554: Chapter 554 A Change in the Publishing Landscape

When the elevator doors on the top floor of Huanyu Publishing Group opened, it was already pitch black outside.

There was no sound in the hallway, and the lights cast cold white beams across the floor, one after another.

A sliver of light leaked from the thick solid wood door at the end of the hallway; the light was warm, making the surrounding cold feel even heavier.

In the afternoon, President Zhao had only tossed out the words, "The matrix is stopped," before leaving with his assistant, without even giving Shen Jiangping an explanatory glance.

Shen Jiangping stood in the Technical Department for nearly another twenty minutes, the data on the screens constantly moving.

The completion rate of qin opera kept rising.

Vice President Chen Mo stared fixedly at the main screen, while several technicians kept their heads down, typing away, avoiding looking in his direction even out of the corners of their eyes.

Finally, unable to stay any longer, he bolted out the door.

All afternoon, he had gone over the matrix, the judges, public opinion, and the work's data, but the more he thought, the heavier his heart sank.

It wasn't until just now that he received notice from President Zhao's assistant that President Zhao had returned.

Shen Jiangping stopped in front of the door, adjusted his breathing twice, and pushed the door open to enter.

President Zhao sat at the far end of the long table, the tea beside him dark in color.

He did not look up.

"You're here."

"President Zhao."

Shen Jiangping sat down in a chair and, skipping the pleasantries, spoke directly.

"Can you tell me why?"

"It wasn't me."

Shen Jiangping's face tightened.

Only then did President Zhao put down the document, look up at him, and speak in a flat tone.

"The Old Master gave the order himself."

Shen Jiangping froze.

He certainly knew who this "Old Master" was.

Zhao Jianyong. The founder of Huanyu Publishing Group, President Zhao's father, who, after withdrawing from the Writers Association system, had single-handedly pushed Huanyu Publishing Group to become a domestic publishing giant.

Three years ago, he retired behind the scenes.

Although he no longer concerned himself with the group's daily operations, whenever he spoke, no one in Huanyu Publishing Group dared to turn a deaf ear.

When Shen Jiangping sat down, his knuckles were already tense.

"Why would the old gentleman concern himself with this matter?"

President Zhao did not answer immediately.

He stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.

The night in the capital pressed against the glass, the traffic on the main roads still shining, the whole city appearing as if it had no intention of stopping.

"Do you know to what extent ordinary world is selling in Europe?"

Shen Jiangping's brow twitched.

"I know, it seems to have topped the charts in several countries."

President Zhao turned to look at him, his voice lowered.

"Seven countries, topping the physical book charts in all of them."

Shen Jiangping's hands, resting on his knees, tightened instantly.

President Zhao walked back to the long table and pushed a document in front of him.

"This is no longer just a matter of the book selling well."

"It is now one of the most brilliant examples of contemporary Chinese literature going global."

"The overseas rights department, the Writers Association, and several key distribution channels are all watching it."

President Zhao's voice was not loud, but each sentence was heavier than the last.

"The Old Master's meaning is very clear."

"Whoever plays dirty at this time isn't just sabotaging the Kunpeng Award, nor just you, Shen Jiangping."

"The entire Huanyu Publishing Group could be dragged down with it."

The veins on the back of Shen Jiangping's hands slowly began to bulge.

He understood.

And precisely because he understood, the fire in his heart felt all the more stifled.

Jian Shen.

He had heard this name too many times already.

He had read worry solver and the ferryman.

He had also read ordinary world from cover to cover.

Rumors in the circle about Jian Shen's methods, temper, and vision were becoming increasingly outlandish.

In Shen Jiangping's past judgment, no matter how strong Jian Shen was, it was only on the level of his works.

He had never truly placed this name on the same table as overseas rights, publishing channels, and official examples.

But now, that book had charged into the European bestseller lists.

Once it was listed as a key example of copyright export, whoever dared to muddy the waters at this point would be watched by everyone.

Shen Jiangping picked up his teacup and took a sip.

The tea had gone cold.

The bitterness pressed straight to the root of his tongue.

"Did the Old Master say for how long?"

President Zhao sat down again.

"No specific time."

"Then what does that mean?"

"At least until the Kunpeng Award judging is finished."

Shen Jiangping closed his eyes for a moment.

Public open days, reviews, Semifinals lists, final evaluations.

It added up to about three weeks.

During these three weeks, the matrix could not move.

External accounts also had to go silent.

Moving forward, he could only present three or two things in jincheng to the readers in its raw state.

This was the most critical part.

The data on the Technical Department's big screen from the afternoon pressed back into his mind once again.

The effective reading completion rate of qin opera was rising.

Real reviews were increasing.

The popularity of three or two things in jincheng was still hanging at the front, but the reader dwell time had already exposed the truth.

That crack was being pulled open, bit by bit.

Shen Jiangping set the teacup down.

The bottom of the cup hit the table with a dull sound.

"President Zhao."

He looked up.

"You said before that there was still room with the judge resources."

President Zhao looked at him without speaking immediately.

Shen Jiangping laid his cards on the table.

"The matrix stops, I accept that."

"The public opinion line retracts, I accept that too."

"But as for the judges, you have to tell me whether the connections we laid down still count."

President Zhao sighed.

"They count."

Just as Shen Jiangping's eyes flickered, President Zhao's next sentence crushed down.

"The premise is that your writing must be able to support them speaking up."

Shen Jiangping's expression stiffened slightly.

"Connections can only push things half a step forward."

President Zhao said in a calm tone, "But if the text cannot support that half step, every word favoring you from the judges' bench will become a handle against you."

When these words fell, the air in the office became even heavier.

Shen Jiangping did not refute.

He knew President Zhao was right.

The judges also needed a reason.

A sufficiently decent reason.

If three or two things in jincheng continued to be suppressed by the completion rate of qin opera, and if real reader feedback continued to lean toward Lin Que, then even if someone spoke up for him on the judges' bench, it would become glaringly obvious.

Shen Jiangping pulled his hand back.

"I understand."

President Zhao did not continue talking about the judges; instead, he pulled a report from the bottom of the folder and pushed it in front of Shen Jiangping.

"The real trouble is here."

Shen Jiangping took it and scanned it.

The report was very detailed.

The sources of competing authors, past publication platforms, publishing house collaboration records, and writing contest experiences were all broken down into several categories.

An orange area among them was particularly glaring.

Next to the orange marking was a line of text: Traces of the New Tide faction among the Kunpeng applicants.

Shen Jiangping turned to the next page.

A number jumped into his eyes.

Twenty-eight percent.

Shen Jiangping stared at that number for a long time without speaking.

"Nearly thirty percent?"

President Zhao nodded.

"And this is just what we can find clear traces of."

"Moreover, among them are eleven newcomers participating in the Kunpeng Award for the first time this year, all of whom are ranked within the top forty in the preliminary round in real-time."

"Some of them have participated in New Tide writing contests, and some have been in the New Tide newcomer training program."

President Zhao pressed his fingertips on the report.

"These people are not scattered soldiers."

"They have had a training ground in advance."

Shen Jiangping's gaze darkened.

The Kunpeng Award preliminary round ultimately only keeps sixty people.

Eleven newcomers squeezing into the top forty meant that a group of old contestants who had originally held their spots firmly would be forced out.

This went beyond the scope of supporting newcomers.

New Tide had set up a training ground in advance and then sent a batch of newcomers into the official arena of the adult literary world.

Shen Jiangping slowly exhaled.

"In this, even if Jian Shen didn't personally make the move, his shadow is definitely there."

President Zhao did not deny it.

He just turned his teacup half a circle.

"Everyone in the circle says that Wang De'an manages the face of New Tide."

President Zhao pressed his fingertips against the rim of the cup and slowly turned it a full circle.

"But the person who actually makes the decisions has never sat at the front."

Shen Jiangping tapped the edge of the report with his finger.

"New Tide was able to go from a medium-sized publishing house in Su Province to its current size in just over a year."

"Wang De'an has execution ability, but relying on him alone, he couldn't support a layout of this span."

President Zhao turned the report back to the page with the orange mark.

"Now, New Tide can be considered to have firmly established itself as the top publishing house in Su Province."

He spoke very flatly, as if stating a fact he had long accepted.

"The person behind New Tide, whether it's Jian Shen or not, is not someone to be trifled with."

Shen Jiangping closed the report and pushed it back to the center of the table.

Thirty-eight percent.

Training ground.

Newcomer seeds.

New Tide.

Jian Shen.

These words kept colliding in his mind.

He had originally thought that what he was facing was just a young author pushed to the front by the Qinglan Project.

Later, he discovered that behind Lin Que stood the Qinglan Project, stood Dai Shengzong, and stood the Qingbei School of Literature.

Then later, a single Microblogging platform post from Dream Weaver called real readers from the Web Novel Circle into the Kunpeng Award.

Now, President Zhao had spread this web of New Tide before him.

Shen Jiangping suddenly realized that what he had stepped into was not a competition for an ordinary youth literature award at all.

This was the publishing landscape undergoing a blood transfusion.

And he happened to be standing at the doorway where the old order was being smashed open.

President Zhao looked out the window, his voice dropping.

"New Tide has already sat down at the table."

He paused.

"As for Xinrong, they probably won't be able to sit still either."