33: I won't eat this pancake!

The email was long, and the writing was meticulous.

However, between the lines, there was a condescending sense of scrutiny.

The sender's signature was the Deputy Editor-in-Chief of Shiyue Magazine Agency, Fang Zhenyun.

In the letter, Fang Zhenyun first gave a 360-degree, dead-end-free heap of praise to The Miracles of the Namiya General Store.

Calling it a once-in-a-century tenderness, an echo of the era—one tall hat after another.

Immediately after, the tone shifted.

He then expressed "congratulations" to Editor-in-Chief Wang De'an for being able to discover a treasure like Jian Shen.

Lin Que saw the underlying meaning between the lines at a glance.

Translated, it meant:

New Tide has found a treasure, but the temple is too small to hold such a great Buddha; it’s time to move.

Sure enough, after pages of praise, the email finally bared its fangs.

On behalf of October, he officially issued an invitation to "Jian Shen" to become an exclusive signed author.

The conditions offered were quite explosive,

enough to make any pure literature author dumbfounded on the spot:

1. Remuneration standard: five thousand per thousand words, the highest price for a top-tier domestic pure literature periodical.

2. Works will be prioritized for serialization in October and all its affiliated platforms, with a commitment to utilize all resources for full-channel promotion.

3. The magazine agency will establish a dedicated team responsible for publication, film and television adaptations, overseas copyright negotiations, and all other matters, with the author enjoying the highest level of profit sharing.

4. A commitment to push the author onto the podium of one of the three major domestic literature awards within two years.

At the end of the email, Fang Zhenyun left his personal contact information and attached a very weighty sentence:

[Teacher Jian Shen, we do not need a single work, but the voice of an era.

October is willing to pave the final stretch of the road to the hall of literature for you.]

After Lin Que finished reading, his fingertips tapped lightly on the tabletop.

It had to be said that this Fang Zhenyun was a master at painting pies.

He didn't reply to the email but switched interfaces,

and unhurriedly typed into the search engine,

the three characters "Fang Zhenyun".

Related entries immediately popped up.

Director of the Jiangsu Provincial Writers Association, famous Critic...

In the industry, he was even more well-known as the talent scout of the literary world.

Lin Que smiled.

He could probably guess Fang Zhenyun's thoughts.

He clicked on Fang Zhenyun's personal column,

where the latest article was a review of a rising star writer who had won the Huaxia Literature Award last year.

And that writer was precisely the one Fang Zhenyun had signed a year ago against all odds.

The entire review seemed to be praising the work,

but between the lines, it was all hinting at his own foresight and sagacity as "the talent scout."

"Integrating personal emotions into the torrent of the times, using the language of the market to tell mainstream stories..."

Lin Que read the title of the column softly, the curve of his lips widening.

This Editor-in-Chief Fang wasn't looking for a writer;

he was looking for parts that fit his "award-winning formula."

The warmth and humanistic care shown in The Miracles of the Namiya General Store

happened to be the core component his god-making machine needed most.

As for the human world is like a prison, which had been suppressed by Wang Shouyi,

in the eyes of someone like Fang Zhenyun,

it probably didn't even have the qualification to be used as a negative example; it was just low-class noise.

Lin Que closed the search page and clicked on the window to reply to the email.

He didn't call, still choosing the most detached and mysterious way of communication.

[Editor-in-Chief Fang, hello. Thank you for your kind regard, but there is no need to mention the matter of signing again.]

The email was sent successfully.

No matter how big you paint this pie, he's not eating it!

...

Jinling, the capital of Su Province.

Shiyue Magazine Agency headquarters.

In the Deputy Editor-in-Chief's office, Fang Zhenyun was holding a cup of hand-poured coffee, leisurely listening to his subordinate's report.

"Editor-in-Chief, Wang De'an's side is very stubborn, insisting that he doesn't know Jian Shen's true identity."

"Normal."

Fang Zhenyun set the coffee cup aside, crossed his fingers on the desk,

leaned forward slightly, and struck a pose that showed he was in total control.

"If it were me, I would also keep it under wraps. But it doesn't matter."

He pointed to the computer screen:

"My email has already been sent.

For an author of Jian Shen's level, how could he just be pursuing that meager manuscript fee?"

He stood up and stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the river view.

"That posthumous fame, that status in the literary world. Can Wang De'an give them? The pool of New Tide is too shallow."

"Ding-dong—"

Just then, a new email notification popped up in the bottom right corner of the computer.

"Oh? It's here."

Fang Zhenyun's spirit lifted, and he signaled his subordinate to leave first.

He clicked on the email, but the smile on his face froze the moment he saw the content.

[Thank you for your kind regard, but there is no need to mention the matter of signing again.]

A short sentence,

polite, yet resolute.

Fang Zhenyun's brow slowly furrowed into the shape of the character ' river'.

He wasn't angry; instead, he laughed softly, though the laughter was cold.

"Interesting."

He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk.

"Aloof? Unmoved by fame and fortune?"

He shook his head, dismissing this naive thought.

"There's no cat in this world that doesn't eat fish. Unless... this fish isn't the one he wants."

He immediately dialed the virtual number belonging to "Jian Shen" left in the email.

The phone rang for a long time, but no one answered.

Fang Zhenyun did not give up and edited another email to send over.

[Teacher Jian Shen, is there anything you are dissatisfied with in the terms? Everything is negotiable. My sincerity is one hundred percent.]

This time, the reply came quickly.

Still a short line of text.

[It has nothing to do with the terms. Writing books is out of interest; if I were to be constrained, it would lose its fun. Do not contact me again.]

"Bang!"

Fang Zhenyun slammed the laptop shut, his face so dark it looked like it could drip water.

Writing books is an interest?

Doesn't like being constrained?

What kind of bullshit reason is that!

He felt like a hunter who had meticulously laid a trap,

only to find that the prey didn't care about the bait he had scattered at all.

It wasn't anger,

but a cold displeasure after his sense of control was challenged.

He stood up and walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window,

overlooking the brilliant night view of Jinling City, his voice calm.

"Since you can't be invited onto the altar, then let's see how long you can walk steadily in this mortal world."

...

Meanwhile, in the studio at SOHO Future City.

Lin Que casually closed Jian Shen's mailbox.

That identity sought after and speculated upon by countless people,

along with that contract enough to make any writer go crazy,

just like cleaning up computer junk,

was dragged into the recycle bin by him cleanly and emptied.

Fang Zhenyun wanted to put him on an altar and turn him into a controllable, bright symbol?

His vision was too small.

What Lin Que enjoyed more

was the pleasure of carving a divine statue with his own hands and then molding a demon with his own hands.

Gods are used to appease the world, and demons are used to terrify the world.

And he was the only Creator hidden behind the shrine and hell, overlooking the various states of all living beings.

"Well then..."

"After praising the gods, it's time to let the world remember the fear of being dominated by demons again."

The cursor blinked quietly on the title bar of the newly created chapter.