1836: I Became a Literary Giant in Great Britain

Meanwhile, the editorial office of the London Express was filled with laughter and joy.

"Mr. Michael! The newspapers are selling like hotcakes! We've printed them three times, and they're all sold out!"

"The marketing department is going crazy with work, it's all newspaper subscriptions!"

"Readers even sent letters saying they wanted to donate to that girl named Natasha! They actually believed it was real!"

Michael, pipe in mouth, stood in the center of the office, basking in the cheers of his subordinates. His smile was harder to suppress than AK's.

He hadn't expected the results to be so good.

This is largely thanks to the high quality of Michel's work. One must be truly excellent to succeed; if it were a different piece, the effect would have been far less impressive.

In the past two days, The Sleepy Magazine and the letter from the reader signed "Patriot" have swept through London like a storm.

Corresponding to the public's surging anger, the London Express saw its sales and subscriber numbers grow rapidly.

"Well done, guys!" Michael waved his arms.

"My treat tonight, to the best pub!"

Thunderous cheers erupted once again in the editorial department.

Just then, Robert rushed in, his face looking rather grim.

"Michael..."

He lowered his voice: "There's a gentleman outside looking for you. He says he's from the Ministry of the Interior."

The noise in the office suddenly stopped.

All eyes were on Michael.

Ministry of the Interior?

This word was like a block of ice, instantly chilling the atmosphere in the office.

In this era, although censorship in London was not particularly strict, the Home Office still held the power of life and death over newspapers. Therefore, no London newspaper wanted to deal with the Home Office.

When did these bureaucrats become so efficient?

Upon hearing this news, Michael's smile gradually faded, and he exhaled a smoke ring, the smoke blurring his facial expression.

He thought it would take a few more days for these bureaucrats to react.

There's no escaping this calamity; let's see what these bureaucrats in the Ministry of the Interior are thinking.

"Let him come to the office."

A moment later, a well-dressed middle-aged man walked in. He was carrying a top hat and had a professional smile on his face, but his eyes were as fierce as a hawk's.

"You must be Mr. Michael, the editor-in-chief of the London Express?" the man asked politely.

"It's me. Please have a seat." Michael nodded, gesturing for the other person to sit down.

"What can I do for you?"

The man didn't sit down; he simply placed a document gently on Michael's desk.

"My name is Henderson, and I'm from the Department of the Interior."

He smiled and said, "We have noticed that the latest issue of your newspaper has generated a considerable response in society."

"Even the Ministry of the Interior knows about it, so it seems our newspaper is doing quite well."

Mai Ke leaned back in his chair, responding with a tone that was both firm and gentle.

Henderson's smile remained unchanged:

"It's not bad, but there have been some reactions that might affect public order in London. You know, His Majesty the King does not want to see any form of social unrest."

His voice was gentle, yet it carried an immense pressure.

The threats are all hidden beneath seemingly impeccable words.

"Mr. Michael, you are a smart man."

"We believe you know how to guide public opinion, rather than incite it. After all, a pen is easily broken if used in the wrong place."

After saying that, Henderson gave another impeccable smile and bowed slightly.

That's all I have to say. I hope I haven't bothered you. Goodbye.

Henderson turned and left, the office door closing softly behind him.

The entire editorial department was deathly quiet.

Everyone looked at Michael, waiting for his reaction.

Michael picked up the document on the table. It was just an ordinary official document, and it didn't even mention the London Express.

But everyone understands what it represents.

This is a warning, a warning from those in power. It tells them to be sensible and to consider the bigger picture.

Michael remained silent for a long time, then suddenly laughed.

He picked up the document and, to everyone's astonishment, slowly tore it into pieces and threw it into the wastebasket.

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked down at the bustling crowd below.

"They're getting anxious."

Michael's voice wasn't loud, but it reached everyone's ears clearly.

"They were scared."

He turned around, and that excited and frenzied light rekindled in his eyes.

"Guys, get ready for work! I've already thought of tomorrow's front-page headline!"

"What's the title?" a young editor asked instinctively.

"Just write an article like, 'The Home Office highly praises this newspaper, calling it "the conscience of London!"'"