The story of "The Heavenly Emperor" is both simple and strange.
An old man, whose origins and name were unknown, appeared in a technologically advanced future society, wandering around in tattered clothes.
People offered him food, but he refused to eat; people offered him clothes, but he refused them too. Finally, he came to the outside of an abandoned factory and found that there were still people inside, so he stopped to watch. The people in the factory were plotting an uprising. The old man stood there for a long time, and because his clothes were tattered, the insurgents mistook him for one of their own.
Finally, the insurgents stormed the building symbolizing absolute power, but due to the overwhelming disparity in strength, they were all wiped out. The old man watched from the sidelines, doing nothing. When the people inside the building dragged out the insurgents' bodies for disposal, they saw the old man and assumed he was also one of the insurgents. Just as they were about to deal with the old man, he suddenly vanished.
This novel exudes a sense of nihilism and coldness. If Shao Guangji hadn't adapted it, making its core message clearer, Shang Yechu really wouldn't have understood what Ai Xiaodong was trying to express.
On the journey to Xiatan, Shang Yechu thought about many things.
In addition to his assistant and bodyguards, Shang Yechu also brought two capable assistants with him on this trip. These were not members of the team assigned by Ji Juntao, but copyright agents and project planners that Shang Yechu had personally recruited at great expense.
Shang Yechu wanted to acquire the copyrights to Ai Xiaodong's works under her own name, rather than Qingping Entertainment. Of course, this would cost a huge sum of money, and Shang Yechu's recent film and endorsement fees would likely have to be distributed to others. She was somewhat relieved that science fiction scripts weren't worth much now; if they were kept for a few years, even if she sold them off, she would hardly be able to afford them.
Although the cooperation period with Qingping Entertainment is still more than ten years, the mountains may crumble and the people may leave.
Xiatan, located by the sea, is surprisingly cooler than Hengshi despite being in the south. Shang Yechu finally managed to contact Ai Xiaodong after much searching and deliberation—he was staying at a resort without an assistant, which explained why he couldn't be reached.
The ancients famously visited Zhuge Liang's thatched cottage three times; now, Shang Yechu would also make three visits to the fishing village. As luck would have it, he failed to catch Ai Xiaodong the first two times. Only on his last visit did he finally find him.
Upon entering the room, a strange smell wafted over. After recognizing who opened the door, Shang Yechu was slightly startled.
Ai Xiaodong was tall and plain-looking, easily lost in a crowd. If Shang Yechu hadn't memorized his photo, she wouldn't have recognized him at first glance. But looking down, his feet—his feet!—were truly unforgettable.
Ai Xiaodong was wearing wooden-soled sandals, and his bare feet were covered with layers of scaly skin, like fungi growing on wood after rain. In some places, the skin had cracked, oozing streams of yellow pus. Mixed with the white ointment applied to his feet, it easily evoked unpleasant associations.
That strange smell came from here; the smell of ointment, rot, and a slightly sour stench mixed together, creating a uniquely intoxicating aroma on the still warm autumn day.
Ai Xiaodong was actually a big man with athlete's foot!
Seeing is believing; none of the information Shang Yechu collected mentioned this point.
Fortunately, the copyright agents and planners they hired at great expense were professionals. Despite the strong, coffin-like odor emanating from Ai Xiaodong's feet, neither of them showed the slightest sign of discomfort. Shang Yechu sighed inwardly, realizing that some expenses still needed to be paid.
Ai Xiaodong lazily invited Shang Yechu and the other two into the room. He was leaning on a cane. At first, Shang Yechu thought that his athlete's foot had become so severe that it was affecting his walking; but after walking a few steps, she realized that he could move freely, but every few steps he would scratch his athlete's foot with the bottom of the cane.
Grayish-white dead skin and flakes of skin fell off with each movement, making Shang Yechu's scalp tingle. Of course, her professionalism allowed her to maintain a formulaic smile, as if Ai Xiaodong wasn't shedding skin with every step, but rather walking on lotus blossoms.
Ai Xiaodong's room was fairly tidy, presumably because the resort had staff to clean it. He opened the refrigerator, took out four cans of chilled cola, and poured one can in front of himself and the three guests, which was his way of entertaining them.
Shang Yechu noticed that Ai Xiaodong's hands, which were holding the cola, also had faint tinea-like marks, and couldn't help but groan inwardly.
The copyright brokers and planners also noticed the suspicious activity in Ai Xiaodong's hands, and subtly withdrew their hands from the cola. Goodness, who knows if this stuff is contagious?
Perhaps sensing their unease, Ai Xiaodong thoughtfully pointed to the cardboard box on the table: "There are alcohol wipes there."
The agent and the planner exchanged a glance, their faces showing embarrassment.
Ai Xiaodong's athlete's foot seemed to have been a chronic condition; his coyness in front of him only made him look down on him. Thinking this, Shang Yechu pulled out an alcohol wipe and used it to clean the mouth and body of a cola can.
The boss set an example, and the agents and planners breathed a sigh of relief and followed suit.
Ai Xiaodong nodded, opened his Coke, and took a satisfying sip. Then he got straight to the point: "You want to buy my book?"
“Yes.” Shang Yechu was about to follow industry custom and praise Ai Xiaodong’s work when the latter raised his hand to stop her: “Which one? How much?”
The agent quickly handed over a letter of intent to purchase the copyright, carefully avoiding touching Ai Xiaodong's fingers.
Ai Xiaodong took the letter of intent and flipped through a few pages. His lazy expression softened slightly, revealing a hint of surprise: "You want to buy so much?"
The letter of intent included two appendices: one was a list of short stories, containing fifteen short stories by Ai Xiaodong himself; the other was Ai Xiaodong's novel, "129,600".
These short stories weren't Ai Xiaodong's masterpieces, but rather some obscure works, some of which he himself couldn't even remember. Ai Xiaodong stroked the names on the paper, muttering, "'New World'? Did I write that?"
“Of course you wrote it,” Shang Yechu said. “Science Fiction Era, Issue 5, 2013.”
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