Chapter 44: The Salted Fish Turns Over

“You’ve only been home for a day, and you’re leaving already?” Old Mrs. Lin stood in the courtyard, cradling her plump orange cat, murmuring complaints. The house had been quiet for so long, she’d hoped for a few lively days.

Zhang Chu reached out to hug his grandmother, smiling as he said, “Grandma, I have to give a speech at school and settle my admission paperwork. Once I finish all that, I’ll come back and stay for a while.”

To him, a small place like Longsha Town was perfect for writing—serene, undisturbed by outsiders, with internet and a computer, and his grandmother’s delicious cooking.

“If you come back, you can help me herd the sheep. I bought two sheep recently; by New Year’s, we can slaughter them for mutton,” Old Mrs. Lin grinned widely, happier to have her grandson home for a few days than to be alone.

Zhang Chu felt a bit exasperated. The country had been promoting reforestation and grassland restoration for years, and the environment around Longsha Town had improved a lot. With growing concerns about food safety, many people preferred raising their own livestock.

After all, nobody in the countryside meddled. The hens in the yard laid eggs, and the two sheep he’d never met promised a colorful home life.

Zhang Bowen, curious, asked, “It’s safer to raise our own sheep. Mom, where did you keep them?”

“Where else? I had your uncle help look after them for a few days; they have several sheep too.”

Standing by the car door, Zhang Chu waved a reluctant goodbye to Old Mrs. Lin, though he’d be back in a few days.

…

“Aren’t you giving a speech at school this afternoon? Your teacher Tao was very insistent that you speak a bit less bluntly, a little more tactful,” Chu Lan reminded him. She knew her son’s true nature—his sharp words often caught people off guard, even if he spoke the truth.

That was the effect of toxic chicken soup—it conveyed negative energy, breaking free from the fabricated and filtered world of traditional inspirational messages, exposing the real circumstances of life and self.

To Zhang Chu, it was a kind of dark humor. Toxic chicken soup mimicked the style of motivational messages, but in a mocking way—biting, cold, and mercilessly exposing or exaggerating the harsh realities of life.

No matter how delicious something is, eating it every day becomes unbearable. The flood of motivational messages had made people weary, and most of them were pretentious, showy, hollow, and false.

In contrast, toxic chicken soup stared reality in the face, confronted life’s gloom, offered no motivation, no comfort, no kind advice—like a whip striking suddenly, jolting people awake to the truest side of the world and themselves.

“Mom, bitter medicine cures illness, honest words aid conduct—we need to hear the truth,” Zhang Chu muttered to himself. “I don’t produce chicken soup; I’m merely its delivery man.”

“As you wish. Just don’t get upset at home if you’re criticized,” Chu Lan said offhandedly, completing the task Tao Zhixin had given her.

During his day at home, Zhang Chu had already outlined his speech in his mind. Students who had been drinking chicken soup every day were likely tired of it—it was time for something fresh!

Zhang Chu’s reputation was already considerable, though there were many places it could be put to use; the more, the better. Now, with so many halos around him, he no longer needed to take risks for attention—he could earn his reputation openly.

The car sped along the highway toward Jiangcheng.

At that very moment, his “Detective Sherlock” was gaining popularity online, with votes surging ahead, now ranked nineteenth, gradually closing in on the leading group!

Zhang Chu felt like a farmer, yearning for a bountiful harvest—perhaps miracles truly could happen.

Though the car’s air conditioning was on, it still felt stuffy. Zhang Chu’s eyes closed, and he began to drift into sleep.

He was awakened at some point by his phone vibrating—it was an editor from “Chronicles of Reasoning.”

“Is this Zhang Chu?” Liu Qiao’s voice came through the receiver. She’d tried several times, but finally got through.

Groggy, Zhang Chu replied, “Yes, Sister Liu, what’s up?”

Liu Qiao sighed in relief and quickly explained, “Your ‘Detective Sherlock’ has been unanimously loved by our readers since publication. Our editor-in-chief especially admires it. This is just a chapter of the novel, isn’t it?”

“That’s right, it’s only the first chapter; there’s much more to come.”

“I officially invite you to submit follow-up chapters for our magazine. If you write them well, we can publish them in upcoming issues,” Liu Qiao stated her purpose—she wanted this wildly popular story to stay in “Chronicles of Reasoning” for several issues.

But Zhang Chu wasn’t an impulsive young man; he asked calmly, “What’s the payment?”

“I can offer you up to 800 per thousand words. If later chapters are as excellent as this one, I can help negotiate with the editor-in-chief, but the exact rate will depend on the time.”

Zhang Chu was not satisfied—he had previously been paid 500 per thousand words, but now he was no longer an unknown writer; he was the top scorer in the college entrance exam, with his own search halo.

He believed that if “Chronicles of Reasoning” wanted his work, it would surely bring them huge benefits.

“That price is too low. It doesn’t seem very sincere,” Zhang Chu said. Having lived two lifetimes, he’d seen these tactics before—when selling cars or houses, people would ask the manager for better terms, then pretend to fight hard and offer a slightly improved deal.

Liu Qiao did want the follow-up to “Detective Sherlock,” but she had to consider the magazine’s costs and payment structure. She played the emotional card.

“Zhang Chu, you must know our magazine’s situation. Sales are average, advertising is scarce, and the magazine’s operation is tough—expenses exceed income, and cash flow is tight. Reasoning magazines aren’t popular in the market, so this is the best we can offer.”

“But this issue must be selling well, right?” Zhang Chu countered. “I’ve noticed downloads and comments from several channels—in just two days, July’s comments have doubled those of June. Maybe you’ve struggled before, but not now! Besides, you’re collaborating with Warner Bros. on the Sherlock Holmes writing contest—surely there are benefits?”

Indeed, “Chronicles of Reasoning” had staged a dramatic comeback this week. Even without exact sales figures, the online buzz was undeniable.

He had plenty of confidence in “Detective Sherlock”—reaching the top twenty of the Sherlock Holmes contest in such a short time proved it had strong support from netizens, reasoning enthusiasts, and Sherlock fans alike!