Chapter 118: A Flow of Witty Remarks

“Teacher Zhang, you’re quite the superstar now. I nearly couldn’t squeeze in just now,” Wu Qun remarked with a sense of admiration. He seldom encountered such envy from peers; reporters from TV stations, newspapers, and websites could only wait outside, while he himself was sitting on the sofa chatting casually with Zhang Chu.

Zhang Chu replied modestly, “It’s all just hype. If it weren’t for all the news abroad, why would they pay any attention to me here?”

“That’s not necessarily true. Teacher Zhang, you’re the most popular and talented newcomer author this year!” Wu Qun flattered him before shifting gears. “So, what exactly led you down the path of writing?”

“Probably poverty,” Zhang Chu joked. “After the college entrance exam, I wanted some pocket money but was too embarrassed to ask my parents. I happened to see a Sherlock Holmes essay contest and thought I’d try to earn some cash. Who knew it would come this far.”

“Just messing around and you ended up writing a bestseller. That’s impressive!” Wu Qun praised, noting the young man’s confidence in saying such things.

“Fans are curious why you chose Yanda University instead of Tsinghua,” Wu Qun asked. Since it was an exclusive interview, all sorts of questions were fair game, though only selected parts would make it to the final article.

Zhang Chu sighed, “Tsinghua offered a guaranteed admission spot to our class this year, but I didn’t go. On one hand, I didn’t like Tsinghua’s pace; on the other, the guaranteed spot wasn’t mine.”

Almost simultaneously, everyone in the room chuckled.

Crazy, right? You weren’t the one guaranteed admission, but you go on and on about it!

Gu Xinxue knew this would happen—old habits die hard. Someone who can turn jokes into novels would naturally turn an interview into a comedy show.

Wu Qun was delighted; it was just like the posts on Weibo.

“Why did you think of suing the Conan Doyle Estate Foundation in North America? We all know cross-border lawsuits are notoriously difficult, yet several well-known lawyers strongly supported your case.”

“To be honest, I’m surprised myself. Maybe I’m just naturally lucky. I happened to meet these lawyers who are passionate about justice and Sherlock Holmes and willing to lend a hand.”

Zhang Chu wanted to say he spent five million just to bribe these lawyers, otherwise, how else could they be so full of righteous zeal? Americans fall for that line.

“Some people struggle for ages and never pull off what you did so effortlessly. What’s your secret?” Wu Qun asked with curiosity.

“No secret. It’s like you all work your hardest to do well, but a genius like me can just wing it casually.”

This toxic motivational speech almost made Wu Qun want to curse. “We get it, you’re a genius—no need to rub it in!”

Seeing Wu Qun’s expression, Zhang Chu added mischievously, “They say all roads lead to Rome, but some people are just born in Rome. So don’t waste your time comparing yourself to the rest.”

After a few more verbal jabs, Wu Qun decided not to invite more trouble and switched to professional questions about detective novels.

It had been a long time since Zhang Chu had spread such poisonous encouragement and he felt a bit reluctant when the interview ended.

A rigid, straightforward interview was dull. Zhang Chu wasn’t even sure what he had said, but judging by Gu Xinxue and Zhou Kang’s expressions afterward, he must have done all right.

“Teacher Zhang, we’ll release this exclusive interview as soon as possible. Thank you for taking the time,” Wu Qun said, standing to shake Zhang Chu’s hand. He had asked plenty of questions—about detective fiction, fan works, disputes in the poetry world—giving readers a fuller picture of this young man.

Zhang Chu felt a weight lift off his shoulders and replied, “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

When Wu Qun stepped out of the reception room, only a few peers remained waiting. They immediately swarmed him.

“Old Wu, if you got exclusive info, you’ve got to share!”

“Yeah, Southern Weekend won’t publish until Thursday. Give us a sneak peek—we’ll buy the drinks tonight at Sanlitun.”

“Southern Weekend gets the steak; at least let us have the soup. How did Zhang Chu get those lawyers on board? I don’t believe a casual email would convince such seasoned attorneys. If they were truly that just, they’d all have Nobel Peace Prizes.”

“So what’s Zhang Chu really like?”

They were all friends, so Wu Qun felt awkward refusing, but it was already Wednesday, and he had to rush the interview transcript back to the office.

So he gritted his teeth and said, “Brothers, it’s not that I don’t want to tell you, but time’s tight—I’ll have to pull an all-nighter tonight.”

…

Still sitting in the reception room, Zhang Chu took a long drink from his water bottle. He truly didn’t want to do a second interview anytime soon.

“Very well said,” Zhou Kang complimented. “But you’ll need to brace yourself tomorrow. Those reporters will surely try to trip you up. Online, opinions about you are mixed, so don’t take it personally.”

Zhang Chu patted his chest. “I’m thick-skinned. Getting criticized is normal. If I’m not criticized one day, that’d be abnormal.”

“Your book ‘Psychological Crime’ launches tomorrow. Rumor has it several film companies are interested in adapting it. I’ll try to reach out.”

During the trial period, Zhou Kang had to work hard. If the adaptation deal for ‘Psychological Crime’ went through, his career as a literary agent would be solidified.

“No rush now. Others should be chasing us, not the other way around,” Zhang Chu advised. He didn’t want his works brought over here to be carelessly altered. At the very least, they should produce a masterpiece.

The story’s male lead and second lead were compelling, and the plot was full of twists and turns—perfect for high box office or awards.

Gu Xinxue agreed. If a capable film company handled ‘Psychological Crime,’ it would greatly boost the original novel’s reputation.

If it fell to a small studio, the quality might suffer. Who would want to watch a lousy movie based on their favorite novel?

Zhou Kang realized he was a bit overeager and said, “You’re right. We need to control the initiative ourselves.”

“By the way, are you planning to compete for the Best Newcomer Award this year?” Gu Xinxue suddenly asked. “I think Zhang Chu’s achievements this year are dazzling. He might actually snag the Best Newcomer of the Year.”

Every year, the National Press and Publication Administration hands out awards: Best Work of the Year, Best-selling Work, Best Author, Best Newcomer, Best Adapted Work, Best Translated Work, and so on.

These official awards carry weight, and the competition is fierce.

Best-selling works obviously rely on sales figures; the other awards combine reputation and sales. High sales don’t necessarily mean the best.

So, if Zhang Chu wanted to contend for Best Newcomer, he’d better start focusing on marketing his work’s reputation—not just among readers but also within the industry.

This was a weakness for him, since he hadn’t even joined the Writers’ Association. Industry insiders might be biased during selection.

Zhang Chu muttered, “If only there was an award for Best-selling Newcomer, that’d save me the trouble.”