Yang Zhen lifted his coffee cup and took a slow sip. The caffeine stirred his brain just enough to jolt him into a mild state of alertness.
After quickly estimating the revenue from the audiobook rights, he frowned slightly and said, "Mr. Fang, even so, 1.8 million is still too steep a price. How about this—I'll make the call and raise the offer to 150 yuan per thousand characters. What do you think?"
"150 per thousand?" Fang Yi chuckled, shaking his head. "Then I might as well go with a profit-sharing model."
He paused for a moment, then added seriously, "To be honest, just give these rights a few years—any one of them alone will easily fetch more than 1.8 million."
"Who can say what will happen in a few years?" Yang Zhen replied, clearly troubled.
Fang Yi wiped away the smile from his face and leaned forward slightly, his tone turning firm. "Editor Yang, let's drop the formalities and get straight to the point. My bottom line is 1.5 million. If Hongyan Publishing can't accept that, I'll have no choice but to talk to another publisher."
He held all the cards now—he had options, while Ghost Blows Out the Light was a one-of-a-kind property.
The conversation had come to a head. Yang Zhen knew he had to decide—fast.
Taking a deep breath, he said, "Mr. Fang, I don't have the authority to make that call on my own. Please give me a moment—I'll step out and make a phone call."
With that, he stood up and walked out of the café.
Outside, he pulled out his Motorola 998 and dialed a number.
It rang only briefly before it connected. Yang Zhen spoke into the receiver, "Old Ning, got a quick question for you."
"What is it?"
On the other end of the line was Ning Caishen.
Both men were lead editors at their respective companies and long-time collaborators—they had a good relationship. They often chatted casually, and Yang Zhen knew Ning had sharp instincts when it came to screenplays and film adaptations.
He briefly laid out the situation with Ghost Blows Out the Light, then asked, "What do you think its prospects are for film and television adaptation?"
"I'm very optimistic!"
Ning Caishen's voice came through with conviction. "I've said it before—the heart of this novel is all about treasure-hunting and adventure. That alone makes it incredibly suitable for adaptation. Even people who haven't read the original book can enjoy the movie just fine."
"Plus, you said he's written eight volumes total, each connected but also nearly a standalone story. That's perfect! It could be turned into a movie series, just like those big international franchises."
Yang Zhen absorbed his words quietly before asking, "Then how much do you think the rights could sell for in a few years?"
"Who can say for sure? But with the popularity this book's already gained, there's definitely value there. The price won't be low."
When it came to money, Ning Caishen treaded more cautiously.
"Got it," Yang Zhen nodded, smiling. "Thanks, Old Ning. I owe you a drink."
"Haha, I'll hold you to that! Call me when you're back. I'm hanging up now!"
After ending the call, Yang Zhen didn't linger. He turned around and headed straight back into the café.
Returning to the table, he sat down across from Fang Yi and said with a solemn expression, "Mr. Fang, I just spoke with my superior. He still thinks 1.5 million is a bit high. How does 1.3 million sound?"
Tsk!
Just like that, Fang Yi had netted himself an extra 300,000.
He resisted the urge to grin and kept his voice firm. "1.4 million. That's my final offer. If your company still can't accept that, I'll have to express my regrets."
"Mr. Fang, please understand—our publishing house is taking on quite a bit of risk by acquiring these rights."
They stared at each other, each cursing in their heads—"Old fox."
"Little fox."
Life's a stage, and acting is everything.
After several rounds of back-and-forth, they finally settled on a price: 1.35 million!
Don't underestimate that extra 50,000 yuan—it was enough to cover half the down payment on an apartment in the city.
With the price settled, they moved on to ironing out the finer details of the contract. Yang Zhen requested that the remaining six volumes of Ghost Blows Out the Light be completed within six months; any delay beyond that would incur a penalty.
In turn, Fang Yi had his own demands: once the contract was signed, the publishing house must wire the 1.35 million buyout fee into his account within three working days.
It wasn't until two in the afternoon that they finally hashed out all the terms.
"Mr. Fang, take a look—anything you'd like to add?" Yang Zhen asked, handing over the contract.
Fang Yi took it and carefully read through.
Publishing contracts were regulated by national law, so they weren't overly complicated. The terms and rights were clearly defined—unlike the hundred-page commercial contracts that would become common in later years.
After confirming there were no issues, Fang Yi smiled. "Looks good to me—nothing to add."
"In that case, let's proceed with signing."
Yang Zhen handed over a sleek fountain pen.
The contract was drawn up in duplicate. Fang Yi signed both copies. Once the documents were brought back to the publishing house in Magic City and stamped with the official seal, a signed copy would be mailed back to him for his records.
They shook hands once more. Yang Zhen gathered the contract and original manuscript, then stood up. "Mr. Fang, it's been a pleasure doing business with you. We'll take our leave now."
"No need to see us out—safe travels!" Fang Yi replied with a smile.
As they walked over to the counter, Fang Yi called out, "Waiter, check please!"
"Total comes to 218 yuan and 50 cents for the three of you!"
No doubt about it—the prices here were outrageous. Three people, a couple of light snacks, two coffees, and an orange juice… over two hundred yuan.
That was a quarter of Fang Yi's monthly income.
Before he could react, Yang Zhen stepped up and took out his wallet, settling the bill with practiced ease.
He'd already learned earlier that Fang Yi had just graduated high school, and judging by his clothes, it was clear he didn't come from a wealthy background. Paying the bill himself would save the young man some embarrassment.
"Editor Yang, I feel bad—making you travel all this way and then pick up the check too."
Fang Yi smiled graciously, not pretending to be what he wasn't.
Yang Zhen laughed heartily. "Haha, don't mention it. Just make sure you treat me next time you're in the City."
No one was foolish enough to mock Fang Yi. Even the café staff could tell—by tomorrow, this young man would be worth over a million yuan.
In the year 2000, an eighteen-year-old self-made millionaire was no one to laugh at.
"Take care!"
As the Santana drove off into the distance, Fang Yi hopped on his bicycle, his heart full and content as he pedaled back toward his neighborhood.
First pot of gold—secured.