Chapter 112: The Interview—How to Portray the Queen of the Women’s Kingdom!

The latest issue of People’s Literature just hit the shelves in Yanjing—and it’s an instant sensation!

Thanks to three rounds of careful buildup, readers’ attention was thoroughly aroused.

First, it began with the competition between Yanjing Literature and October, where rumors about the atomic bomb first started to circulate.

Second, at the “Horse Herder” symposium, literary giant Mr. Ding Ling once again foretold to major media outlets that the atomic bomb would soon be unveiled, fueling sustained publicity.

Third, the urgent meeting depicted above mobilized every frontline media organization in Yanjing.

Coupled with the ongoing buzz around the “Horse Herder” author, the influence of People’s Literature itself ensured that this issue immediately sold out upon release!

Especially on the Yanda campus, nearly every student was either flipping through this issue of People’s Literature or discussing its sole article: “Director Qiao’s Inauguration.”

“Jia You, is this really Uncle Xu’s work? Why didn’t he use his usual pen name ‘Old Xu’ but ‘Old Qiao’ instead?”

“Yeah! Switching to ‘Old Qiao’ feels different; it doesn’t quite match your uncle’s usual style—this tone is a bit grander!”

“But it’s really well-written. I heard it’s a politically assigned piece tailored to support the spirit of the recent plenary session?”

“Reform and opening up—does this mean everything will gradually loosen up?”

In Feng Jiayou’s class, Huang Beijia and Cha Jianying were all gathered around, eagerly examining People’s Literature and asking questions, all praising the article enthusiastically.

Feng Jiayou was genuinely delighted and explained, “Originally, Xue Min planned to use the pen name ‘Old Xu,’ but People’s Literature thought ‘Old Qiao’ would be better. We don’t really know why they chose the new pseudonym!”

Indeed, Feng Jiayou was right. At first, when Cheng Xue Min submitted the manuscript, he intended to publish it under the new alias “Old Qiao.”

But after the exposure of “Old Xu,” the author of “Horse Herder,” and the continuing buzz around that pen name, it was thought that publishing under “Old Xu” might yield better results.

So when the manuscript was assigned to People’s Literature, Cheng Xue Min proposed reverting to “Old Xu” for “Director Qiao’s Inauguration.”

Yet Zhang Guangnian from People’s Literature rejected the idea, insisting on “Old Qiao,” saying it fit the protagonist better and, besides, they didn’t want to compete with Lao Li from Yanjing Literature.

Cheng Xue Min found it amusing—what’s there to fight over a pen name?

Old Zhang told him, “You won’t understand now, but you will after the new year.”

After the new year? Cheng Xue Min was only baiting others’ curiosity; he certainly didn’t expect to be baited himself—what kind of new year would that be?

He kept pressing Old Zhang until he was subtly told: Wu Lao convened a meeting with Mao Lao and Ba Lao for another reason.

Apparently, preparations for the Literary Congress were to resume immediately, along with the related major award selections scheduled to start after the new year.

So Cheng Xue Min thought: The big awards will definitely consider “Horse Herder” from Yanjing Literature, submitted under the pen name “Old Xu.” If People’s Literature’s “Director Qiao’s Inauguration” were also under “Old Xu,” how would they submit for the awards?

Two works under the same pen name?

Not impossible, but rare for two pieces by the same author to win in the same year—so which one would be judged first, and which postponed?

That would surely cause conflict.

Publishing under “Old Qiao” separates the pen names, allowing both pieces to compete independently and possibly both win, propelling Cheng Xue Min’s career to new heights.

Hearing this, Cheng Xue Min’s eyes darted about—Old Zhang had even thought of this for him?

Moreover, were the award rumors already starting?

It made sense—this was late December 1978, and the awards process was indeed set to kick off in spring.

But by Old Zhang’s logic, Cheng Xue Min might have more than these two pieces up for awards consideration.

In Shanghai’s literary circles, a well-received piece titled “The Female College Dormitory” was circulating, and “The Loess Plateau”—a strongly regional work—was gaining attention in Yanhe Literature. Four pieces, all in different styles, all promising.

Following the inclusive policy of awards, it was quite possible all four could be honored in the same year.

After all, four different pen names, though everyone knew they were all by Cheng Xue Min.

At the time, Cheng Xue Min hadn’t imagined that his attempt to create a few pseudonyms for some extra income would inadvertently spark such a major event.

Who knew what kind of explosion would follow if all were awarded? His little piggy bank of earnings would undoubtedly burst, impossible to keep secret!

Hence, Cheng Xue Min planned to diversify his side income by exploring other avenues, such as illustrated children’s books.

Those rarely attracted awards but quietly brought in wealth—so long as Cheng Xue Min kept a low profile, his little treasury would remain safe.

“Lin Jie, I’m not here for a job application—I’m just accompanying my brother to take a look!” Cheng Xue Min politely replied to Zhu Lin’s inquiry.

“Oh, that’s right. You’re writing so well now, and I heard you’re repeating a year at high school to prepare for next year’s university entrance exam, aiming for Yanda with Jia You. You probably don’t need a job right now!” Zhu Lin said after a moment’s thought.

These days, with Feng Jiayou’s husband writing so impressively, her sister Shan Shan heard from her desk mate Feng Jiamo that her brother-in-law earns several hundred yuan a month in manuscript fees. Her sister counted the money and laughed—why bother working?

Plus, she was retaking a year at Yanda High School to prepare for the entrance exam, hoping to attend Yanda alongside Feng Jiayou.

So it was no surprise Zhu Lin chanced upon the hiring notice at the Yanying Film Studio gate today and asked.

“I’m just writing casually for fun!” Cheng Xue Min didn’t tell Zhu Lin he was actually here to discuss scripts with the studio.

After greeting at the gate, Feng Jiazhao, his brother-in-law, parked his bike and walked over.

“Zhu Lin, you’re here to apply, right?”

“With your talent, it shouldn’t be a problem. Just perform well and stay normal!” Feng Jiazhao said as he greeted Zhu Lin.

“Okay, thanks, Jiazhao! I’ll go fill out the forms and queue up!” Zhu Lin smiled and entered, joining the long line inside.

Clearly, many knew about today’s hiring at Yanying Film Studio—not just Zhu Lin’s family.

“We’ve only just resumed operations at Yanying Film Studio, with several script projects underway. We urgently need some actors!” Feng Jiazhao explained to Cheng Xue Min as they entered the studio.

“Originally, we wanted to transfer people from the People’s Art Theatre or recruit internally from Yandian, but with the return of many educated youth from the countryside, pressure from above is intense. The directive is to absorb as many as possible.”

“So Yanying Film Studio has started recruiting externally for actors with talent or some experience.”

The influx of returning educated youth was overwhelming, much like before when the city’s surplus youth were sent to the countryside to achieve great things.

Now, nearly all had returned en masse, creating enormous employment pressure.

“That’s true. Yesterday at the Humanities Society, I saw Lao Zhang and Lao Li arranging recruitment too.”

“They even asked if I wanted to work there as an editor, offering a formal position!”

Cheng Xue Min nodded; he was quite a sought-after talent now.

Not only had the Humanities Society extended an olive branch, but when he visited Yanda yesterday, the library director Lao Xie also offered him a formal position.

Yet Cheng Xue Min hadn’t told anyone except Feng Jiayou.

“Really? Why haven’t you told your family? Formal positions at the Humanities Society are hard to come by. Everyone fights tooth and nail for them. Even I want to go, but they probably wouldn’t want me!” Feng Jiazhao was stunned.

He couldn’t believe his brother-in-law hadn’t mentioned such an opportunity at home.

“Brother, you’re too modest! If a famous playwright like you wanted to go to the Humanities Society, they’d fight over you!”

Cheng Xue Min smiled wryly, flattering his brother-in-law.

Actually, he was quite comfortable now: writing manuscripts and illustrations, buying a big house for his wife, and building his secret stash.

Going to the Humanities Society or Yanda Library would be less carefree.

Plus, if he went to the Humanities Society, next year’s university entrance exam for Yanda would become difficult.

Without attending Yanda, he couldn’t fulfill the promise he made when first marrying into the Feng family.

His in-laws might not say much, but for Cheng Xue Min, it would leave a blemish—what if past issues resurfaced?

He had also realized this: a university diploma is a golden ticket in any era—a stepping stone.

You can’t just skip it because you’ve been to university before; you need that diploma in hand.

It might not be useful now, but it’s essential to have it ready. Otherwise, when you need it later, it’ll be too late!

Moreover, Feng Jiayou hoped Cheng Xue Min could use his current writing influence to enter officialdom.

So he must take the entrance exam and earn that Yanda diploma.

With a Yanda degree, Cheng Xue Min’s future career would go much further.

He himself thought the same. If he had to live his life over, not pursuing an official career would feel lacking.

After all, making money was too easy now.

But what’s the point of so much money?

Better to take the official career path. The broad direction is clear, and Cheng Xue Min believed he could go far.

“Xue Min, I actually feel the same way!” Feng Jiazhao nodded, seeming to want to be modest but couldn’t help speaking up.

“You’re so out of breath despite being fat—no wonder you’re my brother-in-law!”

“Old Teng, Old Xie, Old Jiang—you’re all here? I brought him over. If you need anything, just talk to Xue Min!” Feng Jiazhao said as he led Cheng Xue Min into the office of Old Teng, director of the screenwriting department at Yanying Film Studio.

There, Xie Jin and Jiang Huaiyan, the studio’s script assembly leader, were also present, so Feng Jiazhao greeted them all.

“Xue Min, you’re here! Come sit!” Xie Jin took the lead, calling out eagerly.

“Hello, Director Xie!” Cheng Xue Min smiled and greeted him.

At the same time, he shot a look at his brother-in-law—couldn’t he have been a bit more helpful? Just calling everyone “Old Teng, Old Xie, Old Jiang” wasn’t enough!

Couldn’t he introduce them properly? Cheng Xue Min had to follow suit, addressing them as “Old Teng” and “Old Jiang.”

“Ah, yes!” Feng Jiazhao caught on and quickly introduced, “Xue Min, this is our screenwriting department director, Old Teng, and this is our script assembly leader, Old Jiang.”

“Hello, Teacher Teng, Teacher Jiang, I’m Cheng Xue Min.”

“Xiao Cheng! We’ve heard so much about you—the actual ‘Old Xu,’ author of ‘Horse Herder’!” Old Teng, nearly sixty, smiled widely at Cheng Xue Min.

“Didn’t expect you to write so well, and your screenplay’s great too. Really impressive!”

Leader Old Jiang smiled warmly as well.

“Both of you flatter me. It’s really thanks to my brother and Director Xie’s guidance!” Cheng Xue Min humbly replied, praising his brother-in-law as well—after all, family talk, and his mother-in-law would love hearing this even if she wasn’t present.

“No, no! Don’t be modest! I didn’t touch your screenplay at all, let alone guide you!”

“Your screenplay is just outstanding; even Old Teng has praised you!”

Xie Jin waved his hands, refusing credit—he hadn’t contributed much, and Cheng Xue Min even drew all the storyboard sketches for him.

Xie Jin had been locked away at Yanying Film Studio lately, racking his brain for inspiration better than those storyboards but to no avail.

He only made minor tweaks to Cheng Xue Min’s foundation—his last bit of stubbornness as director.

Meanwhile, Feng Jiazhao busied himself serving tea and showing off his attentiveness to the leaders.

At home, he was lazy and spoiled, but before leaders, he knew how to act!

After some polite exchanges, they entered the main topic: the screenplay was excellent and needed no revisions.

The delay was only to wait for Xie Jin’s storyboard.

Then, as Cheng Xue Min and Feng Jiayou had guessed, the issue turned to script fees.

Two thousand yuan!

Cheng Xue Min was a bit surprised. On the way here, Feng Jiazhao had warned him the fee might be only seventeen hundred, not the two thousand initially mentioned.

But now, Old Teng, as head of the screenwriting department and signatory, told him two thousand, surprising both Cheng Xue Min and Feng Jiazhao.

“You two mentioned seventeen hundred, right?” Old Teng noticed their confusion and explained, “We raised it to two thousand because today is the studio’s hiring day. The script you wrote is being used for auditions.”

“So we need you, the original author and scriptwriter, to help oversee the auditions and see if we can find some promising newcomers for Director Xie to use directly.”

“Teng, Director Xie, the script’s for new actors?”

Cheng Xue Min understood Old Teng’s meaning: they were using the script to hold a casting call for fresh talent.

“I plan to, but it depends on today’s results. So, Xue Min, you’ll help us screen the candidates!”

Xie Jin nodded, clarifying the plan.

A sudden thought flashed through Cheng Xue Min’s mind:

Does this mean he’s now the casting director for the “female kingdom” ruler Zhu Lin?

…