Chapter 132: Saving the Young Writer (Part 2)
The next morning, Owen Green got out of bed. Although his back was sore from pressing against the gold coins all night, those few marks and the dull pain gave him a sense of security, knowing that the generous donor’s coins were still with him.
After getting up, Owen Green carefully tucked the gold coins close to his body before heading out to wash up. His plump landlady, upon seeing him, smiled brightly as if blooming flowers, greeting him with a cheerful “Good morning.” Owen Green politely nodded and returned the greeting.
He thought to himself, unlike you, I am a well-mannered and cultured person who wouldn’t scowl at others after becoming successful.
After washing up, he took out his only formal attire from the bottom of the box, borrowed the landlady’s mirror, tidied his hair, and left a silver coin as a tip.
He also meticulously organized his manuscript, even though he had never met the person he was going to meet and knew little about her, only that she called herself Miss Ji.
But Owen Green was sure that she was an educated, noble-born lady, rich in literary appreciation. She must have recognized the potential in his writing and couldn’t bear to let his talent go to waste, which is why she sponsored him.
After arranging the manuscripts, Owen Green sat on his bed, waiting for noon to arrive. With nothing to do, he speculated about what kind of person his benefactor might be.
He picked up the stationery and admired the ornate script on it.
“They say a person’s hand reflects their character. If she can write such beautiful script, she must be as beautiful on the outside as she is on the inside.”
In his mind, countless noble, educated women gradually merged into a single image: a noble girl with a sunshade, a delicate face, fair skin, and a slender waist, the tips of her fingers carrying a faint scent of ink.
As he thought further, he recalled numerous “poignant and touching” love stories in which the male lead was a talented and handsome poor boy gazing longingly at a noble and beautiful girl from afar.
Then he suddenly realized that he should buy a mount since he couldn’t rely on his two feet to get there.
Immediately, Owen Green took action, running to the local market and spending thirty gold coins to buy a travel horse, mild-tempered and suitable for riding.
Naturally, purchasing a horse required a contract. Owen Green picked up a pen and said, “I am a writer; I’ll write it.”
With that, he began to write on the paper. The moment the goose quill touched the paper, his sentimental mind sparked and burst forth with a stream of inspiration, like a frayed wire leaking electricity.
The quill swiftly glided over the paper. After dipping it in ink several times, he filled an entire page.
The page didn’t mention a horse at all, only described the beautiful surroundings in elegant prose.
Owen Green glanced at it, feeling quite pleased with himself, and continued writing away on a second page.
The seller, growing impatient, said, “Why are you still writing? Others have already finished half a page.”
Owen Green excused the seller’s lack of ability to appreciate his eloquence and proceeded to write a third page.
After a while, the seller complained, “Are you done yet?”
“Almost, almost,” Owen Green replied as he started on the fourth page. “I’m getting to the horse.”
The seller couldn’t help but chuckle in irritation, “You’ve written three pages without mentioning the horse?”
Owen Green muttered, “Today’s readers really have no patience.”
Finally, at the end of the fourth page, he mentioned the word “horse.”
Unable to wait any longer, the seller called someone over, asking him to finish the contract quickly. In a few swift strokes, he wrote out the agreement on half a page, handed it over to Owen Green, and said:
“Sign it quickly; I don’t have that much time to waste on you.”
Owen Green retracted his pen, glanced at the contract, and remarked, “Such shallow writing.”
With that, he reluctantly left his handprint on the paper.
The seller huffed, “Take your grand work and go back.”
Owen Green secretly despised the seller’s lack of discernment; if he only knew that someone sponsored him for his writing, he’d likely change his tune.
He gathered up his seven pages of literary work, mounted his horse, and set off leisurely towards the Xue Le Publishing House.
Xue Le Publishing House is a long-standing, prestigious publisher, but in Owen Green’s view, the house had been tainted by the stench of gold coins and favored to publish only commercial works, failing to appreciate the profound thoughts within his writings. He had been rejected multiple times.
Yet, it also published a few stylish books. Otherwise, Owen Green wouldn’t have persisted in submitting his work to them.
Miss Ji’s choice to meet at Xue Le was fitting for her status.
Noon arrived quickly, and Owen Green arrived early at the publishing house, where a servant was already waiting downstairs to direct him to the reception room and brought him a kettle of water.
Owen Green waited alone in the empty reception room, with stacks of manuscripts before him, all of which were his literary works. He carefully organized them into neat piles, confident that Miss Ji would surely want one of them.
After a short while, there was a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and a woman in a black dress with a black lace net hat walked in.
Her slender figure exuded an irresistible charm; even though her snowy face was obscured by the lace, her beauty was not diminished in the least—it gave her an air of mystique.
Owen Green was captivated by her face until she sat down, at which point he realized he had been rude, awkwardly turning his head away, but then fearing she might notice his earlier indiscretion, he turned back, pretending nothing had happened.
“You are Owen Green?”
“Yes, madam,” Owen Green responded. “In your letter, you mentioned you needed a ghostwriter?”
“Yes,” Miss Ji said. “I have a good friend who wishes to publish a novel, but she writes too slowly, so she wants to find a ghostwriter who is diligent, has good writing skills, and can write fluently.”
Owen Green stood up and handed her a stack of papers, saying, “These are my works for you to review.”
Miss Ji took the papers and glanced at them. The pages were filled with complex grammar and various obscure words; she had to admit that merely judging the individual segments of text, her flowery prose was not without merit.
However, that was where it ended.
Her gaze lingered on a line: “Golden hair embraces the girl’s most sincere dreams, her slender body wrapped in the lingering warmth of youth…” Her lips quivered slightly.
What on earth was being written? It seemed to be a jumbled heap of polished phrases.
Miss Ji thought to herself as she continued reading, one page, two pages, three pages. Her eyelashes trembled as she saw the author’s self-indulgent display of skill. Wherever high-level grammar could be used, it was; wherever obscure characters could be incorporated, they were; everything was unnecessarily ornate. But the logic behind the words was utterly broken, making no sense.
That being said, she remained calm enough to read through ten pages and still had no idea what the author was trying to convey.
She couldn’t help but recall an ancient Chinese idiom: “Three pages, no donkey.”
Disappointed, Miss Ji realized that it made perfect sense for the thirty-something-year-old Green to still be an obscure writer.
She set the manuscript down.
Owen Green smiled at her, almost expecting an astonished reaction from Miss Ji.
Miss Ji said, “Mr. Owen, your writing is quite beautiful; your command of vocabulary is truly impressive.”
Owen Green beamed, revealing his teeth.
Miss Ji continued, “I will think it over. Goodbye.”
Owen Green’s smile immediately vanished. Years of rejection had taught him that “thinking it over” meant getting kicked to the curb.
“Miss Ji,” Owen Green said hurriedly, “You’re looking for a ghostwriter, right? I can guarantee I will be diligent. You ought to at least give me a test.”
Test? Given your habit of overusing flowery language, what would come out would surely be nothing more than incoherent drivel.
Although that’s what Miss Ji thought, she decided to make the most of her visit. She opened her handbag, took out a few pages of her own novel along with the outline, and said:
“It’s simple. Mirror the flow of the novel and write according to the outline.”
Owen Green took the papers, glancing at them.
What garbage? It seemed Miss Ji’s friend was afraid the readers wouldn’t understand, as everything was written in plain language.
The content of the novel was utterly nonsensical, revolving around a sweet potato seller who accidentally crossed into some other world, discovering that his sweet potatoes contained immense magical power, and the protagonist just happened to be a once-in-a-millennium magical genius.
Owen Green suppressed his urge to vomit and took another look at the outline, feeling physically ill.
The outline spanned four pages, but within just one page, the protagonist had already established intimate relationships with numerous princesses, queens, female knights, centaurs, and others from different races.
He had never seen a novel so ridiculously commercial; this wasn’t writing—it was paper meant for cheap thrills!
Owen Green’s face twitched slightly as he set the paper down.
Owen Green said, “The writing your friend produced is, uh… truly straightforward. If you need editing, then you’ve found the right person.”
Miss Ji responded, “No editing is needed. On the contrary, you need to use fewer complex words and phrases, and try to align more with the original text. Is that okay?”
You want me to write this trash?
Owen Green had initially intended to flatly refuse the ghostwriting job, but then his back began to ache again.
The meeting gift was worth a full fifty gold coins; what she offered was simply too generous.
He said, “Alright.”
Miss Ji handed him a magical fountain pen and said, “I’ll only give you twenty minutes.”
For the first time, Owen Green held such a precious pen, leaned over the desk, and, suppressing his disgust, began to write frantically according to the outline.
During those twenty minutes, Miss Ji cleared her mind, opened her personal system, and repeatedly browsed the text section, scrutinizing her recorded plans, calculating and weighing her options.
Before she knew it, twenty minutes had flown by.
Looking at the time on her system, Miss Ji felt that precious twenty minutes had been wasted. She didn’t even need to see the result; she knew that Owen Green’s output would surely be a heap of self-indulgent language, a display of ostentation, likely making readers recoil.
She said, “Time’s up.”
Owen Green paused, handing over two full pages, saying, “I’m done.”
Surprisingly, he had written so much.
Miss Ji had provided large sheets of paper, enough to write nearly four hundred words on a single page; even she, using the system without writing time, could barely squeeze out two hundred fifty words in ten minutes.
This meant that his handwriting speed was almost twice hers.
Miss Ji took the two pages and looked them over. Although it still showed some signs of overused florid language, it was barely acceptable… but he wrote too much.
She said, “Alright, you’ve passed. Here’s the contract; please review the terms.”
Owen Green looked it over, essentially stating that he must revise the text according to Party A’s desires until satisfied, after which it would be published by Xue Le Publishing House, and the copyright would belong to the white-haired woman.
Holding the contract, Owen Green tried to maintain a calm tone and said:
“Miss Ji, with all due respect, based on my fifteen years of submission experience, this work your friend has written absolutely cannot be published by Xue Le.”
“Why not?”
“Xue Le Publishing House doesn’t accept self-published works,” Owen Green explained, “and to be frank, the quality of this novel is quite poor.”
Miss Ji said, “That’s alright; I’ve already bought Xue Le Publishing House. The owner generously offered a friendly price of only five thousand gold coins.”
Owen Green’s hand trembled, causing the contract to fall onto the table.
————
This chapter is free because the following chapter (Strawberry Part 2) underwent significant revisions from three thousand words down to merely one thousand, which serves as an apology.
