Near Qianmen, in the Communist Youth League Central Committee building.
On the tenth floor, in the editorial office of a children's periodical, Zheng Yuanjie, who had recently been seconded here, arrived for work as usual.
He had only an elementary school education. In his teens, he joined the military to learn aircraft maintenance. One day, he caught a sparrow and brought it into an airplane. When he couldn't find the sparrow afterward, he worried that if it had crawled into the wing, disaster would strike.
So he rounded up dozens of people and dismantled the fighter jet on the spot, yet didn't find so much as a feather.
From then on, he bade farewell to repairing airplanes.
At the time, Li Tiemei, the heroine of The Legend of the Red Lantern, was a nationwide idol. Zheng Yuanjie was particularly infatuated with her, thinking about her constantly at night. In his second year in the army, he applied to join the Communist Youth League.
Before joining, there was an ideological mobilization session where everyone said things like "bear hardship first, enjoy comforts later," blah blah blah. When his turn came, he blurted out: "I just love Li Tiemei, and I want to spend my life with her!"
The officer nearly spat right in his face.
One could say this man had never been quite normal since childhood, making eccentric and unconventional behavior his personal trademark.
Later, when he was demobilized, he was assigned as a worker at an instrument factory, tasked with watching over a water pump. One green button, one red button. Arriving at work, he pressed the green button to start the water; leaving work, he pressed the red button to stop the water—all for forty-one yuan a month.
Later, he took up writing and published numerous works in children's magazines. Gaining a modest reputation, he was seconded to work as an editor while continuing to publish his own writing at a rate of three yuan per thousand words.
At his peak, he contributed to sixteen magazines simultaneously, typing at a speed rivaling a twenty-thousand-word-a-day tentacle monster.
However, children's literature wasn't held in high regard, so he didn't make much money. When he tried negotiating with a magazine, saying they didn't need to give him a big raise—just raising it to three yuan and ten cents would do—the other side replied, "With so many writers, if we give you a raise, should we give everyone else one too?"
So his rate remained three yuan. Classic works like Shuke and Beita, Pipi Lu and Luxixi, and The Magic Cube Building had not yet been written.
He had a relatively easygoing mindset and didn't sweat it much. His real turning point came after he had a child in 1983, when he began caring about material conditions, which eventually led him to create King of Fairy Tales.
At this moment, he still sported a thick head of hair and hadn't yet gone bald, strolling into work with a nonchalant slouch.
An editor's job was simply reviewing manuscripts, which was dull as ditchwater day in and day out.
"Zheng Yuanjie, someone's here to see you!"
Just as he was bored out of his mind and wondering what the cafeteria was serving for lunch, someone called out. Baffled, he stepped out of the office and walked into a small reception room, where a handsome young man sat waiting.
"Editor Zheng!"
"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Chen Qi!"
Chen Qi rarely made public appearances, but his name carried immense weight. Nowadays, when dealing with people, he generally just gave his name without any further elaboration.
Sure enough, Zheng Yuanjie showed a surprised look and quickly said, "Hello, hello! Are you shooting another wuxia film this year?"
"Huh?"
Caught off guard, Chen Qi replied, "Yes, we're shooting one right now!"
"Oh, that's fantastic! I watched Tai Chi twice, but when I wanted to see it a third time, I couldn't get a ticket. So I drew one myself, but I couldn't slip through. I reckon it might be because I used a pencil; next time I'll try with a fountain pen."
"In that case, you might as well carve a radish seal and stamp it. It'd look more authentic."
"That's a great idea!"
Zheng Yuanjie nodded. While others might be joking, he was the type to genuinely put it into action.
Chen Qi chuckled as well. He had no bad impression of the man, finding him rather entertaining. Some of his unconventional choices—like not letting his son go to school and homeschooling him instead—were really no big deal...
Besides, whether his son went to school or not, he would be set for life anyway; his old man had already built an entire fortune.
"I've come today to discuss something with you," Chen Qi said. "I've read some of your work and found it fascinating. Lately, I've been planning to launch a magazine, so I wanted to speak with you beforehand to see if you'd be interested in contributing to it."
"You're starting a children's periodical too?"
"No, no. An adult periodical."
"Then would children's literature be suitable for it?"
"Children's literature isn't necessarily meant only for children; animated films aren't necessarily meant only for kids."
Zheng Yuanjie's eyes lit up brightly. If before he had merely felt the excitement of meeting a celebrity, now he felt a deep resonance, finding a kindred spirit. He said hurriedly, "It's rare to hear someone voice that view! Children's literature and serious literature merely take different forms, but their core is identical. Both write about goodness, ugliness, honesty, deceit, selflessness, selfishness... It's just that the moment it carries the label of 'children's,' its status plummets."
"Your previous works were still geared a bit too young. If you agree to write for us, feel free to unleash your imagination and weave your thoughts on life into them. The protagonist doesn't have to be a child either—you can write about adults."
Chen Qi paused, then said, "I don't know what your current remuneration is. Our magazine is just getting started, so we can't offer an exorbitant sum, but if your submission is approved, how about three yuan and fifty cents per thousand words?"
The going rate at the time was three to ten yuan per thousand words.
Chen Qi knew what he made and deliberately offered fifty cents more.
"Sounds good! It's a deal!"
"All right then, I won't take up any more of your time!"
Zheng Yuanjie returned to his desk, thoroughly pleased.
This man was a true word-churning machine. In later years, he would produce a cumulative twenty million words of writing, topping the China Writers Rich List twice. Famous titles under his name, such as Shuke and Beita and Pipi Lu and Luxixi, were prime material for IP development and spin-offs.
Unfortunately, there were too many constraints in this era, and no one knew how to do it, letting the potential go to waste.
By the time IP development matured, these works of his had fallen out of fashion.
Chen Qi had already connected with directors from the Shanghai Animation Film Studio, and now he had made contact with Zheng Yuanjie—naturally, to pave the way for entering the animation industry in the future.
For the immediate present, he was soliciting manuscripts for the magazine. Zheng Yuanjie had written plenty of stories featuring adult protagonists, and some of his fairy tales were genuinely unfit for young children—like The Magic Cube Building, which read almost like Flowers in the Mirror...
Popular fiction writers were exceedingly rare in the 1980s. To carry an entire magazine, one had to search everywhere, including Hong Kong and Taiwan.
By now, Reader already existed, and this year another publication was being born: the renowned Past and Present Legends, a monumental landmark among domestic popular periodicals that would later branch into editions like Past and Present Legends: Wuxia Edition and Past and Present Legends: Fantasy Edition.
A whole host of domestic wuxia authors, such as Xiao Duan, Cang Yue, and Bu Feiyan, made their names starting from that magazine and enjoyed glorious heydays. Sadly, that vitality didn't endure, vanishing into thin air alongside the decline of wuxia culture.
There were also early web novel classics, like Shu Xia Ye Hu's In Search of the Supernatural, serialized in Past and Present Legends—featuring Tuoba Ye, Yu Shiqie, and the like...
It had been so long that younger readers might not even recognize those authors anymore.
For his first magazine, Chen Qi intended to follow the path of Past and Present Legends. The early 1980s was an era when popular fiction magazines were just sprouting up in a wild, chaotic burst. They sold remarkably well, often moving millions of copies, which could provide the company with a substantial stream of capital...
Once it grew larger, it would become a platform of his own, opening up endless possibilities.
Chapter 208