After listening to the man's report.

The third young lady's sketchbooks are selling quite well.

Uncle Fu looked serious and said to the two of them, "Mr. Qingyun's picture book is of very good quality. Mr. Qingyun is still angry. I want to resolve this issue with him as soon as possible. Let's do as you say. One hundred and fifty coins per thousand words."

It hurts a little.

Sui and Shui looked pleasantly surprised.

Uncle Fu looked troubled: "Alas, this is already the highest price for a writer in the world of vernacular novels. Moreover, the two gentlemen are writing in their studies and can earn fifty coins a day. To be fair, this is a bit unfair to Brother Chen."

After years of operation, Rainforest Bookstore has meticulously calculated the costs of every step, and it can already achieve a considerable profit of 100 articles per thousand words.

If each top writer is paid 150 coins per thousand words, plus a guaranteed minimum wage, the bookstore's profit is very meager.

Before long, the group arrived at Qingyunlou's home.

Qingyunlou sat by the window, writing something.

Uncle Fu carried several kilograms of bamboo leaf wine and several kilograms of fruits and vegetables, speaking in a gentle tone.

"Mr. Qingyun, after careful consideration, how about... the price of 150 coins as you previously stated? Is that feasible?"

Qingyunlou showed no sign of getting up.

Holding the calligraphy brush, he remained silent.

Shuiyuejian laughed and said, "Alright, Brother Qingyun, the shopkeeper's sincerity is enough. He promised us that as long as you can update on time, we can all get a price of 150 coins."

Qingyunlou snorted coldly and grabbed a piece of paper.

Show it to them.

Uncle Fu frowned—

The paper clearly stated that the number of copies of the Third Miss's Storybooks sold was thirty-seven.

Qingyunlou spoke calmly.

"Alright, no need to say any more. I know the quality of my storybooks. In the entire Daxing Town, no one can surpass me in writing storybooks. Does that so-called Mr. Liaozhai even deserve to carry my shoes?"

Shuiyunjian and Suifengsan exchanged a glance.

His expression was strange.

Uncle Fu's expression gradually became serious.

He figured it out.

Qingyunlou no longer intends to continue writing storybooks properly.

Looking at his exquisite house, one sees countless maids and servants.

The table is laden with delicious food, wine, and delicacies.

I'm afraid... I don't have much energy left for creating.

Right now, all I can think about is the status and fame of those in the storytelling circle.

Over the years, Uncle Fu has met many writers of vernacular stories.

There was a genius writer who became a literary icon after earning a considerable income, but then decisively stopped writing.

Some diligent authors, who have accumulated a wealth of knowledge and experience, remain active at the forefront of the field.

Some authors, after accumulating knowledge and experience and gaining fame, become complacent and lazy, gradually fading into obscurity.

An author with average talent and writing skills, who updates in a laid-back manner to make a living.

Qingyunlou is gradually approaching the third batch of authors.

Unsurprisingly, this person has been corrupted by a life of luxury and will likely find it difficult to create anything meaningful.

Uncle Fu said calmly, "Since Mr. Qingyun is currently without inspiration, I shall take my leave."

What a pity.

Qingyunlou said in a deep voice, "Manager, take the wine and fruits back."

Sui and Shui both sighed.

"Why bother, Brother Qingyun? Isn't it nice to be writing stories in your study? Oh well..."

The two didn't try to persuade them any further and got up to leave.

Uncle Fu left with the drinks.

Qingyunlou felt a secret sense of satisfaction upon seeing the Third Miss's sales figures.

It seems that we can't feed these young readers too much.

Writing less or even none at all did not lead to a decline in sales.

It seems that my writing skills have reached their peak.

He didn't take the controversial storybook to heart at all.

In his opinion, selling ten or so copies would be quite good.

Otherwise, Uncle Fu would never have come to invite him.

Qingyunlou scoffed, "Merchants are indeed driven by profit."

A treacherous person who changes course with the wind.

He ignored the strange expressions on Sui and Shui's faces earlier.

...

The sales figures for the storybooks published by Rainforest Bookstore have been calculated by some observant individuals.

It has already been calculated.

Manager Feng and Manager Han anxiously glanced towards the door every now and then.

The guy quickly ran back.

Out of breath: "Shopkeeper, the books sold yesterday have already been announced by the bookstore."

Manager Feng suddenly stood up: "How much?"

"Coroners, 33 books; students, 42 books; the third young lady, 37 books; the beautiful girl, 95 books."

Shopkeeper Han chuckled lightly, "Old Feng, you're too nervous. It's just nine... what?!"

The voice suddenly rose in volume.

He slapped the teacup on the table, and it bounced twice.

Tea spilled on the table.

Manager Feng was so jealous that his eyes turned red.

"Uncle Fu has found a treasure trove! At first, I didn't care about the sales of these popular folk tales at all. They're not respectable, and our two families' bookstores don't mainly deal in them. But if... the sales of these folk tales can reach an astonishing ninety copies a day, that's terrifying..."

The waiter continued, "I heard that Mr. Qingyun asked Uncle Fu to raise his writing fees, but they couldn't reach an agreement, and Mr. Qingyun went home to rest."

Feng and Han exchanged a smile, as if they had thought of something.

Alright, if we can't find a ten-pound silver carp like the one in "Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio," then digging up a seven- or eight-pound grass carp like the one in "Qingyun Tower" is just fine too.

Manager Feng smiled gently.

"Old Han, I have other matters to attend to. It seems I underestimated the audience for storytelling. I need to go back and instruct my subordinates to search for good manuscripts in the city."

Manager Han smiled calmly.

“Alright, I’ll follow Uncle Fu’s example and recruit a group of down-on-their-luck scholars who specialize in writing vernacular stories. The town has no shortage of these kinds of scholars who have failed the imperial examinations and have no hope of passing.”

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