159: New Tide Publishing House

The phone in his pocket vibrated like it was having a seizure, buzzing incessantly.

Lin Que exerted every ounce of his strength,

to finally break through the swarm of classmates whose curiosity was off the charts, looking as if they wanted to crack open his skull to see its inner workings.

He ducked into a toilet stall and locked the door behind him.

He pulled out his phone and took a look. Good grief,

it was a total message bombardment from [Fugitive Beethoven].

The last photo was truly "enough to make the observer grieve and the listener weep."

What should have been delicate jade-like hands that had never known a day's hard labor,

were now swollen like carrots, especially the side of the pinky finger,

which even had two cartoon band-aids on it. It hurt just looking at it.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: [Wailing][Wailing] Look! Is this something a human would do?

[Fugitive Beethoven]: That bald professor is forcing me to practice "Hungarian Rhapsody." My hands are about to be ruined!

This isn't playing the piano; this is clearly practicing Iron Sand Palm on the keys!

[Fugitive Beethoven]: My hands are about to swell up into pig trotters!

Lin Que stared at the screen, his shoulders unable to stop shaking,

as he nearly failed to stifle a laugh.

Who would have thought that the noble, cold, and elegant genius piano girl on stage

was actually a "drama queen" in private who didn't want to practice and only knew how to throw tantrums.

His fingers flew across the screen as he typed.

[Mu Xia]: Not quite pig trotters; at most, they're braised chicken feet.

Remember to ice them, or they'll definitely swell into bear paws by tomorrow.

Then, a string of voice messages came through.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: Teacher! Lin! Do you even know how to talk? Where's your EQ?

[Fugitive Beethoven]: I'm already this miserable, and you're still craving my chicken feet... Bah, I mean, you're still calling them chicken feet!

Lin Que leaned against the stall partition and laughed out loud.

[Mu Xia]: Alright, stop playing the victim.

Judging by your energy—five rants a second—it seems you're far from being crippled. You can probably practice for at least another two hours.

The other side was silent for three seconds.

Immediately after, a meme of a "tough guy kneeling and begging for mercy" was sent over.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: By the way, the preliminary results for your side should be out by now, right?

I heard from my grandpa that the topic this time was a huge pit, and many top students fell right into it.

Lin Que raised an eyebrow.

A pit?

Lin Que originally wanted to mention the "Preferred" selection.

But he felt it would be too high-profile, and explaining it to this girl would be a hassle.

If she ever found out he was the ruthless person who wrote "Happy Occasion" as a frenzied farce,

she would probably dream up some strange persona like "Master Lin has experienced the world's vicissitudes and seen through the mortal realm."

In life, being low-key is the ultimate way to show off.

Lin Que replied casually.

[Mu Xia]: It's fine, I passed.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: You passed? Was it B-rank or A-rank?

[Mu Xia]: I didn't look closely. Anyway, as long as I can get into the semi-finals, it's fine.

The other side clearly didn't think much of it, and her attention was instantly diverted.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: It's good that you passed! So when are the semi-finals? Are they still in Jiangcheng?

[Mu Xia]: Next month on the 10th. The location has changed; the provincial semi-finals are all being held in Jinling.

Less than 0.1 seconds after this message was sent,

the "The other party is typing..." at the top of the chat box didn't stop,

followed by an extremely excited sticker.

A cat was shaking its head wildly, leaving afterimages.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: Jinling?!

[Fugitive Beethoven]: Hahahaha! Master Lin! You've finally fallen into This Palace's hands!

[Fugitive Beethoven]: Last time in Jiangcheng, you treated me to a feast at your house. Now that you're on my turf, I must make arrangements!

[Fugitive Beethoven]: That Pi Du Noodles place in the alley at Old Gate East is simply amazing! And that... Her phone wouldn't stop vibrating.

Lin Que looked at the long list of dish names on the screen;

it was as if he could smell the rich aroma of street food and sesame oil from the streets of Jinling through the screen.

Ye Xi, who was heavily wrapped in the aura of an artistic family,

only lived most like a seventeen-year-old girl when talking about food.

[Mu Xia]: Alright, I'll empty my stomach and wait for Guide Ye to lead the way.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: It's a deal! Whoever flakes is a puppy! [Pinky swear]

He put away his phone,

the screen's warmth still lingering.

Lin Que pushed open the stall door; the hallway outside was still that world gone mad for the Gaokao.

But these few messages gave his dull exam-prep days something different to look forward to... In the days that followed, time seemed to move at double speed.

A week passed in the blink of an eye.

Just as the wind in Jiangcheng began to warm up, in the Mountain City thousands of miles away,

the largest Xinhua Bookstore was already packed with people, shoulder to shoulder.

Since it was the weekend, the bestseller display was surrounded by young people, their intensity fiercer than elders scrambling for discounted eggs.

At the center of the display, a small mountain of deep blue books was piled up.

On the cover: a lonely boat, the River of Forgetfulness, and a glimmer of light.

The art style was beautiful yet carried a sense of sophisticated loneliness.

It was the physical book of the ferryman, fresh on the market.

"Wow! This texture is just incredible!"

A girl in a trench coat picked up a sample copy,

her fingers stroking the UV matte finish on the cover, her eyes sparkling with stars.

"This character art card! Dylan and Tristan look exactly like I imagined! They're like men stepped out of a manga!"

She excitedly tugged on her best friend's sleeve, making the bonus merchandise included with the book rattle:

"Look at this laser bookmark, it's hollowed out!

And this metal badge—is this buying a book or buying merch? This is such a great deal!"

In this era where the entertainment industry was still in a crude "as long as it's readable" stage,

this kind of dimensional strike—treating books as works of art—

was as lethal as a nuclear bomb to young readers.

Her friend, wearing black-rimmed glasses and clearly a veteran book fan, looked calm:

"Of course. Look whose book it is. Great Master Jian Shen's prestige demands top-tier quality."

"But..."

The girl in the trench coat flipped to the back and looked at the logo at the bottom of the spine, looking a bit confused.

"Eh? I remember Jian Shen's previous book, The Miracles of the Namiya General Store, was published by Bailu Publishing House. Why is it New Tide Publishing House this time?"

She scratched her head:

"Huh? Why did the publisher change to New Tide? Wasn't it always Bailu before?"

"Bailu? They've been dead for a while now.

New Tide is wealthy and powerful now; they even swallowed up Bailu.

Look at this paper, this craftsmanship—could the stingy Bailu of the past ever compare?

This is what you call Jian Shen carrying the whole show; even the publisher has to change their name for him."

"Hiss—"

The girl in the trench coat gasped, her eyes widening like copper bells:

"That intense? One author supporting a whole magazine house and even swallowing an old-brand publisher?"

"It's more than just swallowing it."

The bespectacled friend picked up a copy of the ferryman, her eyes fanatical:

"The rumors in the industry are going wild. In this merger, although Jian Shen didn't show his face, he's the real MVP.

As long as Jian Shen's golden brand doesn't fall,

even if New Tide only publishes his books, they'll still be among the top in the country!"

"Is this the prestige of a god-tier author..."

the girl in the trench coat sighed, silently hugging the book in her arms.

"No way, I have to buy another copy for my collection. This counts as witnessing history."

A long queue formed in front of the checkout counter, everyone holding a deep blue book.

The cashier's hand was getting sore from scanning codes,

but the boss standing nearby, hearing those crisp "beeps,"

felt as if he were hearing the wonderful sound of gold coins falling into his pocket... Jiangcheng, SOHO Future City.

The studio curtains were half-drawn.

Lin Que was nestled in an ergonomic chair, also holding a copy of the ferryman.

Compared to the fanaticism of the fans in the bookstore, he was as calm as an outsider.

As his fingertips brushed over the raised gold-stamped characters on the cover—

—[By Jian Shen]—

his eyes still flickered slightly.

This was the weight of a physical book.

Unlike web novels, which were just 0s and 1s jumping on a screen,

this thing was heavy, carrying the scent of ink.

It was a cultural brick that could be held in one's hands, displayed on a shelf, and even passed down to the next generation.

"One million copies..."

Lin Que murmured to himself.

This number, even in his past life's world with its highly developed entertainment industry,

would be at the ceiling for top-tier bestsellers.

Yet in this world, it was merely a warm-up.

He flipped it open at random.

On the title page was the preface he had personally typed—"A Love Letter to the Living."

[If fate is a lonely river, who will be your ferryman?]

[We spend our whole lives searching for that person who can lead us through the wasteland. But in the end, you will find that the person is actually yourself.]

The text wasn't long, but it carried a power that struck straight to the soul.

Lin Que closed the book and solemnly tucked it into the bookshelf behind him.

The once empty bookshelf now held two books.

One was The Miracles of the Namiya General Store, and the other was the ferryman.

Just two lonely copies, yet they were like two towering monuments whose true forms had not yet been fully revealed.

"Ding-dong."

The computer screen suddenly lit up.

A new email popped up.

The sender wasn't the always cautious editor Xu Lan,

but the current helmsman of New Tide Publishing House, Wang De'an.

The email subject was simple,

yet it carried a scent of money that made Lin Que's eyelid twitch:

"Supplementary Agreement Regarding Royalty Rate Adjustment and New Book Strategic Cooperation for Mr. Jian Shen"...