Chapter 55: The Father-in-law Steps In, Sending His Son-in-law to the Front Page (Please Follow)

“Dad, what’s wrong with Xueming’s manuscript? I thought it was really well written!”

Seeing her father’s stern expression, and that he wanted to have a private talk with his son-in-law, Feng Jiayou couldn’t help but ask in confusion and frustration.

Questioning the manuscript her husband wrote? Her husband was the one who penned the wildly popular “The Horseman.” Even if this new manuscript was written in a bit of a rush, it surely didn’t deserve such scrutiny.

“Jiayou, I’ll have a word with Dad. You stay with Mom.”

Seeing that her father didn’t respond, but simply got up and headed toward the front yard, Cheng Xueming patted her on the shoulder, signaling her to remain inside, then got up and followed him out.

“Feng Jiamo, what are you doing? Hand over my manuscript payment receipt that you took!”

“Sis, can’t I even take a look? Over three hundred yuan? Is that really the manuscript fee Old Cheng earned? That could buy more than thirty roast ducks!”

“What roast ducks?! That’s money your brother-in-law earned for me to spend!”

“Hehe! Sis, I overheard just now—when Old Cheng first started writing, he did it to buy roast duck for Liqin Liwen to satisfy their cravings!”

“So what? Now that you’ve got the manuscript fee, you’re going back on your word and not buying it? Do you think I’m still a kid? My memory’s not that bad!”

“What roast duck?! Didn’t we treat you last time?”

“That was last time; this is now. I don’t care—tonight, we’re having roast duck!”

…

Soon, the quarrel between the Feng sisters rang out behind them again. Clearly, the younger one had taken advantage of her sister and mother’s distraction to snatch the receipt from the stone table.

Now the two sisters were bickering over that slip of paper.

“Xueming, the school’s results came out today. You did well. After next summer, you should be able to attend Yanjing University with Jiayou.”

Feng’s father, walking ahead, didn’t go straight to the topic of the manuscript, but instead asked about his results.

Cheng Xueming nodded but didn’t say much, knowing his father-in-law had more to say.

As Jiayou mentioned earlier, he wasn’t a man of many words, something his mother-in-law often criticized him for behind his back, calling him too reserved.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t talk—he just preferred not to say too much.

“Old Feng, you and your son-in-law rarely get a chance to stroll together! What, have you both been kicked out of the house?”

Just as they reached the front yard, Old Qian called out with a jest.

“Old Qian, your wife cut off your cigarette money again? Craving a smoke, aren’t you?” Old Feng greeted him with a laugh, pulling out a pack of ‘Yanjing’ cigarettes from his pocket, intending to offer one.

But Old Qian pressed his hand over the whole pack and said, “Old Feng, help a friend in need—I’ll pay you back later!”

Clearly, the craving had gotten to him.

“You!” Feng’s father could only laugh and shake his head. “You’re too much.”

“You know how it is—I can’t write without a cigarette in hand. No inspiration at all!” Old Qian grinned sheepishly.

“Well, you’d better get that manuscript to me soon. The bureau’s been after it for ages—we can’t delay any longer. We’re scheduled for next month’s issue.”

Feng’s father let go, making it clear this was his editing fee.

Old Qian’s manuscripts were hard to come by, and he wrote slowly. Sometimes a whole year would go by without a single piece.

“Fine, fine! With you, the bureau chief, coming in person for a commission, I’ll make you my top priority.”

“Next month’s issue, right? This half-pack should be enough to get the manuscript done!” Old Qian, tempted by the cigarettes, promised to finish it.

“Chief, come on—we’re neighbors, front and back yards. No need to be so formal. And anyway, I haven’t seen a single manuscript from you since I got back… cough, cough.”

Old Qian passed him a cigarette, and Feng’s father accepted with a laugh, borrowing a light.

“See? I’m actually helping you! Old Feng, doesn’t your wife keep you in check? She just lets you smoke as much as you want?!”

Old Qian really didn’t hold back.

He envied Feng’s father for being able to smoke freely, while his own wife tightly controlled his cigarette money.

“Give me two more pieces and I’ll apply to the bureau for a special cigarette ration for you—how about it?” Feng’s father, regaining his breath, went straight to the point.

“No, no! For a single cigarette, you want to tie me down as your bureau’s in-house writer? Old Feng, you’re scheming!”

“We pay manuscript fees! And if you like, I can even arrange to pay you in foreign exchange certificates!”

Feng’s father sweetened the deal.

“Foreign exchange certificates? You’re not kidding me, are you?” Old Qian was tempted. Writers like him made good money, but foreign exchange certificates were hard to come by.

So many things—at the Friendship Store or Overseas Chinese Store—required those certificates to buy, and there was plenty he wanted, but not enough certificates.

His precious grandson wanted a tape recorder to learn English, but he could only buy it at the Overseas Chinese Store with foreign exchange certificates, so the request fell to grandpa.

Old Qian wasn’t short of money—the manuscript fees had long since set him up for life—but he just didn’t have many certificates. Those were special allocations for government agencies, and as a freelance contributor, he didn’t qualify.

They were hard to get, and everyone hoarded them.

“Deal! One piece for every issue, and I’ll apply for you?” Feng’s father pressed the advantage.

“Come off it! You think I’m a sow? One piece per issue, every month? That’ll kill me! Back in my prime, I could churn out two, three, even four per issue, but now I’m old and slow! Don’t talk about the future—just this one, for the half-pack of ‘Yanjing,’ pay me in foreign exchange certificates, and I’ll be happy. Even at eighty percent, I’ll take it!”

He didn’t want to hear any more of Old Feng’s schemes. He wanted something concrete, just for the current manuscript.

“You!” Feng’s father couldn’t help but laugh. Old Qian’s writing was sharp, and he could drive a hard bargain too. “Fine, get it to me soon, and I’ll see about the payment.”

“Good! With your word, I’ll have it to you by the end of the month!” Old Qian was pleased—he’d finally scored some certificates.

“By the way, did you see Li Qingquan’s piece in this issue?”

“Li Qingquan? Haven’t had time yet.”

“Why, is there some big move from him that you’d bother to mention?”

Old Qian, luxuriating in his smoke, squinted and asked after thinking it over.

“Nothing much. Just heard he’s planning to launch a ‘satellite’ this time—don’t know if he succeeded.”

“Li Qingquan launching a satellite? What’s going on? Why haven’t I heard? Old Feng, do you have a copy of Yanjing Literature? Lend it to me, will you?”

Old Qian hadn’t cared much before, but when he heard Li Qingquan was about to make a splash and hadn’t even told him, he felt slighted.

“I don’t have one! Li Qingquan’s gotten cocky—he hasn’t even delivered sample copies to our bureau. Doesn’t he want next year’s translation quota?”

Of course, Li Qingquan wouldn’t dare neglect the Foreign Language Bureau’s copies—they held the key to international prizes and foreign exchange quotas.

So, while he’d delivered sample copies, none had reached Feng’s father’s desk yet.

“He didn’t send you a copy? Then he’s not just cocky—he’s out of line!” Old Qian was shocked, now fully intrigued. “I’ll have to look it up and see what kind of ‘satellite’ he’s launching!”

“By the way, which publication is Li Qingquan heading now?”

“Yanjing Literature!” Feng’s father replied with a smile.

“Right, right—Yanjing Literature. I remember, he even tried to commission a piece from me last time! I’ll have to take a good look at what he’s up to.” Old Qian muttered.

“Well, if Li Qingquan really is launching a ‘satellite,’ I’ll have to trouble you to help with the translation, so we can help generate some buzz and let the foreign audience see it too.”

After all this, this was likely Feng’s father’s real goal.

Old Qian was not only a great writer, but also fluent in German, Russian, English, Italian, and Japanese—a prized asset for the Foreign Language Bureau.

Now that Feng’s father knew the ‘satellite’ was actually his son-in-law’s work, he had every reason to ask the best in the field to translate it.

With Old Qian’s personal translation, it would surely make the front page of China Literature and be a great honor.

But all this could only remain a thought—he couldn’t let Old Qian know the ‘satellite’ was actually his son-in-law’s doing.

And for the translation, he’d have to maneuver so that it would be submitted by someone else and finalized by the bureau chief, ensuring Old Qian’s work would take the top spot—thus unobtrusively elevating his son-in-law to China Literature’s front page.

“No problem! If it’s really a ‘satellite,’ I’ll join the fun and bask in Li Qingquan’s glory!”

Old Qian didn’t think much of it. Translating a manuscript was nothing to him.

Besides, if it really was a ‘satellite,’ it was a chance for him to reassert his presence—he wouldn’t allow another situation where Li Qingquan made a big move and left him out.

“Xiao Cheng, want a cigarette?”

Old Qian pulled one out, looked at the silent Cheng Xueming, and, a bit reluctantly, offered it.

“Mr. Qian, I don’t really smoke. You enjoy it yourself,” Cheng Xueming said with a sheepish smile.

“Good, not smoking is good! Xiao Cheng, you’re a fine young man. Old Feng, your son-in-law’s a good one!”

Just saving him a cigarette made the old man genuinely happy.

“All right, but hurry up with that manuscript—don’t make me chase you. Let’s go for a walk!” Feng’s father nodded, saying no more as he strolled out of the courtyard.

“Dad, I heard from Jiayou that Mr. Qian is a tremendous writer. Did he really buy this whole siheyuan with his manuscript earnings?”

Cheng Xueming hurried to catch up and struck up a conversation.

“More than just impressive! That pen of his bought not just this courtyard—back in his prime, he’d reward himself with a new one every year. He was really something!” Feng’s father took a final drag, flicked away the butt, and sighed.

“A new courtyard every year?!”

Cheng Xueming was stunned. Old Qian had accomplished what he himself aspired to.

So Old Qian must own over a dozen siheyuan by now!

“Incredible!” Feng’s father echoed his amazement. “If it weren’t for that one manuscript, Old Qian would have more courtyards than you could count on both hands!”

“But now… he’s down to just this one. So, while a talented pen is a great thing, you can’t let it go to your head.”

Cheng Xueming was shocked again, and began to realize that his father-in-law’s talk with Old Qian about manuscripts was no coincidence, but intentional—there was a deeper message.

“Xueming, you must have picked up on something, right? Yes, it was about a decade ago—Old Qian wrote a piece, far more conservative than yours.”

“You can probably guess what happened afterward. So I’m quite curious—what made you decide to write this piece?”

“Where did the inspiration come from?”

“You’ve been in Yanjing for a while now—have you gotten close with Old Qian in the front yard?”

…