."

One thousand words cost 150 NTD. The three articles together total about 15,000 words, which is 2,250 NTD. Adding "She and Her Cat" for a little over 400 NTD, the total is still less than 3000 NTD.

In Taiwan in 1981, this was equivalent to eight or nine days' wages for an average factory worker. In other words, my six days of hard work were equivalent to an average worker leisurely working eight or nine days. Rounding down, I'm roughly equivalent to a low-level laborer now...

Of course, that's not how it works. These top-notch short stories have a 90% chance of winning awards and being adapted into film and television works in the future. After all, only award-winning works are qualified to be copied by us.

"Also," Editor Gao paused, "you mentioned last time that you had a long novel in the works? When can I see it? It doesn't have to be finished, just show me the opening chapter of 30,000 words."

"Soon," Zhao Wen mumbled. "It will probably take about twenty more days. I'll send it to you as soon as I finish writing it."

"Okay! I'll pay you half of the fees for these articles in advance, and the rest will be transferred to you on the day of publication. The fee for 'She and Her Cat' has already been wired to you. From now on, you don't need to go through anyone else; just slip your manuscripts under my door! I'll personally review and typeset them!"

As he spoke, he picked up the phone and asked the finance department to write a check. He did so very quickly, and Zhao Wen felt that he was afraid that he would submit the manuscript to Kingcrown.

As Zhao Wen walked out of the Jiuge Magazine office with a check for 1,100 yuan, he actually felt like he wasn't an old ghost, but rather a naive young man.

Zhao Wen went to a department store and bought Zhao Wenwen a pair of white canvas shoes and a light blue cotton dress.

"Brother!" As soon as Zhao Wenwen stepped out of the school gate, she saw Zhao Wen leaning against his bicycle and rushed over like a little swallow just released from its cage. Then she saw the shopping bag with the department store logo printed on it in his hand.

"I bought this for you." Zhao Wen handed her the bag. "Try sitting on those steps and see if they fit."

Zhao Wenwen carefully opened the bag, and when she saw the brand-new canvas shoes and the neatly folded dress, her eyes immediately welled up with tears.

"Silly girl, why are you crying?" Zhao Wen rubbed her sweaty hair. "When I make money in the future, I'll buy you lots and lots of new clothes, and your favorite mango shaved ice, the kind with double taro balls."

"Brother, you've worked so hard," Zhao Wenwen said softly.

"It's not hard work." Zhao Wen hopped on his bicycle, patted the back seat, and said, "I'm a writer now, making money will be a piece of cake. Let's skip the oyster omelet today and go get Uncle's steak!"

"Steak?!" Zhao Wenwen's eyes widened instantly, and she even forgot to wipe away her tears.

In Tainan in 1981, sizzling steak was an absolute rarity. Ordinary families wouldn't even afford to eat it once a month.

Steak is also the signature dish of the old man at the alley entrance. Zhao Wen ordered two steaks and specially added double the amount of eggs and pasta.

The little girl ate with her mouth full of oil, her eyes narrowed into slits.

The next day.

The latest issue of Nine Songs Magazine was promptly placed in every corner of the newsstands across the island.

As usual, not many people noticed this niche literary magazine that has always been overshadowed by the popularity of Golden Crown magazine.

After all, in this era dominated by aunties, people buy books and magazines for those dramatic, heart-wrenching love stories. Who would spend twenty yuan on a magazine that doesn't even have a decent love story?

The first person to open "She and Her Cat" was Accountant Lin, who works at the Tainan City Government.

She is 27 years old, single, and lives alone in a rented small apartment. She works nine to five every day, and after get off work, she feeds her cat, watches TV, and goes to sleep.

She bought the magazine simply because the newsstand owner, who knew her well, recommended that she read an article about cats in this issue.

Accountant Lin hadn't had high hopes, but when she turned to the first article at the beginning of the book, her teacup stopped in her tracks.

It's a story of over 3,600 words, with no dramatic plot or romance, just a black cat that was taken in and a young girl living alone, living a simple yet warm daily life.

The writing is clean and the emotions are restrained, without any deliberate sentimentality, yet a captivating tenderness is hidden between the lines.

When she saw the last sentence, "I spent a part of my life accompanying her," Accountant Lin's teacup trembled slightly, and a few drops of tea splashed onto the magazine.

She looked up at the Taiwanese cat lying on the sofa, staring back at her, and tears streamed down her face without warning.

Three years ago, on a rainy evening, she found this soaking wet kitten next to a trash can. This silent little cat kept her company through countless lonely nights.

So someone understands this feeling.

It turns out that even this kind of ordinary companionship can be written into a story.

The most touching stories don't necessarily have to be dramatic; there are many tender moments hidden in ordinary days.

Accountant Lin took out paper and pen from the drawer and wrote her first reader's letter to "Mr. Snail".

Such letters from readers arrived one after another at the Jiuge Magazine.

There was no overwhelming discussion or heated debate, nor any newspaper reports. Only those who have truly experienced loneliness and the taste of ordinary life will find their hearts gently touched by this story on a quiet afternoon or late at night.