Chapter 18

“Lady Yang,” Zhu Xu looked at Yang Manniang and spoke slowly, “This truly is a brilliant idea. You haven’t exaggerated at all. If I were to buy this idea from you, how much would you want?”

Zhu Xu was not a shortsighted or heartless merchant. His mother and wife were devout Buddhists, and he himself was influenced by their faith, preferring to cultivate wealth through harmony. As long as the young lady’s asking price wasn’t excessive, he was willing to pay for the idea.

After all, making a living at such a young age was not easy.

How much?

Yang Manniang’s heart suddenly raced wildly, the pounding echoing deafeningly in her ears.

His question meant she had successfully crossed the first hurdle.

After half a day of effort, this was the first time a newspaper had spoken to her this way.

She struggled to keep calm, thinking carefully about how to answer Zhu Xu’s inquiry.

Obviously, he wanted to buy out her idea outright and then use it for advertising, leaving her out of the subsequent affairs.

But Yang Manniang was unwilling to agree to such terms. If she sold the idea outright, she might get a lump sum of a dozen or even several dozen taels of silver.

Others might be satisfied with that, since it was just an idea without any real cost—essentially free money—a generous return indeed.

Yet, Yang Manniang’s goal was to bundle the sale with her serialized novel. What she needed was not a one-time payment but a steady, ongoing income stream to support her family.

Although she was desperately short of funds now, she could not accept a one-time buyout.

After a moment’s consideration, she suppressed her greed and replied calmly, “No, Mr. Zhu, there is no buyout fee for this idea.”

Seeing the puzzled expressions on Zhu Xu’s and the chief steward Zhu Gui’s faces, she explained steadily, “If your esteemed newspaper is willing to serialize my novel and sign a serial publication contract with me, then I am happy to give this idea away for free.”

“Serialized novel? Free of charge?” Zhu Xu frowned.

By the literal words, he understood what a serialized novel was.

Yang Manniang nodded, “Yes. Otherwise, I would rather cooperate with other newspapers.”

Although so far only Zhuque Gate Newspaper was willing to work with her, that didn’t stop her from bluffing other papers to gain some leverage.

She wanted to put a little pressure on them.

Zhu Xu pondered silently.

Beside him, Chief Steward Zhu Gui frowned and raised concerns, “There are many complete storybooks on the market now. No newspaper has dared to serialize novels before, and since newspaper space is limited, if Zhuque Gate Newspaper serializes a novel, it will inevitably reduce space for news and advertisements. What if no one buys the paper?”

Preparation is key.

Yang Manniang was a prudent person. During these days of writing, she had rehearsed answers to potential questions in her mind and had studied the history of all newspapers in Bianjing.

So she was ready with a reply.

She smiled faintly upon hearing the concern, “Chief Steward, I can answer this. Although there are many complete storybooks now, the first time readers see a serialized novel in a newspaper, it will be a novel experience, won’t it?”

“That makes sense,” Zhu Gui nodded, “Bianjing’s people are always curious about new things.”

“I believe your main concerns are twofold: whether my serialized novel can bring profit to the newspaper, and the reputation of Zhuque Gate Newspaper,” Yang Manniang said calmly.

After a morning of repeated failures, she was well-versed in the mindset of these newspaper owners and knew just what to say.

Zhu Gui and Zhu Xu exchanged glances and both nodded.

Zhu Xu spoke, “Yes, those are my main considerations.”

Yang Manniang gathered her thoughts and spoke sincerely, “Why can a small newspaper succeed? To me, it’s because they dare to try, to innovate, to be the first to take the plunge. Take the advertising idea for example—setting aside its profitability, it’s the first advertisement in Bianjing, which is already very attractive. My serialized novel is the same. Regardless of its quality, just by being the first serialized novel in Bianjing, or even all of the Song Dynasty, it will be a huge selling point. Zhuque Gate Newspaper, as the first to publish a serialized novel, will not lose reputation; rather, it will add a brilliant and vivid chapter to its history!”

“Hmm, you’re right,” Zhu Gui acknowledged.

Yang Manniang’s argument was highly persuasive and logically flawless. Even Zhu Gui, who had been skeptical, had to nod.

Seeing this, Yang Manniang relaxed slightly and took a breath.

She continued, “As for whether my serialized novel will occupy too much space and fail to turn a profit, there is no need to worry. With my free advertising idea, as long as you execute it properly and attract enough advertisers, there should be no problem. My novel is only twenty thousand characters long now, requiring very little space. Future installments may be even shorter. The newspaper only needs to bear the printing cost for one page initially to try it out. Then you can observe the sales before deciding whether to allocate more space. Even if readers don’t like it, your loss is merely the printing cost. But who can guarantee Bianjing’s readers won’t be interested?”

After saying this, she took a sip of tea and looked straight at Zhu Xu, “Mr. Zhu, what do you think?”

Zhu Xu spread his hands with some worry, “To be honest, Lady Yang, when you visit Bianjing’s major bookstores and stalls, you’ll find countless choices. Your book has no fame here, and it’s only a serial. For example, if two books of similar length lie before you, would you pick a finished work by a famous author, or a mere twenty-thousand-character serial by an unknown newcomer?”

“Mr. Zhu, whether people pick it the second time is another matter, but I’m sure for the first time, they will choose my serialized novel. After all, it’s their first time seeing a novel in a newspaper, and you said it yourself—Bianjing’s people love novelty, don’t they?” Yang Manniang took a confident sip of tea and asked in return.

“Hmm, that does make sense,” Zhu Xu frowned thoughtfully.

The free idea was naturally appealing.

But serializing a novel in a newspaper was unprecedented. Space was limited, and Zhu Xu had planned to reduce gossip columns to save space for more ads. Now that space might be taken up by the serial novel.

Still, Yang Manniang’s reasoning was sound.

This kind of deal might not be a loss for him.

After all, publishing a serialized novel was an innovation.

Like the advertisement idea, it would benefit the paper’s promotion and make people remember Zhuque Gate Newspaper.

Yet, whether it could last depended on the novel’s quality.

Having considered all this, Zhu Xu asked, “Lady Yang, do you have the serialized novel ready?”

“Yes,” Yang Manniang promptly handed over the manuscript, wrapped in oil paper.

“‘Overbearing... The Prince Favors Me?’” Zhu Xu raised an eyebrow at the bold title and the deliberately ambiguous pen name “Young Master Mo Jin.”

“Yes,” Yang Manniang said without further explanation.

She knew some parts of her novel were daring and unconventional.

Using a pen name was the best choice.

If readers knew the author was a woman, it might cause unnecessary trouble, so she chose a gender-neutral name.

Zhu Xu quietly flipped through the manuscript, occasionally sipping from a celadon tea cup decorated with bamboo leaf patterns.

Yang Manniang’s previous life as an online writer showed in her fluent writing and excellent plot control.

From the start, she depicted the protagonist Bai Wanwan’s life with exquisite detail.

Her mother had died; her father remarried.

From childhood, Bai Wanwan was bullied by her stepmother and stepsister, living like a Cinderella of the Northern Song era. She was relegated to the worst storage room, had her mother’s belongings seized by her stepmother, was forced to do menial labor, often beaten due to her stepsister’s false accusations, and had to eat the worst leftovers.

Most novels of this era were written by men, and the heroines were usually noble ladies or princesses—elegant, beautiful, and wealthy.

Such a pitifully wretched heroine was something Zhu Xu had never seen before.

The vivid, immersive descriptions of the heroine’s suffering caused Zhu Xu, a middle-aged man, to frown repeatedly, feeling indignation for Bai Wanwan.

He silently cursed the foolish father for neglecting his own daughter and marrying a cruel woman.

If it were him, he would never marry such a venomous woman.

The twenty thousand characters passed quickly.

Soon, the scene where the heroine was drugged appeared.

Zhu Xu’s mouth twitched involuntarily.

He looked up incredulously at the slender, delicate young lady sitting opposite, her hair styled like an unmarried maiden.

“Drugged?” he asked.

He hadn’t expected such a demure young woman to write such a bold plot.

“Please be patient, sir. Just keep reading,” Yang Manniang smiled faintly, calm and composed, as if it were nothing extraordinary.

Since she was here to make money, she would not treat herself like a shy unmarried girl.

In business, to secure equal footing, one must remain steady and never show shyness or embarrassment.

Unlike modern times, though women’s status was not low—they could inherit property and learn skills—gender equality was not recognized in this era.

A woman making her way in the world often had to show a certain fearless swagger to command respect.

This was also an effective negotiation tactic.

Under Yang Manniang’s calm demeanor, despite some reservations about the drugging plot, Zhu Xu patiently finished reading the manuscript.

At the end, he put down the manuscript, furrowing his brow, “This is indeed a good script, but... hmm, I can’t be sure if the market will accept it.”

To Zhu Xu, this novel was as novel as Yang Manniang’s advertising idea—very daring in title and content.

But precisely because it was so novel, something he had never seen, he was uncertain about the market’s reaction, and hesitant.

Yang Manniang didn’t want him to hesitate too long; hesitation would only breed more doubts.

She set down her lotus-patterned celadon tea cup, stood up, and said confidently, “Mr. Zhu, don’t hesitate! I have faith in my novel. For Zhuque Gate Newspaper, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”

Zhu Xu paused, thought for a moment, then quietly conferred with Chief Steward Zhu Gui.

Suddenly he asked, “Lady Yang, if our newspaper agrees to serialize your novel, how much silver would you want?”

Since she wrote novels, Yang Manniang had an understanding of the market prices for storybooks in Bianjing. Famous authors like Qing Yue San Ren and Yueyang Lao Sheng charged about twenty taels for a complete book around 100,000 characters.

However, these authors didn’t rely on writing alone; after becoming famous, they were frequent guests at banquets of merchants and wealthy families, receiving gifts and tips worth dozens of taels.

Ordinary, unknown storytellers earned only one to five taels for a 100,000-character book, rarely reaching five taels, mostly just one or even less.

This barely allowed them to support themselves.

Moreover, these earnings were outright purchases of the whole book; any further profits went to the publishers, not the storytellers.

As for serialized novels, there was no market reference yet—it was the very first case.

Naturally, Yang Manniang did not want to quote an arbitrary price.

She countered, “Mr. Zhu, what price would you offer per thousand characters?”

She did not mention royalties. Although she didn’t want her work undervalued, she was well aware that she lacked capital and had yet to prove herself in this field.

The fact that he was willing to offer a platform was already a good start; asking for royalties might make her seem greedy and ruin a potential pleasant cooperation.

Better to let him name the price.

Zhu Xu and Zhu Gui exchanged a glance, smiled faintly, and said, “Forty wen per thousand characters. How about that?”

For an unknown newcomer, forty wen per thousand characters was generous—equivalent to four guan, or four taels for 100,000 characters.

Zhu Xu’s offer clearly took into account her free advertising idea, showing considerable goodwill.

This was already a high price compared to the average bottom-tier storyteller.

“That’s acceptable,” Yang Manniang agreed without objection.

“Good,” Zhu Xu stood, smiling warmly, “Then it’s settled. We’ll sign a contract for your novel at this price. I’ll have the agent draw up the contract.”

“Ah...” Yang Manniang was momentarily stunned.

Deep breath.

Was it really decided? She could serialize her novel and earn money to support herself?

Recalling the hardships since she arrived—rising early and sleeping late, often hungry and cold, the shabby bed at home, the meager meals of frozen cabbage water, the lack of warm sheepskin boots for her family of three.

Remembering how she had been rejected by nine newspaper offices all morning and brusquely pushed out by gatekeepers.

Those moments of despair, frustration, and sadness.

But compared to this moment of success, they were insignificant. Utterly insignificant!

“Thank you, Mr. Zhu,” Yang Manniang said sincerely as she rose, fighting back tears.

“Thank you for giving me this opportunity.”