My Years as a Copyist in Taiwan

"It's such a pity to continue the serialization," Editor Gao said. "If this story is broken down into segments, it falls apart. Its beauty lies in the exhilarating feeling of reading it all in one go, and in the bittersweet feeling that lingers after finishing it. If it were a weekly chapter, it would take readers two months to finish the entire novel, and that feeling would be long gone."

He tilted his head back and downed the entire glass of beer, wiped his mouth, took a deep breath, and looked at Zhao Wen with unwavering determination in his eyes:

"Even though those old guys at the publishing house will definitely object, I'm still going to publish a standalone volume for you!"

"A standalone book?" Zhao Wen was genuinely surprised. Jiuge was just a medium-sized magazine publishing house, which mainly made a profit from publishing magazines and rarely published standalone books, let alone a standalone book for a new author.

"Yes, a standalone volume," Editor Gao said decisively. "The first print run is 30,000 copies. I'm putting all of Jiuge's working capital for this month into this book!"

"Editor Gao, this is too risky. Auntie's 'Burn, Flame Bird!' is about to be released. Golden Crown has printed 20 copies in the first run, and they've booked all the prime display space in every bookstore on the island. What if it doesn't sell..."

"It's impossible for it not to sell!" Editor Gao interrupted him. "I've been an editor for twenty years and I've never misread a manuscript. What Auntie wrote was fabricated melodrama, but your book is about the youth that everyone has experienced!"

He gazed at the distant streetlights, his eyes welling up with tears, filled with nostalgia.

"When I was young, I also had a similar period of youth. There was a girl who sat in front of me, with a ponytail, who was a very good student and always hid my textbooks. Later, she got married and moved to Taipei, and I never saw her again."

"So many years have passed, I thought I had long forgotten. But today, when I read your manuscript, the moment Ko Ching-teng shaved his head, I suddenly wanted to cry... It turns out that it's not just teenagers who have youth, we middle-aged men also have a Shen Chia-yi hidden in our hearts."

He turned his head, looked at Zhao Wen, and his eyes gleamed:

"What you wrote wasn't just about your youth, it's about everyone's youth. Everyone can see their younger self in this story. Auntie's books are for dreamy young girls, but yours are for everyone."

People are like that; they need to confide in others to feel healed.

Now that he had spoken his mind, Editor Gao picked up his chopsticks and began to eat heartily. He hadn't had an appetite just moments before, but now he was wolfing down his food.

Halfway through the meal, he put down his chopsticks, wiped his mouth, looked at Zhao Wen, and spoke with unusual seriousness:

"Let me tell you about the royalties. According to the rules, when a new author publishes a standalone book, they either get a buyout or receive royalties."

"If you buy it outright, the market price is usually 120 to 150 per thousand words, but I'll give you 200. It's a one-time payment, and you have nothing to do with how much you sell it for later."

"As for royalties, big publishers like Golden Crown give newcomers six percent, which is six percent of the book price. We, Nine Songs, are a small publisher, and we would normally also give six percent, but I won't calculate it for you as a newcomer."

I'll give you eight points.

"Eight percent?" Zhao Wen was taken aback. He had a vivid memory of the royalties from various eras in mainland China, Taiwan, and Hong Kong in his previous life, and knew that eight percent royalty was already an exceptional treatment for a complete newcomer who had never published a book before.

"Yes, eight percent," Editor Gao said. "I'll price it at one hundred yuan a copy, and you'll get eight yuan per copy sold. The first print run is 30,000 copies. If they all sell out, you'll get two hundred and forty thousand yuan. If it sells well and we reprint it, it'll still be eight percent, you get whatever we sell."

"I know you're short on money right now." He looked at Zhao Wen with a sincere expression. "I can give you an advance of five thousand yuan in royalties. The rest will be settled with you monthly based on the sales of the book after it's published."

A buyout costing 20,000 to 30,000 yuan could indeed solve an immediate problem. But later, "You Are the Apple of My Eye" sold over 100,000 copies in its first month after its release, and after word-of-mouth spread, it sold over a million copies, becoming a legendary book!

Although I released it more than ten years ahead of time, youth is the same for everyone. If nothing unexpected happens, it should become a hit, even more so than in my previous life. After all, when Giddens Ko published this book in my previous life, the youth literature genre was already filled with all sorts of passionate masterpieces!

The 8% royalty rate may seem small initially, but the potential for future gains is limitless. Furthermore, the editor is willing to advance 5000 yuan, which, combined with the 9000 yuan he already has, is enough for him and Wenwen to get through the next two months.

"I choose royalties," Zhao Wen said almost without hesitation.

Editor Gao's eyes lit up; clearly, he also preferred Zhao Wen to choose royalties. This would not only reduce the publisher's initial pressure but also completely tie Zhao Wen to Jiuge's cause.

"Great!" He slapped his thigh. "It's settled then! I'll send you the contract tomorrow, and bring you the five thousand dollars advance as well. Use the pen name 'Mr. Snail,' your readers already recognize that name."

"Okay." Zhao Wen nodded.

After finishing the meal, Editor Gao insisted on paying the bill. He carefully stuffed the thick stack of manuscript papers into his black briefcase, zipping it up tightly.

"Zhao Wen! Just wait! In less than a month, the whole island will know the name 'Mr. Snail'!" Editor Gao said, hopping on his motorcycle and patting Zhao Wen on the shoulder.

The motorcycle sputtered into the night and quickly disappeared from sight. Zhao Wen stood there, smelling the lingering fumes and beer aromas in the air, and let out a long sigh of relief.

"Brother, do we have money now?" Zhao Wenwen tugged at his sleeve and asked, looking up at him with her small face.

"I've got it." Zhao Wen smiled, picked her up, and spun her around. The little girl was light and slender, and never seemed to grow taller. She needed to eat more good food to help her grow. "We won't have to worry about money anymore. Come on, let's go buy some apples."

"Yay!"

A box of UHT milk cost 260 yuan, a box of imported Aomori apples cost 200 yuan (only six apples), and two packs of hard-pack Taiwanese apples cost 48 yuan. 508 yuan was gone, but I spent the money lavishly and was satisfied.

The streetlights in the alley cast long, long shadows of the brother and sister. Roses bloomed in full glory atop the old wooden house wall, their subtle fragrance wafting through the air.

the next morning.

Meeting room of Jiuge Publishing House.

"No way! Absolutely not!" The gray-haired deputy editor-in-chief was furious, his beard bristling and eyes wide. "Gao Zhiyuan, are you crazy? A first print run of 30,000 copies? Do you know how much it costs to print 30,000 copies? If we don't sell them all and they pile up in the warehouse, our entire publishing house will starve for months!"

"Exactly!" another veteran editor chimed in. "What time is it now? Auntie's 'Burn, Phoenix!' is going out in two weeks, and Kingcrown has printed 20 copies in its first run, securing prime display space in every bookstore on the island. For a small publishing house like ours to go head-to-head with Kingcrown is practically suicide!"