Chapter 062: The Era of Office Work

The matter of the manuscript fee still needed further negotiation.

Wang Conglun did not give Zhang Tan a clear answer, merely dodging the issue and saying he would consider it. For a martial arts novel, two hundred yuan per thousand words was already a high price; with Zhang Tan’s reputation not yet fully established, their magazine would by no means raise the payment further.

Such is the conscience of the capitalist: to squeeze every resource that can be squeezed.

Zhang Tan understood this well.

But even so, pressing for a higher payment was a necessity for Zhang Tan—waiting for the other party to take the initiative to raise the price was a fool's hope. If Zhang Tan kept silent, they would simply assume he was ignorant and continue offering the current rate. Only when he asked would they keep the issue in mind, and as his fame grew, be forced to reconsider their terms.

The child who cries gets the milk; the logic is much the same.

Not long after his call with Wang Conglun, Zhang Tan’s new manuscript fee was credited to his account: ten thousand three hundred and eighty-five yuan for the first sixty thousand characters of “Fugitive.” After taxes, a full one thousand six hundred and fifteen yuan was deducted. Zhang Tan felt both pain and joy—the joy, naturally, was the over ten thousand yuan in fees, enough to buy a low-end laptop.

The pain lay in the fact that as his income increased, the tax bite grew ever more savage.

Nowadays, manuscript fees were taxed as personal income, with the threshold at just eight hundred yuan. Earnings over five thousand were taxed at twenty percent, and those over twenty thousand at twenty-five percent. The more the fee, the more the deduction. It would not be until 2006 that the threshold would be raised to sixteen hundred yuan, and later gradually to thirty-five hundred.

Of course, for the high-income crowd, this increase made little difference.

The thought that a large portion of his hard-earned manuscript fee would be taken by the state left Zhang Tan disgruntled.

“All that’s taken just fattens corrupt officials—what a pain!”

With money in hand, the first thing Zhang Tan did was take leave and head to Hefei Bai Nao Hui. Several shops there had established a client relationship with him thanks to E-Age Internet Café’s bulk purchases of custom computers, and to win his business, they had dropped prices to a very low level. For eight thousand yuan, Zhang Tan bought a domestic Fangzheng laptop.

Its features and configuration were far from impressive, lagging well behind the likes of IBM or HP. Yet it had all the basic Word functions he needed.

Zhang Tan never intended to use his laptop for gaming; as long as it could handle office software and play movies, he was content. So he paid gladly and brought the machine home.

With the laptop, his writing speed soared.

Once he got going, he could churn out three thousand words an hour, but to balance quality, Zhang Tan maintained a steady pace of two thousand per hour.

He also spent over a hundred yuan on a USB drive. With that, he could simply take his files to a print shop and have his manuscripts printed, saving the time previously spent copying by hand.

“Only now have I barely entered the digital office era!”

Using his brand-new laptop, Zhang Tan felt a sense of ease. Now he could create documents anytime, anywhere, capturing the flood of inspiration as it struck. He could sort and organize outlines by category, ready to call up whatever he needed at a moment’s notice.

Editing an outline became effortless—this was true novel writing.

Not to mention, in his spare moments, he could browse and enjoy the various fresh films and dramas produced in this twisted era. With the butterfly effect at work, many classics familiar to Zhang Tan had vanished, yet plenty of new masterpieces appeared—novels, music, movies, even political news all seemed novel and strange.

Exploring, comparing, sorting, and then “creating”—this was Zhang Tan’s present work.

…

Novels.

Music.

Training.

Occasional self-study sessions.

Such was all of Zhang Tan’s recent work.

Oh, and a few interactions with younger girls, along with some stylish posturing. From Class Two of Grade One, three classrooms down, Liu Luyao and Zhou Chengcheng often passed along the corridor of Grade One, Class Five, to admire Zhang Tan’s flamboyance. Within his own class, Gao Jie and Zhu Dandan clustered about him, making him their center.

Li Jing, whom he had once liked, also chatted with him regularly, encouraged by Tang Tongxin.

Yet Zhang Tan never again found that youthful feeling of love. For these younger girls, he never made a move.

“Once you’ve seen the ocean, no other water will do; apart from Mount Wu, no other cloud is cloud.”

Zhang Tan was not a man of indulgence; his desire for the opposite sex was born from emotion. At fifteen, his body was still young, hormones lagging behind, so he felt no urgency to seek release. In fact, his gaze could not linger on the flat-chested girls of Grade One; only the nearly mature seniors of Grade Three could stir his heart, if only slightly.

Leaning on the railing and looking down, he noticed a missing sight.

With the cold weather, the Grade Three girls had all bundled up, covering their figures tightly and no longer showing off their curves.

How disappointing.

The dull days passed, one after another.

The school sports meet finally arrived—a three-day event, with no classes but no holiday either.

The first day was the broadcast calisthenics competition.

In the booming broadcast of “The Era Calls,” all classes from Grade One to Grade Three donned uniform outfits. Some classes had purchased matching tracksuits, such as Grade One, Class Five; others wore clothes of the same color, like most of the Grade Three classes, who dressed in white shirts and black pants.

In 2001, in rural China, poverty was widespread. Requiring students to buy uniform clothing was difficult.

Even a tracksuit costing thirty or forty yuan was beyond many students’ means. This was something nearly unimaginable for the post-90s and post-2000 generations. The childhoods of the post-80s were not as blissful as one might think; though it was an era of rapid material progress, society was still struggling, and hard work, thrift, and diligence were necessities.

Only those who lived through this era could truly understand how much labor the Chinese people endured for a better life.

Especially in the massive wave of layoffs nationwide, countless families lost their iron rice bowls.

In the old industrial regions of the Northeast, layoffs birthed black market gangs and prostitution—a mark of the times. Zhu’s bold reforms may have reversed the rigid economic system, but the shockwaves left indelible stains. Such was China at the turn of the century.

The China etched in Zhang Tan’s memories of growing up.

“First section, stretch and move…”

With the loudspeaker’s slogans, the calisthenics proceeded in full swing.

After a morning of competition, Grade Two, Class Two won the title of model class for broadcast calisthenics. Grade One, Class Five was not far behind, earning the honor of excellent class. In the afternoon, the real sports events began, with track and field contests in full heat.

Zhang Tan took to the field.

He had signed up for three events: the five-thousand meters, the one-thousand meters, and the four-by-one-hundred relay. Today was the preliminary round for the one-thousand-meter race in Grade One.

“Next is the announcement from Grade One, Class Five: Zhang Tan, you are the pride of our class! Go for victory in the one-thousand-meter run—the championship is yours!”

The sports field was packed with people, and the loudspeaker on the podium never ceased.

Each class submitted announcements, which were broadcast to liven up the atmosphere.

“Grade Two, Class Three announcement: Li Shanshan, though you didn’t make the finals, we all saw your effort. We are still proud of you.”

“Grade One, Class Four announcement: The two-hundred-meter preliminary is coming up for Wang Yu. All students of Grade One, Class Four, wish you great success.”

Swapping into shorts and a T-shirt, with a large “1525” number pinned to his back, Zhang Tan changed into the spikes bought by his class and waited for the race to begin.

Led by Tang Tongxin, all the girls gathered around Zhang Tan, cheering loudly.

Tying his shoelaces, Zhang Tan jumped up and down, then flashed a thumbs-up to everyone: “Watch me!”