Boom! The mother-in-law, that ticking time bomb, has finally exploded.

After reading it, Zhang Denning also thought this manuscript was excellent and hoped that Cheng Xueming would give it to her.

But Cheng Xueming hesitated, his answers vague and uncertain.

In the end, it was Zhang Denning’s direct and pragmatic analysis that swayed him to settle on Yanjing Literature. She put it bluntly: “Xueming, you’re thinking of sending it to People’s Literature because you were talked into it by Professor Chen, aren’t you?”

“People’s Literature is indeed a top-tier publication—authors feel honored to be published there! But you know this, Xueming: if you submit as a newcomer, they’ll only pay five yuan per thousand words at best! Yanjing Literature offers a top rate of seven yuan per thousand words—that’s a difference of two yuan!”

“And this piece of yours, isn’t it a novella? It’s at least a hundred thousand words! Two yuan more per thousand, that’s two hundred yuan extra in total! Both your previous short stories published with us didn’t even earn you that much in total!”

She laid out the reality for him, and it worked—he was won over!

She was right.

The manuscript in his hands was a lengthy novella, two hundred thousand words, not some short piece of ten or twenty thousand. If he sent it to People’s Literature at the newcomer’s rate, he’d be at a real loss.

It was only the excitement of being appreciated by the professors from Yanjing University that had clouded his judgment for a moment. Now that Zhang Denning had analyzed it for him, it all made sense.

Publishing in People’s Literature could quickly build his reputation, but Cheng Xueming needed money first—he needed to buy a house and move out of his mother-in-law’s place as soon as possible. He didn’t want to be mocked behind his back as a live-in son-in-law, a man living off his wife.

Short stories could still be published widely for experience and exposure, but once his rates hit the ceiling, then he’d submit his novellas and even novels. By then, each manuscript could buy him a traditional courtyard house, or he could reward himself with one every year.

When he could no longer write, or when he’d paid tribute to every story and author in his mind, he could simply retire and collect rent.

By that time, Cheng Xueming predicted he’d have at least twenty or thirty courtyard houses in his possession.

Given the price of such houses forty years later, wouldn’t he be better off than those investing in business?

Knowing that Zhang Denning had come to deliver sample issues and a payment slip, Cheng Xueming thought of playing the generous host and inviting her to lunch; the canteen at Yanjing University was truly excellent.

But Zhang Denning was in a hurry to return, saying that once he finished the manuscript for her, she’d treat him to a meal.

That sounded great!

At noon, Cha Jianying was treating everyone to braised pork, but Cheng Xueming didn’t go over to freeload. After all, it was an agreement among the three of them, and Cheng Xueming was an outsider; it wouldn’t be right to make Cha Jianying pay for him.

Still, they ate together. At the table, Huang Beijia and Cha Jianying were still enthusiastically discussing and praising the lead story in Yanjing Literature, “The Horseman.”

Cheng Xueming and Feng Jiayou, who sat nearby, felt a little embarrassed—it was simply too much flattery! They even declared they’d go together to Yanjing Literature to ask Zhang Denning about the new author “Old Xu.”

They were deeply curious and full of admiration—what kind of newcomer could write such a beautiful love story between Xu Lingjun and Li Xiuzhi?

Moreover, this was a piece of “scar literature,” yet within all that pain, there was so much warmth.

Yes, warmth!

“I have to finish my lunch quickly and write a review of ‘The Horseman.’ I want to be the first reader to publish commentary on it in the Literary Gazette!” Huang Beijia declared midway through the meal, struck by inspiration.

“Come on, it hasn’t even been officially published yet, and you’re that eager to write a review? And you want to submit it to the Literary Gazette?” Feng Jiayou was astonished, feeling they were going a bit overboard.

“It’s a great idea; I’ll write one too!” Cha Jianying agreed enthusiastically.

“Old Xu’s ‘The Horseman’ is truly wonderful! I’m sure it’ll make a big splash within a month. I’m afraid if I wait, the bar for publication will rise!”

“And I could earn some manuscript fees and treat you all to braised pork!” Huang Beijia nodded earnestly, determined to be the first to take a sip of the ‘soup’—preferably with some meat in it.

“That’s right! Jiayou, why do I feel you and your husband aren’t that interested in ‘The Horseman’? Do you think it’s not good, or do you think your piece is better?” Cha Jianying pressed.

“Yes! Jiayou, you’re acting a bit strange today,” Huang Beijia chimed in.

Though Feng Jiayou praised “The Horseman” and agreed with their glowing comments, there was still something she couldn’t quite express. Perhaps, as Cha Jianying said, after revising her own manuscript six or seven times only to see it overshadowed just after publication by this newcomer Old Xu, she couldn’t help feeling a little resentful.

“Of course not! Since you’re all writing reviews, I’ll write one tonight too!” The original author was right beside her—she knew all the stories behind “The Horseman” and could easily pen a review that would be accepted.

“Excellent! The three of us will write together and hope we’re all chosen by the Literary Gazette, giving Old Xu a boost!” Huang Beijia nodded repeatedly.

“Better to submit separately. If we all send to the Literary Gazette, not all of us will get published, and it won’t have much impact,” Cha Jianying suggested.

“Right, don’t put all your eggs in one basket! Let’s hope we’re all eating braised pork next week!” Huang Beijia agreed.

“Alright, once we’ve written our pieces, we’ll decide where to submit them!” Feng Jiayou joined in.

“I have exams to prepare for, so I won’t join your excitement!” Seeing Huang Beijia and Cha Jianying look to him, Cheng Xueming shook his head and declined.

Write a review of his own work?

No way!

After lunch, the others returned to the dormitory for a nap. Cheng Xueming went back to the library, writing with all his might to finish his novella as soon as possible.

He didn’t know that, by afternoon, the Department of Chinese at Yanjing University was abuzz with talk of a man named Xu Lingjun.

Three sample issues were passed eagerly among the students, and those deeply moved by the story even ran out of the classroom, calling out, “Yanjing Literature has produced a Xu Lingjun—China has produced a Xu Lingjun!”

The students who had no idea what was happening were left completely bewildered, all speculating and asking who Xu Lingjun was—what department, what class?

And so, “The Horseman,” Xu Lingjun, and Li Xiuzhi, without even being officially published, had already become the talk of the Chinese department at Yanjing University.

“Xueming, do you know? You’re famous! Everyone in our department is trying to find out who Xu Lingjun is, who Li Xiuzhi is, who this Old Xu is!” On the way home, Feng Jiayou clung to Cheng Xueming with one hand, still entranced by “The Horseman” in the other, unable to put it down.

“Hold on to me, stop reading! Honestly, it’s just a story. Too much attention isn’t always a good thing. I just want to quietly earn a bit of manuscript money—why is that so hard?” Cheng Xueming, cycling, dared not take any risks, reminding her to hold him tighter.

“Exactly! All we wanted was some manuscript money. Who knew we’d set off such a huge firework? Now I’m honestly scared and regretful—I should have listened to you and submitted it to ‘October’ for your mother!” The more popular “The Horseman” became, the more anxious Feng Jiayou felt—regretting not listening to Cheng Xueming, and now dreading her mother finding out, which would be the end of her!

“We can only grit our teeth and keep going! Let’s just hope nothing blows up at Yanjing Literature!” Cheng Xueming agreed. “We still have to make money and buy a house as soon as possible—once we move out, nothing will scare us!”

“You’re right, Xueming. We have to move out soon. Your mother-in-law is a ticking time bomb—I’m even afraid to look her in the eye anymore!” Feng Jiayou nodded vigorously. Buying a house and moving out was their most urgent need.

“Mom! Yanjing Literature’s lead story is out—China has a Xu Lingjun, look!” But as soon as she got home, Feng Jiayou forgot her own words and rushed into the kitchen to show off to her mother, who was cooking.

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