Chapter Forty-Four: The Great Trickster Zhang

In the afternoon, Zhang the Fat arrived. Feng Yuan took out all the manuscripts he had written recently, including those completed today—a collection totaling over a hundred thousand words—and handed them all to Zhang the Fat.

"This Magistrate Liu must have seen how much money we're making and got jealous. Truly despicable, hardly even human!" Zhang the Fat grumbled as he held the stack of manuscripts. He had already heard from Tutor He at the academy that the publication was being suspended, and the thought that the steady stream of silver would dry up starting tomorrow left him unwilling to accept his fate.

Feng Yuan, however, remained calm. He looked at Zhang the Fat, patted him on the shoulder, and laughed, "Relax. Just treat it as a few days' holiday. We've made plenty these days—enough to keep you well-fed and content for years. Take these manuscripts over today and tell them it's one hundred coins per person. Make a killing, just to offset the losses from the suspension."

"Huh? That expensive? Won't that make some of the students angry and refuse to buy it?" Zhang the Fat asked, worried.

"Don't worry, it won't. The only way to anger readers is to write something dull. As long as the story is good, the price doesn't matter—they'll accept it. Besides, this isn't a regular thing. Also, help me post a notice in our members’ lounge: say the publication is suspended because my health has suffered from overwork and I need to rest for a while. If anyone is concerned for the author, let them reward him with some silver so he can buy medicine and recuperate."

Feng Yuan smiled as he spoke.

"Do you think anyone will actually donate?"

"Trust me, I never fight battles I can't win. Go on!" Feng Yuan urged. "Remember, let the members read first, then the regular readers!"

"Don’t worry, I’ve got it!" Zhang the Fat nodded, then left chuckling.

The Magistrate’s Academy was nearby, so Zhang the Fat soon arrived. Outside the academy gates, a long line had already formed, waiting to read the novels—nearly a thousand or two, creating quite an uproar.

When they saw Zhang the Fat carrying a large armful of manuscripts, excitement surged among them; they could hardly wait to read.

Facing the crowd, Zhang the Fat grinned and said, "Fellow brothers, Feng Yuan has decided to show his gratitude today with a special giveaway. For one day only, you'll get your fill. How much, you'll soon find out. For now, members, please follow me!"

He then led a group of members toward the VIP reading room. Over the past few days, the number of VIP members had grown to about two hundred—wealthy young gentlemen all, and the membership continued to swell, making the income impressive.

The regular readers watched enviously as the VIPs got first access, but their frustration was futile; without money, they could only gaze longingly.

Zhang the Fat ushered the members into the VIP reading room, Tutor He followed as well. Though the old man was learned, he was not immune to temptation; at the sight of money, he could barely control himself, already grinning in anticipation of collecting payment.

---

Once inside, Zhang the Fat placed all the manuscripts on the table. Instead of immediately posting them, he smiled at the group and said, "Here’s the thing, gentlemen: since we’ve increased the number of novels today, the price naturally goes up. Today’s quantity is nearly equivalent to several months’ worth. So today’s price is one hundred coins. It’s a bit steep, but well worth it. Of course, if any of you brothers are short on cash, just let me know and I’ll offer a discount. Anyone?"

"Pfft, a hundred coins? That’s nothing!"

"Exactly, just a hundred coins—what’s the big deal? Who do you think you’re talking to?"

"Not even enough to tip a beggar!"

The group scoffed at the price. These were wealthy sons, hardly concerned about a hundred coins. Even if they cared, none would speak up—that would be a loss of face. For men of status, reputation was everything; anyone who complained about the price would be scorned and lose standing.

Seeing no one step forward, Zhang the Fat was delighted, and Tutor He smiled so broadly his eyes nearly disappeared. Unexpectedly, the final day would still bring in a handsome sum—at least some losses would be recouped.

"Alright, since no one minds the price, please line up and pay!" Zhang the Fat said.

The wealthy students eagerly reached for their money, scrambling to pay—a hundred coins each. Ten customers meant a thousand coins, which was a piece of silver.

In the end, the room collected over sixteen taels of silver, nearly double the usual amount. Tutor He and Zhang the Fat were so thrilled they could hardly remember their own ancestors’ names. And the regular readers’ payments were still to come—who knew how much they’d make today.

After collecting the money, Zhang the Fat didn’t immediately post the manuscripts. He altered his demeanor, adopting a sorrowful expression, and quieted the crowd before speaking: "Ah, I know you’re all eager to read, but I have a few words to say. Today’s special giveaway has its reasons. Partly it’s Feng Yuan’s gratitude, but also because he’s ill. When I visited him today, he was bedridden, coughing blood non-stop, barely hanging on. These manuscripts were written during several sleepless nights. He’s earned a fair sum from his novels, but spent it all on treatment, barely surviving on expensive medicines, which aren’t nearly enough. Illness is costly, and his days are numbered. The novels may end, and you may never see the conclusion."

"What? Ill?"

"What sort of illness?"

"What happens to our novels?"

The room erupted in discussion.

"Gentlemen, please quiet down and hear me out," Zhang the Fat gestured, and once order was restored, he continued, "Originally, Feng Yuan didn’t want you to know about this, fearing it would trouble you. But after much thought, I decided it’s better to be honest. I am a loyal reader myself; I don’t want Feng Yuan to die before finishing the story. So I’ve decided to offer what little I have—one tael of silver—to help with his treatment. After all, his writing is so captivating, it deserves support. I’m not wealthy, not like you gentlemen, but I can spare a tael. For you, it’s even less—a mere price of a jar of wine at the Spring Pavilion. Skip one drink and you’ll have it. Do you agree?"

---

"Indeed, it’s not much. I’ll give two taels for his treatment. How should I deliver it?"

"Yes, I’ll donate as well. Where should I go—Feng Yuan’s home? Where is that?"

"I’ll give three taels!"

"I’ll give one tael!"

Instantly, the students began offering donations.

Zhang the Fat was stunned by their enthusiasm, amazed at how many were eager to contribute. Feng Yuan was truly remarkable.

In truth, Zhang the Fat had embellished the story, disregarding Feng Yuan’s instructions and inventing a terminal illness for him. Clearly, his persuasive skills had improved greatly under Feng Yuan’s tutelage, nearly matching the master himself.

"Gentlemen, since you care so much for the author, let Tutor He collect the donations on his behalf. We’ll deliver them to Feng Yuan. If you wish to donate, come forward to register."

Zhang the Fat addressed the crowd.

Immediately, they came forward, generously opening their purses. Soon, the tabletop was piled high with money. Their donations became a contest of pride—one tael from someone, two from another, neither willing to be outdone. The money stacked like a small mountain.

Tutor He, collecting the funds, could barely restrain himself from applauding, his heart pounding with excitement.