Literary Master: Starting with Refusing to Be a Child Star

Chapter 88: Self-created publication, serializing "Those Things About the Ming Dynasty"

Luo Jinnian turned on her computer and created a new blank document.

The header read: "Inaugural Issue".

Then he leaned back in his chair and stared at the two words for a while. It wasn't that he didn't know what to write, but rather that he needed to figure out one thing—what kind of magazine he wanted to publish.

*New Insight Reading* focuses on thrillers and suspense, a genre that was indeed competitive in the print media era. However, its problems are also obvious: a narrow audience and a low ceiling for growth. Suspense enthusiasts are die-hard fans, but there are only so many die-hard fans; you can't expect a young girl who reads *Fireworks* to suddenly switch to reading horror stories. Moreover, the writing threshold for suspense short stories is high, and there are only a handful of authors who can consistently produce high-quality manuscripts. Early Spring Tea is one, but he can't write every issue himself—although he could certainly write them, it would be too tiring and unnecessary.

What he wanted to create wasn't another *New Insight Reading*. He wanted an upgraded version, a magazine that could retain longtime suspense readers while also attracting those who weren't usually into suspense. A comprehensive literary journal? Too difficult. The likes of *People's Literature* and *Harvest* were beyond his reach, and their tone was too upright, not matching the style of his pen name, "Early Spring Tea."

History + suspense + popular literature – this direction seems more feasible.

In fact, no matter how the various genres of literature developed in the past, the historical section has always been a protective barrier for serious literature.

A name popped into his mind: "Lecture Room of One Hundred Schools".

It's not the TV program, it's the name itself. The three characters "百家讲坛" (Lecture Room of One Hundred Schools) give people the feeling of being cultured but not pretentious, and that anyone can understand it.

This is exactly the kind of tone he wanted: unpretentious, not lowbrow, interesting, and informative. He could set up several regular columns in the magazine—the headline would be a long serialized story, starting with his current work, "Those Things About the Ming Dynasty"; the middle section would be short suspense stories, written by himself and also accepted from outside sources; the back would be historical and literary essays, book reviews, and reader letters; and finally, a humorous anecdote column would be added as dessert.

Luo Jinnian typed quickly, completing the basic framework of the launch plan in less than two hours. Around nine o'clock in the morning, he called Director Qin and said only one sentence: "Uncle Qin, I want to start a magazine." There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the line, then Director Qin asked, "Are you serious?" Luo Jinnian said, "Let's meet at the coffee shop near my house tomorrow."

What is the name of the publication?

He hesitated for a long time between "Lecture Room" and another alternative. He wrote down seven or eight names on a piece of paper, crossed them out, wrote them again, and crossed them out again. Finally, he wrote down a less fancy name: "Story Collection".

Let this name return to its original essence.

Domestic publication numbers (CN) aren't something money can buy; the approval process is incredibly complicated, involving a three-tiered structure of the supervising authority, the sponsoring authority, and the publishing unit, each requiring qualifications. Luo Jinnian is only thirteen years old; he's not even an adult, let alone a supervising authority. This path is blocked.

Then let's take another route.

Obtaining an International Standard Serial Number (ISSN) is much easier. It doesn't require approval from the State Press and Publication Administration of China. You only need to submit an application to the ISSN China National Center, providing basic information about the publication, publication plans, and the qualifications of the editorial team. Once approved, you receive the ISSN. With an ISSN, you can register a company in Hong Kong, publish under the name of a Hong Kong publishing institution, and then primarily target the mainland market. Although this route is roundabout, it's legal and compliant, and many privately-owned magazines operate this way.

Luo Jinnian dedicated a chapter to the issue of publication numbers in his proposal, writing it in great detail—the approval process and thresholds for domestic publication numbers, the application requirements and material list for ISSNs, the methods for obtaining Hong Kong publication numbers, and the feasibility of a dual-track issuance of "CN number + ISSN number". He didn't make it up out of thin air; he researched it in the middle of the night.

After reading that chapter, Director Qin looked up at him and asked a question that surprised him: "You kid, do you stay up all night researching these things?"

Luo Jinnian said, "I stayed up late while researching, it wasn't a deliberate decision." Director Qin stared at him for two seconds, then didn't ask any more questions. Across the conference table sat two people Director Qin had brought—one a veteran of the publishing industry, surnamed Meng, in his forties, who had worked at a magazine publishing house for over a decade, rising from editor to deputy editor-in-chief. Later, with the decline of print media and the magazine cutting several publication numbers, he went solo. The other was a distribution channel person, surnamed Yuan, who owned a small distribution company specializing in magazine distribution, with partnerships with newsstands and bookstores in major cities across the country.

Luo Jinnian distributed the launch plan for "Story Club," and Meng Zhaoming flipped through it first. "History + Suspense + Popular Literature?" Meng Zhaoming's expression was subtle.

"I will publish 'Those Things About the Ming Dynasty' as a supporting work, a complete first release, with each installment around 10,000 words, serialized until completion."

Meng Zhaoming flipped through the manuscript: "I've never seen this writing style before." After reading a chapter, he put down the manuscript. Luo Jinnian knew the value of this book series. Why was it so popular throughout the country in his previous life? It wasn't because of its solid historical materials, but because it made history interesting for ordinary people. It wasn't "Those Things of the Ming Dynasty," but "How would we behave if we lived in that era?"

Yuan Zhenjiang remained mostly silent throughout. Only after Meng Zhaoming put down his manuscript did he speak: "The overall market for print periodicals is declining. A large number of newsstands have closed down in recent years, and countless printing plants have gone out of business. Are you sure you can…?"

Luo Jinnian did not refute, "Uncle Yuan, the decline of print media is not what I'm looking at in terms of the overall market. I'm looking at specific niche sectors. The concept of paid knowledge services hasn't taken off yet, but it will eventually. People are willing to pay for valuable information, but there isn't a suitable medium for it yet. Let me be clear, we didn't expect to make money with 'Story Club'."

I thought that the term "paid knowledge" shouldn't be monopolized by Zhihu Salt Selection.

Yuan Zhenjiang leaned back in his chair. "Even if everything you say is right, how many copies do you plan to print for the first issue? Too many will result in stockpiling, too few will lead to a production gap. That's the most practical problem."

"The first batch will print 30,000 copies."

Yuan Zhenjiang remained silent: "Can you guarantee that the quality of the serialized 'Those Things of the Ming Dynasty' will always remain at this level?"

Luo Jinnian glanced at him. "I've finished writing this series of books."

Dangnian Mingyue wrote it for three years, but he didn't need to—his mind was filled with the finished product; he only needed to copy it. "Those Things of the Ming Dynasty" is a seven-volume work, spanning from Zhu Yuanzhang to Chongzhen, totaling just over 900,000 words, plus side stories, roughly a million words. Each issue of a magazine serialized 10,000 to 15,000 words, at most a year of serialization.

What about a year from now? He has so much to serialize in magazines, his mind is filled with the entire history of publishing from his previous life, and any one of his books could be a bestseller.

Yuan Zhenjiang didn't dwell on this issue for too long. He went through the entire proposal for the magazine's launch and asked a very practical question: "Where's the money?"

In his proposal, Luo Jinnian meticulously listed out the distribution costs, printing costs, royalties, and personnel expenses. Printing 30,000 copies would likely take up a significant portion of the cost, distribution channel fees would also be substantial, and royalties would be paid at a rate of 300 yuan per thousand words. While "Early Spring Tea" wouldn't have to pay for its own writings, every commissioned article would require a substantial financial outlay. The total investment for the first issue, from printing to distribution to content production, was estimated at between 600,000 and 700,000 yuan. Based on a circulation of 200,000 copies for the first three months, the total investment would be close to 2 million yuan.

Upon hearing the figure, Director Qin put down his teacup: "Early Spring Culture will cover this cost. It's a company project, not a personal investment." Luo Jinnian's shareholder structure in the proposal was clear—Early Spring Culture would contribute the majority of the investment, with Director Qin and Director Mo investing a smaller portion in their personal capacities, and profits distributed proportionally among the shareholders. "Storytelling is a strategic project for Early Spring Culture; content monetization is our main focus. We don't expect to make money directly, but rather earn brand premium," Director Qin stated simply and directly. Meng Zhaoming and Yuan Zhenjiang exchanged a glance—before arriving, they only knew there was a project involving "Early Spring Culture" to discuss; upon arrival, they discovered that the company's actual controller was a thirteen-year-old child.

"I have one condition." Luo Jinnian placed a piece of paper on the table, outlining a compensation and equity plan for his core team. "Uncle Meng, you'll be the executive editor of *Story Club*. You've been in this industry for fifteen years, with resources, connections, and experience all at your disposal. I need someone who understands both content and publishing to manage the day-to-day operations. In addition to your salary, I'll give you three percent of the equity."

Meng Zhaoming didn't take the paper. "Aren't you afraid I'll remake this magazine into something completely different?"

"I'm afraid," Luo Jinnian said. "That's why I want to participate in the topic selection meeting. I'll decide the main topic for each issue, no questions asked."

Meng Zhaoming picked up the paper and glanced at it, then looked at Director Qin, who nodded slightly at him. "I don't want the equity. I'll take my salary plus project revenue sharing." Meng Zhaoming pushed the paper back. "I've been in this industry for fifteen years, and I've never seen anything like this. I can't sleep if you give me equity. Project revenue sharing is calculated as a percentage of each period's net profit; I can take that."

"Then let's do it your way. Eight percent of the net profit each period, the profit-sharing method, will be written into the contract."

What else is missing from the first episode besides "Those Things About the Ming Dynasty"?

Meng Zhaoming could handle the other sections on the spot. "One suspenseful short story per issue of 'Early Spring Tea.' For the first issue, we can choose one from a collection that has already been published and include it. We can write new ones later." Luo Jinnian thought for a moment, "For the first issue, we'll put my 'Grandma,' a reprint of an old work." Meng Zhaoming noted it down and casually asked if he could find someone to write historical essays and book reviews, and humorous anecdotes would be easy for him too. "Let's add another section—letters from readers. It'll be called 'Letters from the Storytelling Club.' We'll select a few interesting letters from readers to publish each issue. A magazine with interaction is more engaging."

The core issues were thus settled.

After nightfall, Luo Jinnian returned to the hotel alone and went through the entire document of "Those Things About the Ming Dynasty" from beginning to end. The first chapter was to start with Zhu Yuanzhang's background and write about his time as a monk at Huangjue Temple. "Born into poverty, he entered the temple as a young man and wandered for three years," Dangnian Mingyue used less than five hundred words to clearly explain Zhu Yuanzhang's childhood, but the tone of "this man has a tough life" had already been established.

Mingyue of yesteryear, Tianya Forum was a dead end, and so was print publication. You understood that writing was indeed a dead end, but why did you choose an even more radical path?