Chapter 87: Signing in Haste

It had to be admitted that Gu Xinxue’s idea was very thoughtful. Transferring stock directly from the printing plant to the Hanlin Pavilion Bookstore all the way in Jiangcheng would take quite a while unless they used SF Express. However, if they sourced the books directly from Xinhua Bookstore, it would save a lot of waiting, and the books could be obtained much sooner.

In fact, Xinhua Bookstore was a vast system—not merely those retail shops, but also boasting various channels. Small bookstores dreamed of joining this distribution network, which was hailed as the orthodox channel for book distribution. Not only were the wholesale prices attractive, but there were also multiple guarantees. However, they wouldn’t just hand over books to anyone, so some persuasion was necessary.

“The Xinhua Bookstore Group of Jiangdong Province would like to invite you to a book signing at the Jiangcheng Book Tower. If you agree, you can pick up the books right away,” Gu Xinxue said.

Modern society is all about the exchange of interests. Without seeing any benefit, the Xinhua Bookstore Group would hardly hand over a hundred books for free.

Zhang Chu knew well that when someone does you a favor, you are obliged in return. Besides, holding a signing event in his hometown could only do him good. He agreed readily: “No problem. Just let me know the date when it’s set.”

If it were held elsewhere, perhaps Zhang Chu’s popularity wouldn’t be enough for a signing. But Jiangcheng was his home turf, and the title of local top scholar in the college entrance exam carried weight—it was just enough to support a signing event. Even if no readers came, he could count on his friends and family to fill the room, saving him from embarrassment.

Given his current status, he had only one book to his name, which was rather meager. It was clear he needed to write more—he couldn’t rely on short online pieces forever.

Having made up his mind, Zhang Chu was about to end the conversation, but Gu Xinxue was not finished.

“I just caught up with your serialized novel on Weibo, ‘Criminal Psychology: City of Light.’ You must be holding back the final plot twist and preparing for the grand finale, right?”

Zhang Chu had barely edited this book; he simply transcribed the original text faithfully. Now, the serialization had rapidly reached its conclusion. His typing speed had improved dramatically—from the old days of pecking with two fingers, he now typed fluidly with several, boosting his speed from a thousand to two or three thousand words per hour.

“Yes, I plan to post the ending today. So even Editor Gu reads my work! If I’d known, I wouldn’t have charged you,” Zhang Chu joked. From halfway through the first chapter, his ‘Criminal Psychology’ had been behind a paywall, and now his Weibo account had amassed tens of thousands in subscription and reward income.

Gu Xinxue already regarded Zhang Chu as a rising star in the mystery genre and naturally followed this well-received serial. In fact, he had been paying attention since the very first day Zhang Chu began posting on Weibo. Back then, he was unsure whether Zhang Chu, who was moving away from fanfiction, could produce high-quality work, so he hadn’t rushed to sign a publishing contract, opting instead to observe.

As Zhang Chu’s popularity grew and the plot deepened, with each new case more intriguing than the last—even inviting public votes to decide the fate of the presiding judge—the novelty captivated readers. Moreover, all three female leads had tangled histories with the protagonist, Fang Mu, making readers all the more curious about their pasts. Yet, in the end, each chose to become a ray of light in the city’s darkness.

From an editor’s perspective, Gu Xinxue saw this as the perfect thread for sequels. Every day, discussions about Fang Mu’s past appeared under Zhang Chu’s Weibo posts.

Of course, some readers complained the novel was melodramatic—after all, ‘City of Light’ kicked off with a tumultuous love triangle, which was only now coming to a dramatic close as the series of cases wrapped up.

Though ‘Criminal Psychology: City of Light’ and ‘Detective Sherlock’ differed greatly in style, the excitement was comparable, as shown by the growing number of subscribers. From just a thousand or two at the start, the count had swelled to nearly five thousand as the finale approached—a testament to steady, organic growth.

“I think your ‘Criminal Psychology: City of Light’ is excellent, with real potential to become a hit series. Would you be willing to sign with us? The terms are the same as before: 5% royalties, first print run of 100,000 copies.”

Gu Xinxue laid his cards on the table—he wanted to turn the ‘Criminal Psychology’ series into a local classic of the mystery genre, and the first step was, of course, signing the contract.

Although Zhang Chu’s ‘Detective Sherlock’ had sold well, it wasn’t a breakout hit, so ‘Criminal Psychology’ didn’t qualify for better terms and remained at 5% royalties. Still, if ‘Criminal Psychology’ maintained its momentum, by the third book he would have leverage to negotiate—only then could he truly be considered a writer who had graduated from the ranks of the novice.

Zhang Chu was well aware that he had no intention of writing out the entire ‘Criminal Psychology’ series; this was a pit he’d dug for himself. “I’ll sign, but only for this book. Whether I write the others is up to me.”

Strictly speaking, the terms offered by South Sea Publishing were quite generous. Few publishers were willing to pay royalties to newcomers, let alone guarantee a first print of 100,000 copies. Many other publishers exploited new writers, buying out their rights so that no matter how much the book sold, the author saw nothing further.

Gu Xinxue assumed Zhang Chu simply wanted to maintain control, which was common practice—one contract per book was the industry norm. “It’s settled then. I’ll have legal send you the electronic contract shortly. Also, please don’t post the ending of ‘Criminal Psychology’ online for now. Leave enough suspense for the print release—it’ll boost sales.”

This was a standard publishing tactic: cut off the online serialization at the most exciting point so that readers had to buy the book. In the past, serialization was done through magazines; now, with Zhang Chu’s online popularity, it saved time and effort.

“I just hope I don’t get cursed to death by my readers,” Zhang Chu replied. Heaven knows, this wasn’t his idea—the editor demanded it, so he could hardly take the blame.

Gu Xinxue was clearly satisfied. “Once you’re done, compile the whole book into a file, including the ending. If possible, send me a couple of bonus chapters too.”

He wouldn’t admit he was using his position to get an early look at the finale—he was simply eager to see how Fang Mu became the city’s final ray of light.

After the conversation ended, Zhang Chu stretched and reflected that he’d sold another work, though none of them were truly mainstream yet.

He resolved privately: the next book—he would devote himself to writing it well.