Chapter 40: The Latecomer Surpasses the Predecessors

“What? Ten thousand yuan per thousand words!”
Upon hearing the final price offered by Hu Fangyong, Hou Jie practically jumped three feet high.
She could hardly believe it, yet the reactions of everyone present made her accept the truth.
At that moment, Hou Jie’s furious gaze kept darting toward the business editor—one hundred times over!
A hundredfold difference!
Now she understood why Changhong Publishing never managed to sign good books.
It was because of these fools who grossly underestimated the value!
The business editor was just as dumbfounded—ten thousand per thousand words…
Ten thousand per thousand words!
He was completely lost. Who am I? Where am I? Why am I sitting here?
“Ten thousand yuan per thousand words, calculated for two million words, that’s twenty million!”
Even Lai Yibai couldn’t help but exclaim.
Writing a novel could earn twenty million?
Is it still possible for me to learn how to write novels now?
“Wow, ten thousand per thousand words, Hu Fangyong, are you out of your mind?”
Even Dong Ling couldn’t help but express her astonishment. “I know you’re optimistic about Writer Liao, but there’s never been such a price for a newcomer’s work. You’re disrupting the market rules.”
Hu Fangyong remained calm. “I recognize the potential of this book—I believe it’s worth this price. Of course, ten thousand per thousand words comes with its demands: all publishing rights, including overseas, must be handed over for our exclusive use.”
“Is it only for the literary rights?” Liao Yuan asked.
“Yes.”
Hu Fangyong smiled. “As for game, animation, or film rights, those are still yours to decide. After all, we’re just a publisher—we’re not greedy.”
Liao Yuan gave a brief “oh” and fell into thought.
In his view, ten thousand per thousand words wasn’t much; compared to the earnings of top authors, it was absolutely modest.
But the problem was, Liao Yuan wasn’t a popular writer.
This price existed solely because Hu Fangyong valued him so highly.
“I have a suggestion,” Dong Ling mused. “I haven’t read ‘Ghost Blowing Lantern,’ so I don’t dare take too big a risk. Ten thousand per thousand words is certainly tempting, and while I do have the authority to set prices, I must be responsible not only to the writer but also to my company. I believe Writer Liao is confident in his work, so I have another proposal—would you like to hear it?”

“Please, go ahead,” Liao Yuan replied.
Dong Ling continued, “Would you consider signing with Tang Dynasty Publishing under a royalty rate model?”
A royalty rate, simply put, means a percentage split.
The writer receives a certain percentage of the revenue generated by users of the work, calculated as copyright usage fees.
Royalty rates can vary due to the author’s reputation, the type and quality of the work, the scope of authorization, and the method of copyright calculation. They are usually determined through negotiation when signing authorization contracts.
For newcomers, the royalty rate is generally between 7% and 10%, referring to writers with no reputation at all.
For those with some recognition, it’s 15%; for popular authors, it’s over 20%; and top-tier writers may secure 30% or more. For example, Nobel Prize winner Chang Wu has a royalty rate of 33.3%, making him the foremost world-class writer in the nation, and the highest-valued.
The highest record for a newcomer’s royalty rate has only been 15%.
But clearly, compared to ten thousand per thousand words, 15% is less tempting.
Dong Ling didn’t immediately name a rate. She carefully took out her tablet and began searching for media news and reader reviews of “Ghost Blowing Lantern.”
She had her own method—years of professional experience taught her to observe the details.
Within ten minutes, she spoke with determination. “Writer Liao, 25%—that’s the royalty rate I offer you!”
Twenty-five percent, even among popular authors, is a strong split.
Dong Ling’s eyes sparkled; after carefully searching for reviews of “Ghost Blowing Lantern,” she found herself unexpectedly filled with confidence in the work.
A book with a 99% positive rating—is that frightening?
Yes, very frightening!
Major reading platforms gave it scores above 9.4.
Although it can’t match Chang Wu’s 9.7, it absolutely rivals first-tier popular writers.
Dong Ling had almost blurted out ten thousand per thousand words, but she managed to restrain her emotions.
Now, as she looked at Liao Yuan, her eyes shone; her tongue occasionally moistened her lips, her expression hungry as if she had spotted her prey.
Hu Fangyong’s heart trembled at the sight.
He knew that look too well—it meant Dong Ling was about to pounce.
He hurriedly said to Liao Yuan, “Writer Liao, I think 25% is not enough—at least 30% is needed to match my ten thousand per thousand words!”
He added, “Most importantly, once we sign, I’ll immediately pay you the manuscript fees for the first few volumes!”
“Hu Fangyong, provocation won’t work on me. Twenty-five percent is the carefully considered rate I offer. Any more, and it’s beyond what I can afford.”

Dong Ling took a slender woman’s cigarette from her pocket, gently lit it, and, surrounded by smoke, laughed freely. “I dare to offer 25%. Do you dare?”
“I…”
Hu Fangyong was stunned.
He understood the potential of “Ghost Blowing Lantern,” but was calculating based on his own market experience.
Without concrete results, he couldn’t risk offering a 25% royalty.
He would give at most 20%; any higher, and it wouldn’t be a guaranteed profit.
Dong Ling not only had rich market experience; she clearly knew her old rival too well, precisely offering 25%—within her limits, and enough to suppress Hu Fangyong’s desires.
Liao Yuan was obviously weighing his options.
Three days ago, before signing those two contracts worth nearly three million combined, he would have chosen ten thousand per thousand words without hesitation.
Then, he could take the money and joyfully buy a Steinway.
But now, he already owned the Steinway, his longing mostly satisfied.
Thinking carefully, he preferred a steady, continuous income.
With a 25% royalty, every print and sale by the publisher would bring Liao Yuan a share.
If he agreed to a buyout of ten thousand per thousand words, any future income from publication would no longer concern him.
Is “Ghost Blowing Lantern” worth twenty million?
The answer was certainly yes.
In the end, Liao Yuan chose to sign with Dong Ling, who arrived late but surpassed the others.
Throughout, Hou Jie, editor-in-chief of Changhong Publishing, dared not speak. Whether it was ten thousand per thousand words or a 25% royalty rate, both far exceeded his imagination and tolerance!
As the outcome was revealed, Hu Fangyong felt his nose sting and tears threaten.
He rubbed his eyes, glared resentfully at the suspense writer Pi Jianzhou, then left with his assistant.
Pi Jianzhou was utterly confused. He didn’t even have time to ask them to stay, and could only watch as people left the room one by one. No one greeted him; it seemed everyone wanted to avoid entanglement with the host who paid for the room.
At last, he looked at the editor Hou Jie who remained, and awkwardly said, “Editor Hou, are we still signing? I don’t ask much—forget ten thousand per thousand words, just give me a discount, say a thousand per thousand?”