Chapter 11: An Adult Fairy Tale Arrives at the Editorial Department

Children's Literature Editorial Department.

"It's so cold!"

Xu Dexia walked into the editorial office carrying a large bundle of manuscripts she had just retrieved from the guardroom. As she felt the waves of warmth radiating from the radiator, she let out a long sigh of relief.

Her numb, frozen hands placed the heavy pile onto her desk.

"Let's see what good stories I can uncover today."

Xu Dexia adjusted her glasses without haste, then picked up her teacup to warm her palms. Only then did her stiff, cold hands begin to thaw.

She had joined the Children's Literature Editorial Department as an intern back in 1976. At that time, she hadn't yet graduated from her studies in the Chinese Department at Hebei University.

Back then, the magazine was preparing for its relaunch. There were only three people in the department, and conditions were extremely difficult. Later, more staff were added, though at most, only twelve people were running the publication.

After graduating last year, she officially joined the staff, responsible for the selection and editing of fiction. Now, the department had grown to twenty-four members.

Since last October, following the National Conference on Children's and Youth Literature Publishing—often referred to as the "Lushan Conference" of the children's literary world—writing and publishing for children across the country had become increasingly vibrant. Almost every day, Xu Dexia would bring back a large bag of manuscripts from the post office; submissions were particularly enthusiastic.

As of last month, the circulation of *Children's Literature* had reached 380,000. According to the projections of the venerable Mr. Ye Shengtao, the circulation was expected to surpass 500,000 within the next two years.

While it still lagged behind Shanghai’s *Youth Literature* and the neighboring *Children's Times*, it was already a very impressive figure.

Xu Dexia randomly pulled a letter from the pile. A quick weigh in her hand was enough for her to make a fairly accurate guess.

It was a medium-length story.

Efficient as always, Xu Dexia began reading immediately.

"'Submarine at Night'? Is this a story about undersea adventure?"

Xu Dexia grew interested. These days, adventure stories were very popular in children's literature. Just a few months ago, she had approved a manuscript titled *Heihei on Honesty Island*. Once published, it triggered a flood of letters from young readers, many of whom seemed eager to embark on their own adventures.

She scanned the first paragraph. It told of a writer named Borges who threw a coin into the sea while reciting a poem. A merchant, obsessed with this writer, went so far as to spend a fortune on a submarine to retrieve the coin from the seabed.

Then, the story described the submarine getting stuck in a coral reef during the salvage attempt, only to be rescued by a torpedo fired from another submarine. The mysterious vessel then vanished into thin air. At that point, the protagonist finally appeared, continuing the narrative in the form of a memoir.

Xu Dexia felt a sense of intrigue, though she could tell that the character mentioned later, Chen Tou-nan, was the true protagonist.

*But isn't this just a very ordinary story? Why write so much filler at the beginning?*

Still, fearing she might miss a gem, she continued reading.

She read about how the protagonist began to indulge in fantasies from a young age: imagining himself sleeping in the clouds, feeling muscle aches from climbing mountains within landscape paintings, or smelling the scent of Monet’s water lilies...

Then she reached the part where the protagonist imagined his two-story house was a submarine, the desk lamp was the helm, the tabletop was the control console, and the window glass was a porthole...

"Interesting... clearly a story about imagination."

Because his grades plummeted due to his fantasies, after a conversation with his parents, he finally decided to change and seek validation from the real world.

"'Academics, employment, marriage—these concepts had always floated outside my universe. From that moment on, they began to fall before me one by one, like scorching meteorites...'"

"'I concentrated all my imagination into my brain. They were pale blue sparks, scattered around me like the tail-lights of fireflies... They gathered into a large mass of pale blue light, rising from my head and gradually detaching from me... This was my countermeasure: I imagined my imagination detaching from me, and so, it truly did.'"

When Xu Dexia read this, a shiver ran down her scalp. Imagining one's own imagination detaching from oneself?

After finishing the piece, Xu Dexia savored the lingering feeling in her heart. A good article always possessed that magical quality of being inexhaustible.

"It's written quite well," Xu Dexia remarked. "The structure is rigorous and tight, with the beginning and end echoing each other... What’s most commendable is that, for children's literature, it possesses such depth and literary quality! Although the writing style is a bit youthful, the tone is fresh, and the prose is natural and elegant."

She stood up and walked over to the editor-in-chief.

Hu Haishan, the editor-in-chief, looked up. "What is it, Comrade Xu?"

"Editor-in-Chief Hu, please take a look at this article. I think it's quite good and has great potential."

Hu Haishan raised an eyebrow. Although Xu Dexia hadn't been working for long, her capabilities were exceptional, and she was a children's author in her own right. Few novels received such high praise from her.

"Is that so? Let me see."

Hu Haishan took the manuscript. Ten minutes passed in silence.

"Editor-in-Chief?"

"I've finished. It's written very well. It’s a work of pure literature that fits our magazine perfectly."

"It's an adult fairy tale. Younger readers will find it an interesting read, but adults will also find profound insights after finishing it."

"It is not just a story about the intertwining of fantasy and reality, but a profound metaphor for individual growth, social adaptation, and the atrophy of imagination and creativity. Through Chen Tou-nan's inner world, the novel reveals the transition from a fantasy-filled youth to becoming just another face in the crowd, exposing the price one might have to pay to adapt to social rules," Hu Haishan mused.

Xu Dexia was slightly surprised, but upon closer reflection, she realized he was right.

Adult fairy tales often contained more complex themes, mature emotional expressions, and deeper intellectual inquiry, sometimes touching upon political, social, or philosophical reflections.

"This novel is full of memorable lines. Which part did you like best? I quite like this section:"

"'I once possessed talent, but it was too overwhelming; I couldn't use it to achieve any career in reality. Once you possess it, reality becomes trivial—there is no joy greater than those fantasies. My flame went out at sixteen, and the so-called career I achieved for the rest of my life was nothing but the wisps of smoke that rose after the fire died.'"

"It’s brilliant, almost wild. It immediately paints a picture in one's mind of a thin, melancholic man leaning against a seaside railing, smoking a cigarette."

Hu Haishan stubbed out his cigarette, his eyes lighting up as he recited the passage from the manuscript. As an editor-in-chief, he naturally loved literature, especially stories with such profound depth.

Xu Dexia smiled, in full agreement. "How about we publish it in the next issue?"

"Yes. This Cheng Kaiyan seems to be a newcomer; I haven't seen this pen name before. You’re his editor—what do you think would be an appropriate payment?"

"Five yuan per thousand words. He has great potential; he’s worth cultivating," Xu Dexia suggested after a moment's thought.

The remuneration system had gone through many ups and downs. Less than three months after the trial payment measures of July 1958, the Ministry of Culture issued a notice to lower standards, arguing that high pay led to the "specialization" of some individuals' lives, distancing them from the working masses. They hoped local publications and publishers would cut rates by half.

In 1977, the State Publication Bureau issued a "Notice on Trial Measures for News and Publishing Remuneration and Subsidies," establishing a system of low, one-time payments—two to seven yuan per thousand words for original works, and one to five yuan for translations.

Now, word was that a new standard was being drafted for the upcoming 1980, which would appropriately raise the base pay to three to ten yuan per thousand words for original works and two to seven yuan for translations, while also restoring royalties based on print volume.

At this moment, five yuan per thousand words was the rate for veteran authors, which sufficiently demonstrated the importance the *Children's Literature* department placed on Cheng Kaiyan.

"Very well then."