Chapter Seventy-Nine: Twenty Percent

“I did not realize that Young Master Liu was the top scholar of Shanghe County. I must apologize for my lack of respect!” Fang Yi was inwardly astonished, his expression becoming more earnest. After a moment’s contemplation, he continued, “Let us return to the matter at hand. Since ‘The Investiture of the Three Kingdoms’ is your own work, would you be willing to entrust the copyright to us, to be published exclusively by You Book Publishing House?”

Though this seemed a redundant question, it was a necessary part of the process. The editors present feared that the man before them might regret his decision and change his mind about letting them publish the novel. What was usually a statement to excite authors now made the editors themselves anxious. They unconsciously held their breath, awaiting Liu Ping’s reply.

Liu Ping paused in thought, not answering immediately.

The usually composed Fang Yi was the first to lose his calm, hastily adding, “Please, sir, do entrust the copyright to us. We will certainly reward you satisfactorily.”

Liu Ping finally nodded. “Very well.”

A collective sigh of relief swept through the editors, and the tension eased from Fang Yi’s face. He pondered for a moment before saying, “Our publishing house offers two types of royalties: buyout and percentage. The standard buyout fee for new writers is two hundred coins per thousand words. If you entrust ‘The Investiture of the Three Kingdoms’ to us, I am willing to offer one thousand coins per thousand words.”

One thousand coins per thousand words? With a fifty-thousand-word book, that amounted to fifty taels for a buyout. Had he just arrived in this world, he might have agreed, but now things were different. Fifty taels was hardly enticing; a novel destined for the annals of history could never be sold so cheaply. He shook his head slightly, saying nothing.

Fang Yi understood this gesture and quickly continued, “There is another option—a royalty percentage. For new authors, royalties are typically seven or eight percent, and even established writers only receive about ten percent. If you wish, You Book Publishing House is prepared to offer you fifteen percent royalty.”

Fifteen percent? The publishing house had never offered such a high rate before, and although the editors were surprised, they acknowledged that ‘The Investiture of the Three Kingdoms’ was worthy of it.

Liu Ping considered, but again shook his head. He was neither greedy nor foolish; one percent now would be silver in the future, and he ought to strive for more. Writing was arduous work—he must earn as much as possible.

Seeing Liu Ping still shake his head, Fang Yi grew apprehensive but remained courteous. “Could you share your terms, Young Master Liu? If reasonable, we shall certainly accept.”

Liu Ping replied, “I understand your difficulties and will not make any unreasonable demands. Originally, I had a royalty rate of forty percent in mind, with thirty as my minimum; but I know you would not agree, and I do not wish to waste time haggling.”

Fang Yi was startled—thirty percent, forty percent, that was almost giving the book away at a loss. He sensed that Liu Ping had more to say and asked, “Then what is your proposal, Young Master Liu?”

Liu Ping said, “Twenty percent—this is my bottom line. If you agree, I will entrust ‘The Investiture of the Three Kingdoms’ to you for publication. If not, let it be.”

Having said this, Liu Ping felt a twinge of anxiety. This was, after all, his last chance at publication for now.

Nevertheless, he would not go back on his word. If You Book Publishing House refused, he would not lower his terms again. There would be other opportunities in the future, and there was no need to rush.

The editors exchanged glances. Fifteen percent was already high, and Liu Ping had boldly demanded twenty, verging on extortion.

“Twenty percent is excessive,” one editor muttered, frowning.

“Indeed, that price is outrageous. Even Master Peach Blossom’s ‘A Single Peach Blossom’ only earns seventeen percent,” another agreed.

Liu Ping remained silent; it was not up to these editors to decide. He looked to Fang Yi.

Fang Yi’s brows furrowed as he weighed the decision. If he delayed further, he might lose this opportunity. Sensing Liu Ping’s gaze, his resolve hardened, and he declared, “Very well! I accept your terms—twenty percent royalty. Craneqing, Sanqiu, stop fussing and bring over two printed contracts immediately!”

Relieved, Liu Ping breathed out. As long as the deal was struck, all was well.

The contract in this world served as both agreement and legal document. In ancient times, privately made contracts were worthless; the same held true here. Only after paying taxes and affixing the government seal did it become legally binding.

He filled out the information. When it came to the pen name, Liu Ping paused, pondering for a moment, then inspiration struck, and he wrote the name—Dragon Ao Tian.

He couldn’t help but chuckle—a bit of mischief on his part.

Shaking his head slightly, he continued filling out the form, finally stamping his handprint and personal seal. The process was complete.

The contract would remain here until the government seal was affixed; only then would it be handed to Liu Ping.

The initial print run was five thousand copies. The price of a novel was neither cheap nor expensive—one hundred and twenty coins per book.

If all copies sold, Liu Ping’s royalty would total one hundred and twenty taels—a fine start, the very limit that You Book Publishing House could manage.

They had staked their entire future on ‘The Investiture of the Three Kingdoms.’ If it failed, the publishing house would surely close its doors.

As was customary, an advance of ten taels was paid as a deposit.

Of course, it was You Book Publishing House who paid Liu Ping, not the other way around.

After accepting the ten taels, they agreed on a date: ten days hence, Liu Ping would return for the official contract, when printing of the novel would commence.

Taking a hired carriage back to the academy, Liu Ping entered the dormitory. Zhu Yingtai was leaning against the bed, hand pressed to her forehead, lost in thought, murmuring softly, “I did not expect such trouble… but perhaps it’s for the best.” She failed to notice Liu Ping’s arrival.

Only when Liu Ping seated himself in the chair and poured a cup of tea did she realize he was there, startled. “Ah! The great writer Liu has returned! How did it go?”

“What were you thinking about? You look troubled,” Liu Ping asked casually, tossing the ten-tael silver ingot in his hand. “Royalties—ten taels.”

“What trouble could I have… Pfft, only ten taels?” Zhu Yingtai blushed, hurriedly denying her worries and shifting the topic with a smile.

Inwardly, she was surprised. Liu Ping had actually persuaded You Book Publishing House to publish his novel. Ten taels—was it the newcomer’s buyout fee? She remarked, “If you are so short on money, I can lend you some. Why bother writing novels? It’s such a waste of your talent. There’s a spring examination next year—do not let it slip by.”

“It’s not a buyout, but a royalty. This is just a deposit,” Liu Ping clarified, then added, “Naturally, I cannot miss the spring examination. It’s held only once every three years—I wouldn’t wait another three years.”

“That’s the Liu I know,” Zhu Yingtai nodded. “Novels are for leisure; don’t invest too much. It’s not worth it.”

Hearing this, Liu Ping knew Zhu Yingtai still looked down on his new novel, assuming it would flop and that investing too much would be unwise. He did not argue; facts would speak louder than words. In time, she would see. Boasting ahead of time was not his way.