Chapter 107: Recruitment

The prank designed by Li Dong was spot-on and received Zhang Tan’s approval. However, the outcome was somewhat skewed.

“I knew the trope where girls get scared and leap into a guy’s arms only happens in movies!” Li Dong complained bitterly after turning off the power.

There was no other reason.

Gao Jie and Zhu Dandan weren’t frightened at all; on the contrary, they were completely engrossed in the horror movie.

The one who got scared was the towering Cao Yuchuan. His piercing scream could shatter eardrums. It was hard to imagine such a tall man, nearly six feet tall, shrieking like a child frightened by a horror film. Even after the power was restored, he dared not watch the movie. He was utterly terrified.

Naturally, Li Dong’s grand plan was dashed.

In short, that night was destined to be unforgettable.

The next day, Zhang Tan gave Gao Jie a large cake with the words “Happy 17th Birthday, Gao Jie” written on it. Gao Jie had turned seventeen, a year older than Zhang Tan. In fact, Zhang Tan was unusual for starting school at seven, as many rural children usually began at eight or nine.

She made a wish and blew out the candles.

The youthful days of senior high school ended with Gao Jie’s birthday wish.

“Remember to attend summer classes,” Zhu Dandan reminded Zhang Tan before parting.

As they bid farewell, Gao Jie and Zhu Dandan didn’t forget to urge Zhang Tan to study hard and aim for admission to the advanced liberal arts class.

Their view of the world was still confined to judging people by academic performance. They were unaware, or simply didn’t know, how successful Zhang Tan’s writing had become; his novels had earned him the prestigious title of “Top Martial Arts Writer of the Big Six” in magazines.

In fact, in this era when mobile phones were rare and computers even rarer, with information channels extremely limited, students learned about the outside world mainly through radio news. Zhang Tan purposely kept a low profile, not publicizing that he had published several books. Everyone still believed he had only released one, “The Four Great Constables Shake the East,” in traditional Chinese script.

They were even more clueless about how much money Zhang Tan earned from writing. Although it seemed substantial, the concept of “a lot” was completely foreign to them.

This was the limitation of their perspective; having never experienced society, they simply didn’t know where money came from.

Zhang Tan watched as Gao Jie, Zhu Dandan, and Cao Yuchuan boarded the minibus and departed.

Turning around, he lightly kicked Li Dong. “Aren’t you going back?”

“I’ll go back tonight,” Li Dong replied.

“Then what are you doing now?”

“You?”

“I’m writing.”

“Take a break; let’s go shoot some pool.”

“I really need to write.”

“Why not go home to write?”

“I’ll go back in a few days. No one’s home; my parents are both working outside,” Zhang Tan said truthfully. His parents managed the internet café in Dayang Town, which was especially crowded during summer vacation and required constant supervision.

Li Dong found no one to hang out with and said, “Alright then, I’m heading home.”

After Li Dong left, Zhang Tan tidied up the room.

He sat back before his laptop, typing away. He planned to stay here a few more days—not just because no one was home, but because nobody was here either. He remained to conduct assistant interviews, having advertised on the “Ancient and Modern Legends: Martial Arts Edition,” which attracted many applicants.

After phone interviews, he arranged to meet several promising candidates from Anhui in He Fei over the next few days. Zhang Tan’s father, Zhang Quanshun, would also come to assist with the interviews. Accompanying Zhang Quanshun was a distant relative of Tan Mingxia named Tan Yingzhong.

Zhang Tan had to address Tan Yingzhong as “Uncle.” Tan Yingzhong studied law and worked at a law firm.

This recruitment was related to Zhang Tan entrusting the publication of his novels to an assistant. Since copyrights were vital, Zhang Quanshun and Tan Mingxia were wary and contacted Tan Yingzhong to supervise the contracts between Zhang Tan and the assistant to prevent any deception. It was also convenient for Zhang Tan to have someone knowledgeable in law to help spot any loopholes.

...

The recruitment process unfolded over the following week.

He met two or three candidates daily, compared them, and ultimately chose a woman named Li Yan as his assistant.

Li Yan, 35 years old, graduated from Anhui Normal University and currently worked in the editorial department of Anhui Literature and Art Publishing House. She had five years of experience in publishing and had handled many literary works. She didn’t apply for full-time assistantship but rather part-time, as she hadn’t planned to resign from her current job.

Zhang Tan didn’t mind whether she was full-time or part-time; his publishing workload was still light, with few works and no adaptations underway. Hiring a part-time assistant was sufficient for now. In fact, it was more accurate to say he hired an agent rather than a typical assistant.

Zhang Tan delegated publishing affairs to Li Yan, who acted as an administrative assistant akin to a manager, not a personal aide.

Since it was part-time, no basic salary was paid; compensation was commission-based.

...

After discussion, they agreed on a three percent commission for Li Yan, meaning three percent of Zhang Tan’s royalty income would be given to her as payment. This rate, calculated based on typical publishing royalties, was not high—in fact, somewhat low—but left room for negotiation: the more royalties earned, the higher her commission.

If Li Yan performed well and secured greater royalty shares for Zhang Tan, her own earnings would increase significantly. Additional bonuses would be granted if royalties rose to Zhang Tan’s satisfaction.

In short, both parties were pleased upon signing the contract.

“Li Jie, I look forward to working with you,” Zhang Tan said, putting away the contract and shaking her hand.

Li Yan smiled, “I should be the one thanking you, Zhang Tan.”

At this moment, Zhang Quanshun added, “Li Yan, I entrust my son’s publications to you from now on.”

“Don’t worry, Brother Zhang. Before applying, I had already read Zhang Tan’s novels. His work is of very high quality, and he’s still young with unlimited potential. I will do my utmost to maximize the benefits from his works.”

Zhang Quanshun politely replied, “Thank you, thank you.”

With the contract signed, Li Yan’s first task came swiftly: Zhang Tan entrusted her with negotiating the publication of “The Legend of the Condor Heroes” with major publishers. Previously, many publishers and book dealers had approached Zhang Tan to buy the rights, but he hadn’t agreed, preferring a professional to handle negotiations.

Only a professional could navigate the convoluted paths of publishing, uncovering maximum profits and avoiding copyright pitfalls.

Stretching, Zhang Tan felt relieved.

No longer worrying about publishing affairs, he could focus more on writing. “Now that the commercial nitty-gritty is handled by a specialist, I can dedicate myself to art. Personally haggling over contracts like bargaining for cabbages is too vulgar and beneath me—it kills my style!”

Elevating his style remained Zhang Tan’s unwavering goal.

Before his rebirth, he was an ordinary man; after rebirth, he refused to repeat that path. At least, he wanted to package himself with an artistic flair. In this world, everyone was constantly raising their style points—some with genuine skill, others without. If Zhang Tan didn’t keep pace, how could he live gracefully and comfortably?

Life should be joyful.

For Zhang Tan, joy meant enhancing his style and enriching life’s pleasures—an endeavor full of meaning.