Chapter Seventy-Five: Master Peach Blossom

Handing the animal hide to his senior sister and asking her to help dispel the Daoist restriction made him feel a bit embarrassed, but there was no other way. Afterward, Liu Ping took his leave and returned to the academy.

It was still morning, and the students were in class. Liu Ping tidied up and went to the lecture hall.

The teacher showed no reaction to Liu Ping’s sudden return, only signaling him to take his seat quickly.

“Why are you only coming back now? How’s Wang Hong?” Zhu Yingtai whispered from behind.

Liu Ping replied, “It took some effort, but Wang Hong’s problem is solved. Still, I doubt he’ll be able to come for a while.”

“I see.”

Their hushed conversation was soon discovered by the teacher, who glared at them. He said nothing, but both of them immediately fell silent, not daring to speak further.

Before long, class was dismissed. Liu Ping asked, “By the way, Jie Zhi, do you know where I can get a book published?”

“A place to publish a book? Why do you want to know that?”

“I’ve written a book recently.”

“Oh?” Zhu Yingtai’s interest was piqued, and she asked eagerly, “What is it?”

“Just a novel,” said Liu Ping.

“A novel?” Zhu Yingtai’s look turned disappointed. Among scholars, writing novels was seen as something frivolous and unseemly. After a moment's thought, she said, “I know a place, on Maotao Street in the southern part of the city, called the Azure Cloud Publishing House. You can check it out.”

“Alright, I understand.” Having learned the location, Liu Ping hired a carriage and headed straight to the Azure Cloud Publishing House.

Upon arrival, he was surprised to see that the place was bustling with people.

Novelists, editors, assistants, visitors, and buyers of novels all mingled together. Since it was the main publishing house, Liu Ping—a mere licentiate—was utterly unremarkable among the crowd.

“Isn’t that Brother Qin Chuan? Long time no see! Your new work, ‘One Hundred Thousand Silver Flowers,’ is truly impressive.”

“You flatter me, Brother Chenglu. How could my humble work compare to your masterpieces? I’m undeserving of your praise!”

“Haha, not at all! You’re far too modest, Brother Qin. Are you here today to offer your opinion on the completion of a certain book?”

“Yes, and you as well?”

“Excuse me, where do I submit a manuscript?”

“Give me two copies of ‘A Branch of Peach Blossom’!”

“I’ll take the latest ‘A Branch of Peach Blossom,’ ‘The City Within the Southern City,’ and ‘Brocade Robes’—one of each!”

“Where’s Editor Zhu Youzhi?”

Though spacious, the hall was filled with a cacophony of voices. Liu Ping tried asking a few questions but was ignored, making him smile wryly to himself: “So this is how newcomers are treated?”

Still, he couldn’t help but notice the sheer number of people—selling books, printing, editing, submitting manuscripts, and letting people tour the premises—making the place resemble a marketplace more than a sanctuary of literature.

While he muttered to himself, a sudden gasp rose from the crowd: “Heavens! Look, isn’t that the author of ‘A Branch of Peach Blossom’? Master Taohua! He’s actually here himself!”

“What? Impossible! Why would he come in person instead of having the editor visit him?”

“It’s true! Hurry, let’s go see him—maybe a bit of his luck will help me get published again!”

“Master Taohua! My favorite author of ‘A Branch of Peach Blossom!’”

The crowd surged, gathering around this Master Taohua. Their fervor left Liu Ping somewhat dumbfounded: “This author is really living the life.”

Taking advantage of the emptied crowd, he finally spotted the sign for manuscript submissions and hurried over.

Most of the new writers in line had rushed off to see the legendary Master Taohua, so the long queue for submissions dwindled rapidly. Even so, Liu Ping waited a quarter of an hour before an editor came to meet him.

“I’m Wang Chang, styled Qingxu, an editor at Azure Cloud Publishing.”

Wang gave Liu Ping a perfunctory glance and introduced himself indifferently, then quickly continued, “Hand me your manuscript and your address. If your submission passes the initial screening, it will be sent to the chief editor for review. If approved, it will be published, and we’ll contact you. If you don’t hear from us within ten days, it means it wasn’t accepted, and you can collect your manuscript from the returns desk.”

Young men like Liu Ping—he saw dozens every month. So what if he’d passed the licentiate exam? Did he really think that qualified him to write a good novel? All the famous novelists were scholars or older men in their thirties!

His manner was inevitably curt, tinged with envy. After all, Wang Chang himself had taken the exam four or five times before passing, and now found further advancement elusive. Yet here was this youth, already a licentiate!

Liu Ping frowned at his attitude but said nothing. He handed over the manuscript and began filling out the address form.

First, his current address, then his family’s.

Wang Chang glanced down and was startled to see that this licentiate was a student at the Tianqi Academy. Anyone who could study there had a high chance of advancing, so why was he bothering with novels at such a critical time? Strange indeed! His envy deepened, and with it, a trace of contempt.

As Liu Ping was entering his information, the door opened and a middle-aged man of about forty hurried in. “Qingxu, Master Taohua has come in person today. We’re all gathering to discuss the ending of ‘A Branch of Peach Blossom’ and the direction of his new work. Come over quickly and suspend submissions for now—have the newcomers return tomorrow!”

Wang Chang nodded and turned to Liu Ping: “Come back tomorrow. No more submissions today.” With that, he pushed the manuscript back across the desk.

Liu Ping froze, his face darkening. “It’s just a submission. Filling out the information won’t take long. Must I come back again?”

Wang Chang’s brow furrowed, and he snorted, “Yes, that’s how it is. Do you have a problem with that?”

Such coldness made Liu Ping angry. “Of course I do. If I hadn’t even started, fine—but I’m halfway through the process and you tell me to come back tomorrow? Azure Cloud Publishing certainly has airs!”

An editor at the door interjected, “Let it go, Qingxu—just let him finish. It won’t take much time.”

Wang Chang, already in a foul mood, grew even more irritated. He didn’t dare lose his temper outright, so he sneered offhandedly, “Your novel will just get rejected anyway. Why waste your time? Go home and polish it—spend a year or two really studying the craft, then come back and boast. A boy barely into his teens—do you really think you can write a good novel? Don’t you know we’re about to meet Master Taohua and decide how ‘A Branch of Peach Blossom’ will end? That’s a big deal, and you still can’t grasp the situation?—Fine, have it your way. Continue filling out your information!”

“Grasp the situation?” Liu Ping couldn’t understand what was so momentous about this. ‘A Branch of Peach Blossom’ was at best a popular light novel. For its ending, they would so carelessly reject his deep green-level ‘Chronicles of the Three Kingdoms’?

It wasn’t an outright refusal, but the patronizing attitude—did they think he, like other new authors, would simply endure it?

It was both infuriating and laughable. Rising to his feet, Liu Ping sneered, “Because of your words, I, Liu Ping, will never set foot in your publishing house again!”

He picked up his manuscript, his voice cool. “You’ve not even read my novel, yet you presume to judge? Who do you think you are? It’s laughable. You say I insist? With such a condescending attitude, you think I’ll still submit?”

“A fine declaration—never set foot here again…” Wang Chang was furious and was about to retort when the editor at the door quickly intervened. After all, Liu Ping was a licentiate—if he later became a presented scholar, Azure Cloud Publishing’s connections would protect him, but Wang Chang himself might not be so lucky. He mustn’t be allowed to further offend him. The editor barked, “Qingxu! What do you think you’re doing?”

Wang Chang came to his senses, stopped arguing, and simply shot Liu Ping a cold glance. As long as he wanted to submit, he could forget about it!

“Goodbye!” Liu Ping snorted, turned, and walked out without hesitation.

“Wait…” The other editor suddenly felt a hollow emptiness, as though he’d just lost something of tremendous value. His heart raced with anxiety, but before he could call out to stop Liu Ping, the young man had already walked away.

Wang Chang felt the same—a sudden sense that the manuscript Liu Ping took away must be quite good. But his annoyance quickly swept the feeling aside. He shook his head and thought, what could a boy barely in his teens possibly write that’s worth reading? Don’t be ridiculous.