Chapter 5: That Felt Amazing

Outrageous! This is too much!

Lü Hongzhuo suddenly roared, startling the shopkeeper and the two maids.

Xu Chengyue remained composed, as though she had long anticipated such a scene.

The shopkeeper’s expression changed completely, filling with vigilance and fear.

He suspected the book was haunted by something sinister, some filthy evil, or else there was no explaining why Lü, who had always prided himself on his refinement and was used to affectation, had turned into this.

He had said so all along: how could an ordinary young lady behave like this?

So it was some demon at work. Alas, his young master had been ruined this way.

It could not be blamed on him; it was Lü’s own stubborn insistence to read it.

Had he listened, this would never have happened.

May heaven above and the Bodhisattvas protect us. This evil thing was bringing disaster upon the world in broad daylight; its powers must be formidable.

He must not act rashly, lest he bring ruin upon himself as well.

The shopkeeper took two steps back and tried to make himself as small as possible, praying that the monster would forget he existed.

Lü Hongzhuo paid no heed to the reaction around him and was wholly immersed in the book.

It described how the servants, upon seeing their pavilion master humiliated, were all enraged, yet dared not move carelessly and spoil the pavilion master’s great plan.

One of Chu Muqing’s maids, Hongling, quietly took a pebble from her sleeve and flicked it with the tip of her finger. The pebble shot toward the old woman’s knee.

Her knee buckled, and she dropped to her knees before Chu Muqing.

Terrified, she began spouting abuse, cursing not only Chu Muqing but also calling her a jinx and an ill omen, saying she had killed her mother, and her mother too had been...

Lü Hongzhuo, who had originally felt satisfaction at the punishment of the old woman, grew angry again.

Chu Muqing had not cared in the least what the old woman said; she was only a minor figure, not worth mentioning. But it was one thing for the old woman to curse her and quite another to drag her mother into it. That she could not endure.

So she worked with Hongling to play tricks on the old woman. After this happened several times, the old woman came to believe Chu Muqing possessed the power of ghosts and spirits, and she was so frightened she dared not speak. She also became utterly wretched, no longer the bright, imposing figure she had been when she first arrived.

At this point, Lü Hongzhuo felt splendid. He secretly exulted that the old woman, who lacked a decent mouth, had finally been punished, while also mocking her for being foolish and ignorant, not realizing someone was toying with her from behind.

The shopkeeper looked on in anguish as Lü Hongzhuo was alternately captivated, enraged, and then delighted, his mood shifting like a stormy sky, more changeable than the weather itself.

Chu Muqing had just returned home when Chu’s father gave her a show of force, making her wait in the main hall while he delayed coming out.

But Chu Muqing refused to play by the rules and simply left. Only when Chu’s father saw things were going badly did he finally come out with her stepmother.

She remembered all too well how this stepmother had abused her in childhood, so she ignored the woman entirely and only gave her father a cool, perfunctory bow.

Seeing this, Chu’s father snapped, “You are grown now and still so ill-mannered. This is your mother.”

Chu Muqing, however, asked in confusion whether her mother had not long since died.

Faced with a father who was harsh and ungrateful, and a stepmother who put on a false and wounded air, Chu Muqing pretended to be naïve and yet said something so sharp that the two of them were left speechless.

Chu’s father was about to lose his temper, but his stepmother stopped him and reminded him that there was something more important to deal with.

Thinking she was still useful, Chu’s father barely suppressed his anger.

What was it that made Chu’s father hold back his rage? Lü Hongzhuo hurriedly flipped onward, only to find the next page completely blank.

How could this be?!

For once forgetting his usual courtesy, Lü Hongzhuo strode quickly up to Xu Chengyue and asked, “May I ask, young lady, what exactly happens next?”

Xu Chengyue did not answer directly, but instead asked, “Does the gentleman think my book can be sold?”

“Of course, of course it can,” Lü Hongzhuo said at once, emphatically and without hesitation.

The shopkeeper was frantically shaking his head in his heart, shouting that the young master must not.

But Lü Hongzhuo could not hear his silent plea, and even if he had, he probably would not have cared.

The two were already discussing the contract and the split of profits.

Xu Chengyue was not the least surprised by Lü Hongzhuo’s reaction.

Even in her former world, there were still many readers who had consumed so much fiction that they jokingly called themselves lowbrow and said they loved it.

How much more so for people of the ancient world, who had never been battered by novels before?

This age did have some kinds of tales resembling fiction.

But to speak frankly, the reading experience was about as pleasant as answering classical Chinese comprehension questions in high school: you had to puzzle out the meaning of every single word one by one, hardly what one would call fun. In some respects, it was even merely a product of authors showing off their skill, written only to display literary talent.

Online fiction, however, was different. It was born a commodity, made to cater to readers. As long as it was entertaining, it could even ignore elegance, style, depth, and all the things the ancients considered essential to good writing.

Colloquial phrasing might seem beneath notice to the ancients, perhaps not even fit to be committed to paper. Yet its advantage over classical prose was obvious: it required no thinking at all, just as Lü Hongzhuo had experienced earlier. One glance was enough to understand. Add punctuation into the mix, and even the exaggerated claim of reading ten lines at a glance posed no problem.

Moreover, the age of online fiction had researched point of view with great thoroughness. It went straight from the protagonist’s perspective, leading the reader into the story world with her. Sharing her joy, sharing her sorrow, feeling her feelings, and empathizing with her experiences. The immersive effect it produced was an experience utterly unprecedented for people of this era.

And then there was the meticulous description. Through appearance, dialogue, expression, and setting, it brought a fictional yet real world before the reader’s eyes.

If this was a satisfying story, where did the satisfaction come from? One of the golden touches Xu Chengyue had given Chu Muqing was her peerless beauty. Beauty was an extremely simple but directly sensory-galvanizing golden finger.

Even in the modern age, where people criticized appearance anxiety, there were still readers insisting they would not accept a protagonist who was not beautiful or handsome. Much less in the ancient world, where people judged by faces and held beauty in very high esteem. Many writers also loved to describe the looks of beauties, such as the Yang noble consort remembered by later ages.

What’s more, Xu Chengyue had opened a tiny window for the readers from an omniscient perspective. Only they knew the protagonist was beautiful; everyone else saw her as ugly. That gap in information made them feel the regret of a pearl buried in dust, and filled them with urgency to see the moment when her beauty was finally revealed to all.

The melodramatic plot only intensified that stimulation. The suppression when she was slandered, the exhilaration when she struck back, the extreme pull of emotion—it left readers utterly unable to extricate themselves.

“Young lady, you have extraordinary talent. I was blind before,” Lü Hongzhuo said respectfully. He still had not quite recovered.

“You flatter me, sir,” Xu Chengyue replied modestly.

“When can you finish the rest?” Lü Hongzhuo asked directly, already pressing for copy.

Xu Chengyue twitched her mouth. Do you think I’m a beast of burden at a work gang?

“I can probably write three thousand words a day. What you have in your hands now is about ten thousand words.”

Then wouldn’t it take seven days before he could see the next volume? Lü Hongzhuo thought, disappointed.

Xu Chengyue and Lü Hongzhuo struck a deal: aside from the first volume, each remaining volume would be about twenty thousand words, with one volume released every seven days. Profits would be shared according to their agreed ratio.

After signing the contract, Xu Chengyue took her leave.

The two maids had not dared speak in such a setting. Once outside, they immediately said excitedly, “Young lady is truly amazing. From what that shopkeeper just meant, even the great officials of the court could not do what our young lady has done.”

“Exactly! That shopkeeper was so irritating. Our young lady is incredible to have left him speechless.”

Xu Chengyue, flattered by their praise, felt a little embarrassed.

When good news comes, one’s spirits naturally rise. Since money was about to arrive, Xu Chengyue decided to go out and stroll the streets, rewarding herself for all her recent effort.

And to buy some proper tools for work.

They arrived at a shop selling writing brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones.

The moment one looked at the place, it already felt different from the others. One could not exactly call it magnificent and lavish; on the contrary, it exuded a refined and artistic atmosphere, yet it was obvious at a glance that it had been built up with gold and silver.

Inside, the variety of inkstones, brush stands, brush hills, and paperweights dazzled Xu Chengyue’s eyes.

Heaven help her, in her former life Xu Chengyue had been a collector of keyboards, buying every one she liked.

In this life, the tools of the trade had become brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones, and she wanted to buy whatever caught her eye.

Xu Chengyue took a liking to an inkstone. The plum blossoms on its edge were white and lifelike, the grain exquisitely fine, its surface smooth and glossy as lacquer.

But when she asked the price, well, she had been inconvenienced. It cost more than the horse she had bought.

The plates at home were still perfectly usable.

She looked at the other finely shaped paperweights. Those did not need asking about either. She certainly could not afford them.

She would just obediently keep using the stones from home.

Xu Chengyue had come in high spirits and left in low. Her flag lowered and her drums stilled, she returned home.

.

Jian Hang went to the bookshop he usually frequented, only to find a portrait of Guan Yu hanging inside.

He was somewhat puzzled.

On closer inspection, he became even more confused: in a prominent place on the counter lay a stack of books.

On the cover of these books were four large characters: Divine Doctor, Poison Consort.

Jian Hang’s mouth twitched.

He pointed at the bold title on the book and asked, “Shopkeeper, what is this?”

The shopkeeper said nothing, clamped his mouth shut, and shook his head with an expression that said it could not be spoken of.

Jian Hang was even more speechless. Why had this shop suddenly become so mysterious and eerie?

After buying the books he wanted, he hurriedly fled.

.

Xu Chengyue wrote at leisure at home, waiting for the income to arrive.

Yet not many days passed before someone knocked on her door.

Xu Chengyue looked up in confusion. In her current home in Luoyang, she did not know many people, and only the Lü gentleman from the last bookshop knew her address.

She wondered uneasily whether it was not yet time to submit the manuscript.

Summer Lotus was quick on her feet and ran to open the door, asking as she went, “Who is it?”

When she opened it, she found a young woman she did not recognize.

The woman bowed to Xu Chengyue and said, “Madam Xu, our young master has an urgent matter and invites you to come to Mountain-Sea Bookshop.”

Mountain-Sea Bookshop was the name of that bookshop.

Xu Chengyue was somewhat perplexed. Why was she being asked to go now? She had not finished the second volume yet.

Still puzzled, she followed the maid to Mountain-Sea Bookshop.

Inside, Lü Hongzhuo had already been waiting for a long time. As soon as he saw her, he said anxiously, “Madam Xu, this book cannot be sold. The moment customers see the title, they shake their heads and leave.”

“I think the problem lies with the title. Perhaps it should be changed,” he suggested.

Xu Chengyue twitched the corner of her mouth, thinking of the distinctive titles of books from the Tang era, and asked, “What title do you want to change it to?”

Lü Hongzhuo considered it carefully, then said firmly, “Why not call it The Chronicle of Muqing?”

Seeing that Xu Chengyue did not speak, he went on, “Or perhaps The Chronicle of Lady Chu would do as well.”

The title itself was not a problem; it could even be said to be plain and unremarkable. But a novel’s original sin was precisely having an ordinary title like that, one that could not draw readers at all.

Xu Chengyue’s mind turned, and she came up with an excellent idea.