Chapter 11: “A Light Beyond the Dark Willows”
After a long pause, the system timidly said, “I see now.”
Mr. Ge rummaged through his bag and pulled out another book, handing it to Han Min.
This one looked more respectable—
“Tales of Chivalrous Green Wind”
Han Min recognized this one.
The original author had written only half of it before abandoning it; the rest of the story had actually been continued by him.
The book seller was also a writer.
Mr. Ge earnestly pitched it: “This one’s suitable for all ages. Anyway, no one’s asking you to write right now. How about taking a copy to pass the time?”
Han Min waved his hand. “No, no, thank you.”
Mr. Ge put the book away.
With no one seeking fortune-telling at the moment, he chatted with Han Min idly.
“What’s the matter? Short on money?”
Han Min lightly nodded.
For a scholar, admitting poverty wasn’t difficult. Scholars through the ages all went through such times.
But Han Min couldn’t tell his family, as it would worry them. Speaking to friends was a bit embarrassing too.
Seeing his expression, Mr. Ge clutched his bag and recoiled slightly. “What are you doing? I don’t have money to lend you.”
Now Han Min felt no embarrassment at all.
Mr. Ge asked, “So, you didn’t copy books today? No work to do?”
Han Min nodded again.
Mr. Ge raised his eyebrows. “Poor thing. What are you planning to do?”
Han Min rested his head on his hand. “I’m still thinking. If it weren’t for being branded a traitor, things would be easier… it’s just a pity…”
He sighed and didn’t continue, not wanting to drag others down, and changed the topic.
“Since when did you develop… a side business selling books?”
“Just while you were away these past few days. The fortune-telling stand barely made any money. If this keeps up, I won’t even afford wine.”
Mr. Ge’s mind turned. “Hey, why not sell books with me?”
Han Min frowned. “Sell ‘erotica’? Wouldn’t we get arrested?”
He had never written books like that; he only wrote chivalrous stories.
The latest one, “The Emperor and the Censor: A Few Stories”, he wrote freely, and even the system said it was subtle.
Mr. Ge said, “Lots of people sell these kinds of books. The authorities don’t care.”
“Then why sell them secretly?”
“It would damage my ‘semi-immortal’ image. But the publisher, Baishi Book House—you know them?”
Han Min naturally knew. He wrote for Baishi Book House.
Mr. Ge explained patiently: “Baishi prints mostly classical texts, so they let me sell here because it’s more public. The boss behind Baishi is connected to the authorities.”
Han Min had heard such things before but didn’t know who exactly ran the publishing house.
“Honestly, that traitor label of yours… who knows when it will be removed. Without rehabilitation, you’ll probably never appear in court again. Since you can’t take the imperial exams, why not sell books with me? You’re attractive, girls like you. We’ll get things girls like, and you sell them.”
Han Min smiled and asked only, “Does this… make money fast?”
Mr. Ge laughed heartily: “It’s just enough for wine money. If you want fast money, you might as well write fiction.”
Write fiction…
Han Min still smiled, rolled up the paper and pen, and put them back in his bag. “Even writing fiction doesn’t earn much.”
“How do you know?”
Mr. Ge suddenly realized something, his expression froze.
Han Min pointed to “Tales of Chivalrous Green Wind”: “I wrote it.”
“Oh! I thought you scholars…”
Han Min packed up his things, stood up, eyes shining, and asked, “Are there really distinctions among scholars? Is writing noble or base?”
He stood while Mr. Ge sat. The noon sunlight seemed to shine solely on Han Min, illuminating him like gold.
Mr. Ge sighed in admiration: “Han Min, you’re going to become a literary star.”
Han Min smiled.
Mr. Ge became serious: “I mean it. I’m a fortune-teller. Selling books is a side job, but I’m professional at divination.”
Han Min picked up his small stool: “It’s getting late; I’ll head back. See you this afternoon.”
Close to noon, Mr. Ge also prepared to pack up.
Three days ago, Han Min had delivered a manuscript to Baishi Book House. The manager would read it, then ask Han Min to revise it.
Following the old rules, Han Min had to go today to get the manuscript back.
Baishi Book House had branches across the Great Qi region. They sold classical texts publicly but secretly printed fiction.
Han Min arrived at their shop and unexpectedly met Mr. Ge with his banner.
Mr. Ge awkwardly said: “Morning sales weren’t good; I’m here to swap some books.”
Han Min replied, “I’m here… for the manuscript.”
“You really write for them? I thought you were joking.”
“It’s true, I really write for them.”
Before they could talk more, the manager of Baishi rushed out.
“Master Han, we’ve been waiting for you.”
Han Min bowed.
“No need.”
The manager held Han Min’s hands, examining them carefully.
Han Min pulled back slightly; the manager held his hands, patting them, sighing: “A bright pearl covered in dust, a bright pearl covered in dust.”
“What?”
“Why did we make you write chivalrous stories for two years? You have this talent; why didn’t you show me earlier?”
Han Min snatched his hands back: “What are you saying?”
“Sigh… if I had known you could write about palace and court affairs so well, why let you write all that nonsense?”
The manager ushered him inside. “Come, come, sit and talk.”
Han Min, seeing the exaggeration, felt a bit nervous and glanced around.
Mr. Ge stepped forward, walking beside him, nudging him: “Let’s go, I’ll accompany you.”
Han Min gratefully glanced back.
Inside, they offered incense and tea.
The manager said: “Master Han, you may not know, our Baishi prints classics, but the fiction side is new. Others have already written all the divine, chivalrous, romantic, and comedic stories. Writing palace stories is pioneering.”
Han Min asked: “But I recall other authors writing this too…”
The manager insisted earnestly: “Those aren’t authentic; yours is true, as if lived personally.”
Not as if—Han Min had indeed experienced it.
He often played in the palace as a child; the previous emperor, princes, chancellors, and censors were all familiar to him.
The manager continued: “I want to sign a long-term contract with you, everything negotiable.”
Han Min, unsure, called the system for help: “System, quickly, send me the Contract Law.”
Before the system responded, Mr. Ge stepped forward: “I’ll negotiate for you.”
So Mr. Ge and Han Min discussed terms with the Baishi manager.
Mr. Ge was articulate and clear-headed, managing to double Han Min’s pay.
Han Min only made one request: “I probably can’t write something like erotica.”
Mr. Ge replied: “Oh yes, he has no experience; he can’t write that.”
The manager smiled: “No problem.”
Han Min nodded: “Fine with me.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes…” Han Min glanced at Mr. Ge. “In the future, when selling books, I want Mr. Ge to handle sales in all of Great Qi, just three days per batch.”
The manager laughed: “Little scholar, that’s far off; let’s see when your books are sold across all Great Qi.”
Han Min, unembarrassed, agreed readily.
“Then I’ll write quickly.”
The manager patted his shoulder, smiling: “Go home and write two more volumes.”
Han Min agreed.
They scheduled the next manuscript delivery and signed the contract.
Baishi first gave him an advance.
After leaving Baishi, Mr. Ge reminded: “Next time you sign, find me. Watch out for being cheated.”
Han Min looked at him: “I know. Thank you for today, sir. Shall I treat you to a drink?”
Mr. Ge laughed heartily: “You haven’t even been to the pleasure district. You drink?”
Han Min pouted, but his joy was obvious.
Mr. Ge waved: “Go home quickly; your family must be waiting for lunch.”
“Then goodbye, Mr. Ge.”
“Will you come this afternoon? Need me to reserve your spot?”
“Yes. My grandfather is too orthodox; he wouldn’t approve of me writing fiction.”
“All right, I’ll hold the spot.”
Han Min thanked him again and left, carrying his small stool.
“Finally, I understand what ‘A light beyond the dark willows’ feels like. The ancestors of scholars still favor me.”
Han Min lifted his heavy money pouch, walking lightly, so happy he moved with his arms and legs in sync.
The system scolded: “Walk properly; so frivolous.”
“You don’t understand! A scholar’s joy moves body and limbs in delight.”
To spite it, Han Min hopped all the way home.
—
When Han Min returned, it was past noon.
The kitchen stove was heating food, so he stood and ate there.
After a quick lunch, he returned to his room and opened the small wooden money box.
He put in the copper coins earned from morning letter-writing and the advance from Baishi.
The box began filling up again.
Han Min rubbed his hands, sighing: “Seeing money makes me feel secure.”
He carefully returned the box, sat at his desk, and began writing the second volume of “The Emperor and the Censor: A Few Stories.”
The system said: “Now’s a good time; quickly pick a pen name. If asked suddenly, you won’t think of a good one.”
Han Min put down the pen, gazing at the ceiling beams, thinking seriously.
The system continued: “I’ve thought it out. Your literary path has stages: a first attempt, emerging talent, full display, great achievement, conquering all,”
Han Min interrupted: “Enough, I know you’ve learned all the idioms starting with ‘great,’ no need to show off.”
The system ignored him: “Finally, ‘If Han Min hadn’t been born, the literary world would be a long night.’”
What daydream is it having?
Han Min ignored it, eventually saying: “I’ve decided on my pen name!”
The system quieted: “What is it?”
“‘Pure Beauty White Rose’.”
The system froze.
Han Min picked up his pen, trying not to laugh, and began writing.
Seeing him, the system had to search texts for a name, even using five elements and divination to give a fortuitous one.
—
Two days later, the hawk named Turnip Head came, perching at Han Min’s window—Fu Xun had replied.
When Han Min had asked about Liuzhou, Fu Xun had simply said “No problem.”
Han Min tucked the note into “Administrative Records” and resumed manuscript writing.
Soon it was the Lunar New Year.
During these ten days, Han Min had written letters for others by day, and dozens of manuscript pages in spare time.
Baishi Book House planned to print the first volume of his fiction after the holiday.
His reward was two bags of silver ingots—enough for the New Year and more.
On the afternoon of New Year’s Eve, in front of the Han residence:
Han Min held a spring couplet in one hand, steadied the ladder with the other, climbing up.
Han Pei stood at the gate, right fist clenched, left hand open, checking his directions with each line:
“Second brother, to the left… to the right! A bit more to the right!”
Han Min adjusted the couplet according to him: “Like this? How about this?”
Not far away, a man in a black cloak dismounted and walked straight toward them.
Han Pei, looking down to distinguish left from right, suddenly saw a man bypass him and approach his second brother.
The man stood by the ladder, arms crossed, looking up at Han Min.
Han Min, unaware, continued adjusting the couplet: “Han Peipei, like this?”
Han Pei glanced at him and quickly warned: “Second brother, there’s a man.”
Author’s note:
A man, a man, man, a
Old Fu: ??? I’m angry, I want Min Min…
