Chapter 86: A Rising Star in the World of Deduction (Please Vote for Recommendations)

Physical books sold over ten thousand in a single day!
This was a record that had eluded mystery novels for years, yet now it had been achieved in Zhang Chu’s fan fiction.
In the editorial department of South Sea Publishing Company, Gu Xinxue’s face was nearly split by his grin; signing Zhang Chu had definitely been a masterstroke. He could hardly wait to report to the chief editor and push for the reprint order to be issued as soon as possible.

Among domestic debut authors, only a handful could reach such heights with their first work.
Though mystery novels were a niche genre, their rarity only highlighted the preciousness of "Detective Sherlock’s" sales.

Within the community of mystery writers, people were once again astonished.

“A few days ago, I thought 'Detective Sherlock' would reveal its true colors after selling a few hundred copies, but today it’s a total explosion.”
“Talented people rise in every era, each reigning for centuries; this year, it’s Zhang Chu’s turn.”
“Physical book sales: 18,000 copies. E-books: 25,000 copies. This must be our best sales performance for mystery novels in the past five years, and that’s just in one day!”
“This is terrifying—the power of staying on the show is truly immense.”
“It’s not like no one’s ever appeared on those programs before, but sales never spiked. I think it’s mainly because Zhang Chu himself is so interesting. The whole episode was about him; I can’t even recall the names of the other guests.”
“He’s probably the strongest newcomer in our mystery circle, right?”
“He’s a strong contender for rookie of the year across all categories. It’s only August; if this momentum holds, another hundred thousand copies will sell easily.”

The first print run of 100,000 copies had sold out within a month. Even though South Sea Publishing had prepared a fair amount of stock, orders kept pouring in from various distributors, led by Xinhua Bookstore.

Xinhua Bookstore was the largest in the country, able to bully publishers by taking stock at the lowest prices, paying back at the slowest speed, and even returning unsold books.
Private bookstores like Hanlin Pavilion could only buy from secondary wholesalers, which meant higher prices, and when supply was scarce, it was almost impossible to get stock.

Just like now, the additional 50,000 copies of "Detective Sherlock" hadn’t even left the print shop before they were snapped up by Xinhua Bookstores across various provinces, and by major online retailers like Dangdang and Amazon, leaving only a few thousand copies for other distributors.

The big city bookstores clearly had the advantage; small and midsize stores were left empty-handed.

At Hanlin Pavilion, their stock had sold out early—just over twenty physical copies, all signed by Zhang Chu, so selling them wasn’t an issue at all.

“You don’t have 'Detective Sherlock' either? I checked at the biggest bookstore in Jiang City, and they said if there’s anywhere left with a copy, it’s your shop,”
A chubby young man with glasses kept pestering Zhang Bowen. He was already a Holmes fan, had downloaded and read "Detective Sherlock" online, and now wanted a copy to collect. Who would have guessed the book would become so popular?

Once ignored, now impossible to buy. As a homebody, he’d naturally searched online first for a cheaper copy—discounted and delivered.
But even Dangdang and Amazon were out of stock!

So he had to venture out early in the morning when the sun wasn’t too harsh, visiting two or three bookstores without success.

He was one of many who had asked about Zhang Chu’s book. Zhang Bowen, helpless, spread his hands, “Sorry, we sold out yesterday. Our distributor can’t get more stock—I have no solution.”

The young man pursed his lips and grumbled, “Isn’t this Zhang Chu’s family bookstore? Even the author can’t get his own book?”

“That’s about the size of it,”
Zhang Bowen felt just as frustrated—missed sales, right out of his hands.

“Sigh, you really weren’t prepared. This book was bound to be a bestseller; yet you only printed and stocked so few. No vision at all.”
After some criticism, the young man turned and left, while Zhang Bowen stroked his chin and went upstairs to find his son to solve the problem.

...

“Why are you coming to me?”
Zhang Chu, in the middle of writing the final chapter of "Psychological Crime: City of Light," was bewildered. He was busy crafting Jiang Ya’s “murder” of Fang Mu when his father came to ask him for physical copies of "Detective Sherlock."

Zhang Bowen spoke with conviction, “Because you’re my son, and because you’re the author. The bookstore gets daily inquiries, and the distributor can’t get stock. Can’t you contact the publishing company?”

There was no way to argue with that. Zhang Chu could only resign himself, rubbing his forehead, “Alright, I’ll ask the editor, but I can’t promise anything.”

“At least you’re the rising star in the mystery scene now. The editor should give you some face.”

Zhang Chu was aware of the rumors circulating online. He accepted the title with modesty.

Just then, Gu Xinxue was online. Zhang Chu sent an emoji over and began inquiring for his father.

“Are you busy, Editor Gu? I wanted to see if I could buy a few dozen copies of 'Detective Sherlock' directly from the publishing company?”
Gu Xinxue was reading Zhang Chu’s serial "Psychological Crime" on Weibo, buying every chapter. When the avatar blinked in the lower right corner, he replied, “Sure, how many copies?”

Zhang Bowen immediately nudged Zhang Chu’s back, “As many as you can get—it looks like they have plenty in stock.”

“How about a hundred? At market price, please. Our bookstore is out...”
On the other side, Gu Xinxue burst out laughing. He suddenly remembered the news reports—it was true, Zhang Chu’s family ran a bookstore. “Alright, I’ll try to arrange it with the distribution center. The new batch just finished printing and is selling very well.”

It was the first time he’d seen such a powerful rookie author. Their company’s marketing plan hadn’t even gotten around to Zhang Chu yet, but he’d gone on a TV show and single-handedly triggered a sales explosion.

“Thank you, Editor Gu. Next time we meet, I’ll treat you to a massage.”
It was a phrase he was used to saying online, and Zhang Chu sent it without thinking, not realizing his father was standing right behind him. Was it too late to retract the message?

Zhang Bowen looked at his son with a complex expression, “Massage? You should find a girlfriend. I don’t want to see you on legal news someday—and I refuse to pay bail in that case.”

“Dad, I’m just joking! I’m pure!”
Zhang Chu protested earnestly. In two lifetimes, he’d never set foot in such places, at most peeking in out of curiosity, but never going inside. He swore.

Fortunately, Gu Xinxue replied just then, saving Zhang Chu for the moment.

“Send me your personal information. I’ll try to coordinate with the distribution center, see if you can pick up stock from Jiang City’s Xinhua Bookstore. That’ll save time—shipping by courier would take several days.”