270: Chapter 270 Will Surely Bring a Thunderclap

Mid-August, inside a quaint courtyard house in Beijing.

Cicadas chirped incessantly in the courtyard, while the heatwave was held at bay by high grey-tiled walls and blue bricks.

A burner of agarwood was lit in the study, its scent faint and elegant.

Xu Changge sat upright at a red sandalwood desk, with two beautifully bound books spread out by his hand—the English and German versions of "the ferryman".

He was holding a small regular script brush,

recording the different translations of the same imagery in the two languages on Xuan paper.

The ink on the Xuan paper was still wet, densely packed with his deliberations on every adjective.

He moved back and forth between the subtle differences of the two languages, just to capture that most pure literary essence.

The deeper he deconstructed it, the more he could feel the terrifying tension in Jian Shen's writing that transcended cultural barriers.

"Buzz—"

The phone next to the inkstone vibrated; a notification from a special follow broke the silence of the study.

Xu Changge set down the brush and picked up the phone.

A bolded, red push notification from the New Tide APP jumped onto the screen.

[Jian Shen's new work will be online in three days...]

Upon seeing the words "paid serialization," Xu Changge's brow instantly furrowed into a knot.

Absurd.

That was the first word that popped into his mind.

To have a literary master who had just shone brilliantly in the European literary world and used words to break through the barriers of Western arrogance, sell his work chapter by chapter like a web novelist?

Xu Changge quickly clicked on Microblogging platform.

The top of the trending list had already been taken over by this storm.

The feed was full of curses directed at Xinchao Publishing House, mixed with numerous speculations about "dual contracts" and "capital coercion."

Looking at those analysis posts, Xu Changge was convinced.

He knew writing too well.

Someone who could write with the compassion and depth of "the ferryman" must have immense pride and integrity in his bones.

How could such a person bow for a mere pittance and cater to that fast-food style of serialization?

"Wang De'an has gone mad."

Xu Changge snorted coldly and tossed the phone onto the desk.

As a scion of a top literary family in Beijing, he had no concept of money, but he had a physiological loathing for mediocrity and the desecration of art by capital.

He could not tolerate a wise man capable of conversing with the soul,

being dragged into the vulgar clamor of the marketplace by a book merchant's copper-scented contractual chains.

Xu Changge stood up and adjusted his sleeves.

His grand-uncle currently served as an executive at the top-tier Chaohua Publishing House in Beijing.

As long as Chaohua was willing to step in, never mind a breach of contract fee, even hollowing out the entire staff of New Tide would be no trouble at all.

He wanted to "redeem" Jian Shen from that place reeking of money.

Having made up his mind, Xu Changge walked quickly out of the study, through the corridor, and to the backyard.

Under the grape trellis in the backyard.

Xu Zhengqing was wearing a coarse cloth jacket with a front opening, holding a purple clay teapot in his hand,

slowly and methodically watering a pot of precious Suguan Heding orchids.

This literary giant, known as the pillar of the beijing school of literature, looked very relaxed.

"Grandfather."

Xu Changge walked forward, his tone carrying a rare impatience.

Xu Zhengqing didn't even look up, just steadily controlling the flow of water:

"Jingwen, if the heart is not still, the steps will be messy. What is the hurry?"

Xu Changge didn't beat around the bush and directly laid out the New Tide APP's push notification, the online curses,

and his plan to contact his grand-uncle to "snatch" the person from New Tide.

"Grandfather, Teacher Jian Shen must have been kidnapped by capital," Xu Changge said with righteous indignation.

"This pay-per-chapter model is an insult to serious literature. We cannot watch a genius be destroyed like this."

After listening to his grandson, Xu Zhengqing finally stopped watering.

He straightened up and placed the purple clay teapot on a nearby stone table, not flying into a rage as Xu Changge had expected.

He took the phone his grandson handed him,

and his gaze fell on the cover, which had the heavy texture of the Loess Plateau and colors as somber as rock; his eyes turned deep.

"Jingwen, you still only see the surface of things." Xu Zhengqing shook his head and handed the phone back.

"Grandfather, you mean..." Xu Changge was very puzzled.

Xu Zhengqing walked to a stone stool and sat down, gesturing for his grandson to sit opposite him.

"I have also read "the ferryman"."

Xu Zhengqing spoke slowly.

"More than the sales, what surprised me was the person who translated that book."

Xu Changge was stunned for a moment.

Yang Xianyi, Elder Yang.

He was a titan of the translation world, with a temperament even more eccentric than his grandfather's; he had long since stopped accepting any commercial translations.

"With Elder Yang's stubborn temper, even if you piled mountains of gold and silver in front of him, he wouldn't translate a single word of something he didn't respect."

Xu Zhengqing's fingers tapped lightly on the stone table.

"There is only one reason he would come out of retirement and lead a team to work overtime."

"And that is because the core of that book was so solid that he couldn't refuse it."

Xu Zhengqing looked at his grandson, his tone becoming earnest.

"Do you really think someone capable of writing such words is a soft target for anyone to manipulate? Could a mere publishing house contract force such a person to go against their heart to make quick money?"

Xu Changge fell silent.

He had indeed overlooked this point.

"Jingwen, what do you think elegance is?" Xu Zhengqing pointed at the soil in the courtyard.

"Isn't elegance detached from the soil just a form of hypocrisy?"

Xu Changge looked at the black soil at the roots of the orchid, lost in thought.

"This seemingly self-deprecating move is definitely not the coercion of capital."

Xu Zhengqing's gaze held a clarity that saw through the world.

"Behind this, a thunderclap must follow."

"Jian Shen is going to throw a massive stone into this stagnant pond of the literary world."

"Then you mean... we do nothing?" Xu Changge asked.

"Do what?" Xu Zhengqing smiled.

"Not only will we do nothing, you have to do me a favor."

Xu Zhengqing fished his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Xu Changge.

"Install that New Tide APP on my phone too. And while you're at it, help me top up the currency used to unlock chapters," Xu Zhengqing instructed.

"I want to see for myself whether this "ordinary world" is truly ordinary or not."

Xu Changge held his grandfather's phone, his expression a bit stiff.

For no other reason than this:

The dignified Young Master Xu of Beijing, whose study was filled with out-of-print ancient texts and original foreign editions,

who usually found even reading e-books a strain on the eyes,

now had to hold his nose and study how to link a card and top up on a web novel app.

But he didn't object; he just nodded obediently and started studying the phone.

After all, he would have to use it sooner or later anyway.

...

10:00 PM.

Nanjing Shilu International Airport.

Sultry and humid air enveloped the entire city.

The sliding doors of the VIP lane opened to both sides.

Ye Xi, who had just finished her European tour and was frantically pursued by Western media as the "Oriental Witch,"

walked out quickly under the tight cover of her manager, Sister Yang, and two accompanying staff members.

She wore a large black coat, a baseball cap on her head,

and a black mask that covered most of her face, bundling herself up tightly.

To outsiders, she was a cold, mysterious, and ethereal piano genius.

But as soon as she stepped out of the airport hall and avoided the cameras of any lurking paparazzi,

Ye Xi immediately pulled off her mask and took a deep breath of Nanjing's characteristic humid air.

"I'm suffocating!" Ye Xi shook her hair without any regard for her image, then turned to her manager, her eyes gleaming with a green light.

"Sister Yang, I'm starving! I want firewood wontons! And duck blood vermicelli soup with two extra portions of chili oil! And half a salted duck!"

Sister Yang felt a headache coming on and quickly reached out to cover her mouth.

"My little ancestor, keep your voice down!" Sister Yang warned in a low voice, scanning the surroundings.

"You are an international-level young pianist now; you have to mind your image!

Besides, starting next week, you have covers for four fashion magazines and three youth magazines to shoot. If you get fat, you won't fit into that haute couture gown!"

"Tsk, do pianists not eat?" Ye Xi curled her lip and muttered as she walked toward the minivan.

"In Europe, eating those bloody steaks and bread as hard as bricks every day, I feel like my stomach is about to go on strike!"

The group quickly ducked into the black minivan parked by the roadside.

The car door closed, sealing off the sultry heat outside.

Ye Xi slumped into the large, comfortable captain's chair and let out a sigh of relief.

She couldn't wait to fish her phone out of her bag and skillfully turned it on and unlocked the screen.

What she wanted to do most right now, besides eating, was to find someone to share the joy of returning home with.

Her finger hovered over the screen, ready to tap on the Green Bubble app.

During her time in Europe, whenever she faced pressure or heard those boring compliments, she always liked to vent to this netizen who understood her.

However, just as her fingertip was about to touch the Green Bubble icon.

A red banner notification suddenly popped up at the top of the screen.

As a heavy user of the New Tide APP, Ye Xi was no stranger to the app's push notifications.

But when she saw the words on the banner clearly, she froze instantly.

[Jian Shen's new work will be online in three days! China's first "paid serialization of serious literature" model, inviting you to witness together—"ordinary world"]

Ye Xi's eyes widened as she stared at that incredibly rustic book title, her mind going completely blank.

Teacher Jian Shen? Paid serialization? "ordinary world"?

The impact of these words combined was for her,

no less than hearing someone play "A Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix" on a suona in the Golden Hall.

She couldn't help but recall the image of the weathered, deep, and philosophically minded "Uncle Jian Shen" she had described to Lin Que on the streets of Vienna.

How did that lofty spiritual mentor suddenly start working in the fields?

...