Trafalgar Square sits in the heart of London. Its central location and beautiful architecture make it one of the city's landmarks.
Mrs. Sharman entered the square with her daughter. Watching the massive crowd surging toward the National Gallery, she couldn't help but sigh.
She was a somewhat well-known author herself, and now she had actually impulsively come to attend the book signing of a twelve-year-old boy—was she crazy?
"Mom, can we hurry up? There are so many people."
"Alright, sweetheart."
Mrs. Sharman had to quicken her pace. Her seven-year-old daughter had always been very self-conscious—Harry Potter was her only source of comfort. She had to fulfill her daughter's wish no matter what.
"Mom, do you think we'll get to see Ryan?"
The little girl kept her head down, her face tinged with awkward gloom.
"Of course we will, dear Kate."
"Why could Ryan read fluently at four, and start writing children's sci-fi at six? I'm already seven, and I still can't read even the simplest articles. I can only listen to you or Dad read Harry Potter to me."
"It'll get better when you grow older," Mrs. Sharman said helplessly. She knew her daughter had dyslexia.
Kate lowered her head further, merely following her mother's steps toward the National Gallery. The gloom on her face deepened.
Why is it like this? She wanted to ask everyone.
She went to the same school Ryan had attended in London, even used the exact same textbooks. Why did she have a reading disorder? Why did all her classmates enjoy mocking her? Why did they all call her an awkward little girl?
Outside the historic bookstore near the National Gallery, a long line had already formed. Fortunately, this was the United Kingdom—London—known for its restraint and tradition. There were no cases of people camping out a day or several days in advance.
Mrs. Sharman and her daughter had arrived relatively early and soon found themselves in the front-middle of the queue, slowly moving forward with the crowd.
"Mom, I think there are reporters," the girl tugged her mother's sleeve.
"Sweetheart, Ryan is a big star. It's normal for reporters to show up."
"A big star? More famous than Dad?"
At her age, she couldn't really grasp what that meant and instinctively compared him to her father, a film director.
Mrs. Sharman smiled wryly. Her husband might be a veteran director with some recognition in Britain, but compared to that boy…
"Hi, ma'am. Is this your daughter? I'm a reporter from The Times. May I ask her a few questions?"
A female reporter approached them. Seeing that it was a legitimate journalist and not a paparazzo, Mrs. Sharman didn't stop her and gave a slight nod.
After all, letting her daughter interact with more people could help her personality.
Although a bit awkward, the girl was still quite clever. Tilting her head, she thought for a moment and said:
"Okay, ask away."
"Do you like the Harry Potter series?"
The reporter's question sounded a bit dumb, as if she thought the girl was mentally challenged.
"Of course! Every night before bed, I ask Daddy or Mommy to read me a chapter."
"Who's your favorite character?"
"Miss Know-it-All, Hermione Granger!" the girl replied confidently, though secretly wishing she could be as smart as Hermione.
"Do you like Ryan Jenkins?"
"Yes! My parents have read all his books to me. Want to know a secret? I go to the same school Ryan used to attend in London."
Her chin lifted without her even realizing it—as if her usual self-doubt had completely vanished.
The reporter then asked Mrs. Sharman a few questions before leaving, satisfied, to find her next interviewee.
Eventually, they entered the bookstore and found that most people ahead of them weren't just buying Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire—they were purchasing all of Ryan's books in bundles, carrying them over to the signing table.
> "Mom…" the girl tugged her mother's arm, her eyes filled with anticipation.
"Alright, sweetheart."
Mrs. Sharman quickly picked out the books—Jurassic Park, The Ryan Stories, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone… She hesitated briefly before picking up Resident Evil—it definitely wasn't a children's book.
But seeing the gleam in her daughter's eyes, and how even her usual gloom and self-doubt had disappeared, she smiled and picked up Resident Evil as well before heading to the checkout.
Sitting behind the signing table, Ryan waved his pen while signing, feeling a little emotional. Businessmen everywhere were the same—born to chase profit.
For this book signing, the publisher had launched a seven-book bundle discount, which definitely boosted total sales, but it also greatly increased his workload.
Still, if you want to earn more, you have to pay the price.
Just the advance he received for Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire was five million dollars. Although less than the ten million J.K. Rowling received when publishing the same book in his previous life, it was 1992, after all.
Besides, there was still a hefty 25% royalty cut in the future.
Since his previous life was also in the entertainment industry, Ryan had a decent understanding of book publishing. As for domestic publishers—forget it. At the time of his rebirth, it seemed no author in China had royalties exceeding 15%, while internationally, the standard was 15% to 20%.
Truthfully, Chinese authors were quite miserable. Just like in other industries, while taxes and expenses were aligning with developed countries, their incomes weren't seeing equivalent growth.
Looking at the towering stack of books in front of him, Ryan's mouth twitched. A middle-aged couple had just bought six complete sets—forty-two books total. According to them, they were giving one to each relative in their family.
"Thanks for the support!" Ryan said, giving his wrist a flick before sending them off.
"R-Ryan, hello…"
A shy girl's voice came from across the table. Ryan looked up, smiled, and reached out his hand.
"Hello, and thank you for your support."
"Ryan…"
The girl seemed timid, hesitating as she gently took his hand.
"No need to be nervous. Look at me—I've got one nose and two eyes, just like you. I'm not the monster the media makes me out to be."
Ryan smiled gently.
"Mom…"
The girl smiled too, her expression finally brightening.
Mrs. Sharman placed the seven books on the table. Ryan picked up the top one—Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire—turned to the title page, and wrote his flamboyant signature.
"Ryan… can…"
The girl looked nervous, maybe even a little insecure.
"Could you… write a message too?"
"Of course," Ryan gave her an encouraging look.
"Just write…" the girl scratched her red hair. "Hmm… Kate, may you overcome your reading difficulties soon and read fluently."
"Sure thing, lovely Miss Kate."
Without hesitation, Ryan wrote the message—with slight variations in grammar—on all six books.
On the final one, Jurassic Park, Ryan wrote while softly saying aloud:
"Kate, though life is always full of challenges, confidence and a cheerful smile will make you even more beautiful."
Then he added:
"You know, I went through even tougher things when I was little. But I never gave up or got discouraged. So keep working hard—you'll definitely overcome all your obstacles!"
"Thank you, Ryan!"
Hearing his words, the gloom on the girl's face faded. Her insecurity lessened, and her smile became more confident.
"Mom, I'll work hard—just like Ryan!"
Watching them walk away, Ryan shook his head. Suddenly, he thought that if he ever gave up being a star, maybe he could become a psychologist. Could this be Natalie's influence? She was always reading books on psychology in her free time.
Well, helping his fans overcome a little self-doubt felt pretty good. If he wanted to become a superstar, he needed to stand out. Otherwise, anyone in Hollywood could replace him.
Thinking this, Ryan got back to signing.
After four busy hours and successfully escaping the reporters and paparazzi, Ryan collapsed into the back seat of the car, heading back to the villa.
Leaning back, tongue out, he felt like a dead dog. He was exhausted. Even more so than during his album signings. He'd signed nearly four thousand books. The soreness in his wrist alone had him sighing in pain.
And then there were those instigating reporters constantly asking him if Harry Potter was considered British literature, or if his exceptional literary and artistic talent was thanks to receiving a British-style early education.
Ryan really wanted to give them the finger. Back when he was in school in London, he hardly ever listened in class—what British-style education?
Were they not afraid their questions would ignite a media war across the Atlantic?
Of course not. Those guys wanted something like that to happen. That's how you grab headlines and boost sales. If Britain and the U.S. launched missiles at each other, it would be their dream come true. If the world were destroyed, the happiest people would probably be the British paparazzi.
Ryan wasn't stupid—he wouldn't let himself be used like a pawn.
Back at the villa in Kensington, Ryan found that Natalie had already returned and was sitting in the living room reading a book. The contents looked a bit intense—something about film directing.
"I found this on your bookshelf," Natalie said casually. "Had nothing else to do, so I just picked it up."
"You're back so soon?" Ryan plopped down beside her.
"Took a walk along the Thames. London's just… okay. Nothing special."
Clearly, sightseeing didn't excite her much.
"Don't you think beautiful scenery cultivates artistic inspiration?" Ryan pouted deliberately.
"Oh, please, Ryan. Do you even know what art is? Oh right—art is for money and fame." Natalie didn't even look up from the book.
"Fine, I admit you're smarter than me. Happy?" Ryan couldn't be bothered to argue. He got up and headed upstairs.
"I'm going to read the script. We're heading to Poland in a few days."
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