It was past 2 PM.
Chenchen wanted to take an afternoon nap, so Zhang Ye was chased out of the house by Rao Aimin.
Since he had eaten and drunk his fill, this fellow happily burped and strolled back to his home. When he had digested most of the food in his stomach, Zhang Ye changed into a set of sports attire. He did not have any sneakers and only had canvas shoes. He might as well make do with it. He learned from Rao Aimin and went jogging.
One round …
Three rounds …
He ran around the district to strengthen his body.
Zhang Ye thought that his Taiji Fist could not be used to its fullest, probably because his body could not keep up. It was just like Taekwondo skills. He only had the experience and skills in his brain, but he could not use them to their fullest potential. He did not have enough strength, reaction time or endurance. For example, when he fought with Wang Shuixin's son, Wang Cen, in terms of technique, Zhang Ye, who had eaten many Taekwondo skill books, was clearly better than Wang Cen. Even if it was not much better, their standards were about the same. However, Zhang Ye was at a disadvantage during the fight. He was always at a disadvantage. Finally, he had to use the consumable item he had won from the Lottery to turn the situation around. This had already taught Zhang Ye a lesson.
Just having skills was not enough!
He also needed to have a good physique!
For example, if he ate a thousand Taiji Fist skill books in the future, but his strength was still the same, not to mention a thousand, even if he ate ten thousand, he would not be able to achieve Rao Aimin's palm chop of a pair of scissors!
He had to train!
This had to be done step by step. He had to persevere!
In the future, it looked like he would have to run and do push-ups every day.
After running for more than an hour, Zhang Ye ran and walked back home drenched in sweat. Just as he entered the door, his cellphone rang. A phone call had come in.
"Hello, who is this?" Zhang Ye said while panting.
"Hello, Teacher Zhang Ye. We are from North China Youth and Children's Publishing House." It was a middle-aged man's voice. It was a little hoarse.
When Zhang Ye heard this, he went to the bathroom to grab a towel to wipe his sweat. As he wiped, he said, "Oh, sorry about that. The domestic publishing rights of my fairy tales have already been sold."
The middle-aged man was taken aback, then smiled and said, "We are not here for the rights to your fairy tales. We all know that a few of your fairy tales have been made into individual volumes or albums by the Beijing Education Publishing Firm. I am looking for you to discuss other publishing matters. As far as we know, your essays and modern poems have not been published yet, right? It's fine if you don't have the copyright, but I don't see any legal copies on the market. "
Zhang Ye was stunned and threw down the towel, "My poem?"
"Yes, we want to do a compilation of your works. It will be called 'Zhang Ye's Compilation'. It will contain all of your essays and poems, including couplets." The middle-aged man said, "Let's come out and talk? Or to our publishing house? "
Zhang Ye was very interested in this. In the afternoon, he was still worrying about how to maintain his popularity in this difficult period of not having a job and not having any exposure. Now, a good thing had come knocking on his door. Actually, it was not that Zhang Ye did not have the thought of publishing a poetry anthology in the past, but he knew that it would be difficult. Those who could really publish a poetry anthology were all famous masters. Of course, there were those who were not famous masters who had published a compilation. They might have bought it or relied on their connections, but the sales were too bad. It was better not to publish it, so there was no need to talk about that.
Zhang Ye had always thought that the greatest difficulty in publishing a poetry anthology was that he had debuted too late. It had only been a few months, so the poems he had written were only about a dozen or so. What kind of concept was a dozen or so poems? Even if he increased the font size to the maximum, with each page taking up a poem, there would only be about a dozen pages. Not to mention publishing a book, even a booklet would be too thin. Zhang Ye did not wish to take out all the classic poems from his world in one go. Those were things that he would have one less after using them. He had to keep them where they were needed. Hence, after thinking about publishing a poetry anthology, he gave up on the idea. He did not expect someone to come knocking on his door this time.
"Alright, I'll go over."
"I see you panting. Did you just get home?"
"I've been at home. Hur Hur. I went jogging just now."
"Why don't I go over to your house? You can pick the place. It's up to you. "
"It's alright. I also want to go to your publishing firm to take a look. Give me the address. I'll drive there."
After hanging up, he received the address from the other party. Zhang Ye took a quick shower to wash off his smelly sweat before driving over.
… …
Huabei Children's Publishing Firm.
The headquarters was in Beijing, but the address was a little remote. It was not in the city's 8th district.
On the way there, while waiting at a red light, Zhang Ye took out his cell phone to check up on this publishing firm. Only then did he know that there were many Children's Publishing Firms in the country, but none of them only published children's books. There were even some Children's Publishing Firms that did not even publish children's books. They only published traditional novels or even web novels. They had nothing to do with "children".
In the yard.
Zhang Ye found the main building and walked in.
The moment he entered the front desk area, Zhang Ye was recognized by a young lady at the front desk. She said, "Teacher Zhang Ye, you're here? Let me bring you upstairs. "
Zhang Ye smiled, "Thanks."
"You're welcome." The young lady led Zhang Ye to the third floor.
After knocking on the door, the lady at the front desk pushed it open and entered, "Chief Editor Zhang, Teacher Zhang Ye is here."
That person stood up to welcome him. He smiled and stretched out his hand, "Hello, Teacher Zhang. We are from the same family. My surname is also Zhang, Zhang Lu. I've heard a lot about you." From the voice, it was the middle-aged man who had just spoken to him on the phone.
Zhang Ye shook hands with him, "It's all infamy."
Hearing him mock himself, Zhang Lu said, "What are you talking about? You helped Father Wei seek justice. Anyone would give you a thumbs up. They even fired you?" Zhang Lu sneered, "It's really laughable that they didn't want a treasure mountain like you." This was the truth. It was also Zhang Lu's heartfelt words. If Zhang Ye was in their publishing firm, even if Zhang Ye's intentions were good, even if he caused a huge mess, their publishing firm would still hold onto Zhang Ye tightly. They would definitely not let him go. This was because they had long heard of the terrifying sales of "Ghost Blows Out the Light" and his fairy tales. With such a treasure mountain, a money tree, who wouldn't want it?
Of course, it could not be said that way. After all, there was a huge difference between a publishing firm and a television station. Nowadays, the publishing firm was all about profits. Political publications were much rarer. As for the television station, compared to earning viewership ratings and advertising sponsorships, they placed more importance on the political aspect. The situation in the industry was different.
There were still people in the room, about three or four of them.
Zhang Lu introduced them to Zhang Ye. There were men and women. They were all staff members of the publishing firm.
After the introductions, Zhang Ye sat down, "I'm not too sure about the compilation. I don't know how you are going to publish it. There aren't enough pages, right?"
Zhang Lu smiled, "There are enough. Illustrations."
"Illustrations?" Zhang Ye said, "Even that isn't enough, right?"
"There are also translations and word analysis. A poem has three or four pages. One page is the illustration, one page is the main text, and the last one or two pages are the analysis. Of course, we can't write the analysis. Even if we could, we wouldn't dare to. No one dares to say that they can completely understand your work. This will still have to be done by you, the original author. It's the same for the couplets. Three or two couplets per page. In that case, it won't be a problem to write a book," Zhang Lu said.
Zhang Ye pondered for a moment, "There's no problem with the analysis, but … isn't the content too little?" Why did it sound like it was just to make up for the number of pages?
A youth behind him said, "It's not little at all. If any of your works were made into a book, no one would say anything. Not to mention that the compilation has so many of your works. 'The Song of the Stormy Petrel' and 'Tribute to the White Poplar' can easily take up seven or eight pages if the font is enlarged."
F * * k!
How big would the font be!?
However, Zhang Ye himself really wanted to publish a compilation. Firstly, it was for his reputation. Secondly, it was to maintain his popularity. Thirdly, be it money or game Reputation, he could earn some extra income.
Finally, the price was settled.
The copyright was bought out at a fixed price of 400,000!
This was already quite high. After all, compilation was not a novel. It was not as popular as a novel. Only a few cultured youths would buy a few copies, so the price was naturally not comparable to "Ghost Blows Out the Light". It was only on par with a fairy tale. But if it was not compared to a novel, and compared to other pure literary works or compilations by other authors, the copyright price of Zhang Ye's compilation was much higher than theirs.
There was no why!
It was because every one of Zhang Ye's works was too popular!
After the matter was settled and the contract was drafted, Zhang Lu and Zhang Ye shook hands again, "It was a pleasure working with you. Thank you for trusting our publishing firm. Leave the publishing and publicity to us. With your fame and popularity in Beijing, the sales will definitely not be low." With a pause, he said, "It's about the analysis of the poems …"
Zhang Ye said, "I'll write it when I get back. I'll send it to you tomorrow."
Zhang Lu liked Zhang Ye's straightforwardness. His efficiency was too high. He said, "Alright, then you have to work hard. Actually, a month is fine. After all, the amount of work needed to analyze it is not small. Oh, and also, we might need a preface, or a wedge, or something like a preface to the poem collection's summary."
Zhang Ye blinked, "Preface?"
Zhang Lu nodded, "Right, you can write whatever you want. It's best if it echoes the compilation's content. If not, the first page will be the compilation's main text. It would be lacking something. What do you think?"
"Alright." Zhang Ye asked, "Do you have a pen?"
Zhang Lu's eyes lit up, "You want me to write it now? Alright! Of course! "
The men and women behind him knew that not everyone had the honor of seeing Zhang Ye's works in person. They were very interested and excited, "Why don't we use a brush? In that case, we can directly use your words for the cover or preface. It's more interesting than the usual computer fonts. "
Zhang Lu agreed, "Right, that's a good idea. I heard that Teacher Zhang's words are pretty good."
"Sure." Zhang Ye said indifferently.
A youth quickly went to do it. A minute later, he came back with a brush, ink, paper and inkstone. He even took the initiative to grind the ink for Zhang Ye.
"I'll take the pictures." A woman took out her camera and took a few pictures of the front and the side. She also took pictures of Editor-in-Chief Zhang Lu and company. It could be used for publicity. Then, the woman pointed the camera at the location, waiting to take a picture of Teacher Zhang Ye writing.
Preface?
It had to match the content?
His own compilation definitely had to incorporate his own thoughts and values?
Thinking of the death written in "My Confession" and "Prisoner's Song", thinking of the survival written in "A Generation" and "Tribute to the White Poplar" … …
Zhang Ye picked up the brush and wrote a line of preface on the Xuan paper.
"Life is as gorgeous as the summer flowers, death as beautiful as the autumn leaves — Zhang Ye."
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