587: Chapter 587 The Bottom Line Must Be in Our Own Hands

As the four characters "Xinrong Culture" fell into his ears, the fingers Sun Qiming used to hold his cup paused for half a second.

This name was far more solid than many trending topics.

Unlike Huanyu Publishing Group, which expanded rapidly through capital operations, Xinrong published books slowly and was slow to select authors, but the long-selling books they cultivated would sell for over a decade.

"Mr. Jiang, you are too kind. Please, go ahead."

Jiang Chengxun chuckled.

"I'll get straight to the point. Xinrong has been watching you for a while. I've read your "pottery kiln" twice, and three editors in our group have submitted their reports."

"The conclusion is unanimous: "pottery kiln" has the foundation of a long-seller and is worth Xinrong's long-term investment."

Sun Qiming didn't respond. He waited for what was to follow. Jiang Chengxun didn't rush him either. His rhythm was steady, as if he were long accustomed to negotiating terms with authors.

"I'm calling today to discuss the possibility of a collaboration. Xinrong is willing to offer an official publishing contract for "pottery kiln." In the preliminary proposal, the guaranteed advance royalty for the first year of "pottery kiln" is 180,000, paid in three installments. If subsequent printings are triggered and tiered sales thresholds are met, the royalty percentage will automatically increase according to the contract."

"At the same time, we will deploy promotional resources across our three key channels, including core bookstore displays during the initial release, featured recommendations on online platforms, and priority internal submission for Xinrong's annual book list."

180,000. It was enough for him to pay three years of rent, enough for him to temporarily stop those magazine commissions that paid eighty per thousand characters, and enough for him to return that thousand yuan his parents transferred every month.

Sun Qiming didn't speak immediately; his knuckles on the cup handle tightened slightly.

Suddenly, the sentence from Jian Shen's sixth lesson surfaced in his mind: "Money can support an author's life, but it is also the easiest way to test where a pen truly belongs."

"Mr. Jiang, may I ask a few questions first?"

"Please."

"After signing, who holds the final revision rights for "pottery kiln"?"

Jiang Chengxun paused for less than a second. "The editor has the right to suggest, but the author has the final right of confirmation. This clause can be written directly into the contract."

"Second question." Sun Qiming leaned back in his chair, his tone flat. "Public appearances, live streams, and brand activities must all be confirmed in writing by me personally. Can this be written in?"

"Yes." Jiang Chengxun's tone was crisp. "Activities are inevitable, but if the author doesn't nod, Xinrong won't make decisions for you."

"Third question." Sun Qiming picked up his enamel cup and took a sip of herbal tea. "Will you require me to cooperate with operations, take sides, endorse other participating authors, or post comments that stir up controversy?"

A soft sound of papers being pressed down came from the other end of the line. Jiang Chengxun heard the weight behind those words.

Sun Qiming continued: "Mr. Jiang should know what happened with the Kunpeng Award recently. Shen Jiangping used capital as his path, but in the end, he couldn't even protect his own main text."

He spoke very slowly, each word pressed flat. "Shen Jiangping's lesson is right there. A person who once won the Kunpeng Award champion had handed over his pen after three years. His pen no longer belonged to him."

"I wrote that post about "qin opera" because that work deserved to be taken seriously. Not because anyone paid me, and not to drive traffic to myself."

"If, after signing, Xinrong needs me to do similar things to support operational strategies, then I won't sign this contract."

Jiang Chengxun was silent for longer than before. The other end of the line was quiet for a moment, followed by the sound of pages turning. When Jiang Chengxun spoke again, his tone was a few degrees more solemn than before.

"Teacher Sun, to be honest." When Jiang Chengxun spoke again, the address had less polite formality and more solemnity. "Xinrong's long-term author contracts clearly state that the author has the autonomy for public statements and the right to confirm activities."

"This sounds like empty talk, but in the publishing industry, it's actually a long-term account."

"Popularity gained through controversy won't last a quarter, but the stains left behind will follow an author for many years. Shen Jiangping is a ready example."

"Xinrong wants long-sellers that last ten or twenty years; three-month hits cannot support this path. For an author to be a long-seller, the first requirement is to be clean."

Sun Qiming listened to these words, his fingers freezing.

Jiang Chengxun added another sentence. "The three conditions you just mentioned, I can confirm with the legal department right now and write them all into the official contract. In black and white, with breach of contract compensation to follow."

Sun Qiming leaned back in his chair, his gaze falling on the grey skyline outside the balcony. "Mr. Jiang, I have one last question."

"Please go ahead."

"Among the Kunpeng Ten, there are many people with more traffic than me. Xinrong called me; what are you really trying to bet on?"

His tone was flat. Jiang Chengxun didn't answer immediately. A few seconds later, his voice slowed down.

"Teacher Sun, let me be frank with you. Xinrong is indeed keeping an eye on this year's Kunpeng Award. Of course, we aren't just looking at you; we are in contact with several of the Ten. But the methods and purposes of contact are different."

"Some people already have mature teams and resources; they don't lack platforms. What Xinrong can offer is just icing on the cake for them."

"You are different." Jiang Chengxun's tone became solemn. "You have no team, no agency, not even an agent. Your work was almost buried during the public reading stage, and in the end, it fought its way out solely through a sincere post and a 75.4% completion rate."

"In the industry, we like to call this kind of author a "wild player." No one feeds them resources, yet they can break out relying on their text; this type of person is the most rare."

"I have seen the list of graduation works published by New Tide, and I have also flipped through the works you have published publicly. You are a bit different from ordinary "wild" authors."

Sun Qiming sat up slightly.

Jiang Chengxun continued: "New Tide published the graduation list for the first training seminar, and your name was in it. Yet you didn't use this to package yourself."

"This shows that you are willing to study humbly and can stay true to your writing desk. After finishing your studies, you didn't ride on Jian Shen's fame; you threw "pottery kiln" directly into the Kunpeng Award for review."

"Xinrong has signed many people over thirty years. The ones who sold for the longest were almost all in this state when they entered the industry. No backing, no shortcuts, just a pen and a stack of manuscript paper. They were all very poor when they started, and there was nothing on their desks but manuscript paper. But they knew what they were writing, and they knew what they absolutely would not write."

Jiang Chengxun paused. "Besides, I won't hide it from you. The post you made supporting "qin opera" during the Kunpeng turmoil made many people remember your name. After that post, readers were willing to trust your judgment on a work; this trust is very valuable, and it is also very easily destroyed."

"Xinrong values your talent, and we also value this credibility. But I can guarantee that we will not consume it. Because once it's consumed, it's gone."

Sun Qiming didn't speak immediately. Outside the balcony, the tower crane turned slowly, and the herbal tea in the cup sloshed against the enamel wall.

Sun Qiming's gaze fell on the tattered-edged copy of "The Miracles of the Namiya General Store" on the table.

In the last few months of his life, Namiya reopened the shutter door that had been closed for many years. He stuffed the reply letter into the milk box and left before dawn. No one saw his expression when he wrote the reply letter. Jian Shen hadn't written it either.

But Sun Qiming knew that when the old man finished writing every reply letter, his hand must have been trembling. Not because of old age. It was because he knew that all he could give were a few lines of text, while the person on the other side was standing on the edge of a cliff.

He remembered the last few pages of "The Miracles of the Namiya General Store." Jian Shen hid all his emotions in the reply letter and the light, and he also hammered the word "restraint" into his own writing habits.

Over these years, he had also learned to press his hardships into his daily life, not trading them for pity over the phone. Three years since resigning. Monthly income less than five thousand. In winter, the heating wasn't warm enough; he would wrap himself in a quilt to write manuscripts, his fingertips freezing red.

He certainly knew life was hard, but he rarely took his hardships out to trade for others' pity. He needed this money, and he needed a publishing platform. But need could not become a reason for losing control; boundaries had to be hammered into the contract first. The contract could be reviewed, the defense had to be passed first. But the order could not be messed up.

"Mr. Jiang, send the contract to my email." Sun Qiming finally spoke. "I will reply to you after I read the terms."

"Good. I'll send it this afternoon." Jiang Chengxun paused. "Also, if you need transportation and accommodation to come to the capital for the defense, Xinrong can arrange it."

"No need." Sun Qiming said. "Before the defense, I will not accept any arrangements that could be misinterpreted. I'll handle the tickets and accommodation myself."

"Very well, then I wish you a smooth defense." "Thank you." The call ended.

Sun Qiming looked at the distant tower crane, knowing clearly in his heart that this call from Xinrong was definitely not just for one "pottery kiln." The Kunpeng Ten, Jian Shen's training seminar, Xinchao Publishing House, and the Qinglan Project—these threads were pushing young authors to the very center of the publishing landscape. Xinrong was reaching out because they wanted to secure a position early.

But he also knew his own situation. No team, no channels, and manuscript fees were often delayed. If "pottery kiln" didn't have a publishing platform, it would likely sink again after the hype faded. A platform could be signed, and the money could be accepted, but the bottom line had to be held in his own hands.