Chapter 83: Reaching an Agreement

“Talks of a Hundred Demons?”

Hearing this title, Zhang Guiyun paused for a moment, yet his worries eased considerably. A hundred demons—so this young master Song intends to write a hundred tales of monsters? If that is the case, then this collection of strange stories indeed has some promise.

He had just read through the five samples with care. The stories used plain, accessible language, getting to the main plot within just a few sentences. The protagonists were varied—a scholar, a hunter, a physician... Each, in some particular circumstance, encountered rare and wondrous scenes, drawn irresistibly into their depths.

They would undergo trials, only to realize in the end that all was but a trap set by monsters and spirits. Some survived, others lost their lives; every character was vividly drawn, their actions distinctive, quite resembling people one might meet in daily life.

The fierce monsters in the tales rarely met a good end. They schemed and used terrifying methods to harm others, but in the end, they too lost their lives.

The drama in these stories was powerful; their plots compelling. More importantly, after finishing them, a lingering unease remained in the heart, prompting the reader to unconsciously imagine themselves in the story.

Such skill from one so young—this Song truly possessed remarkable talent. Zhang Guiyun, after twenty years as a shopkeeper, had honed a sharp sense for such things. These stories were highly workable—not only fit for publication, but possibly adaptable for picture books, storytelling performances, or even plays.

His main concern, however, had been that there were too few stories to fill a volume. So, once Song Mu revealed the book's title, Zhang Guiyun found himself reassured.

“In that case, young master, how long will it take you to complete a hundred tales?” Zhang Guiyun asked.

Song Mu set down his teacup, understanding that matters were progressing favorably, and replied with a smile, “Perhaps ten stories a month.”

He spoke with some confidence; though not many strange tales crowded his mind, he knew the world of monsters well. The stories of Journey to the West he could recite by heart, and each demon there was full of personality—he could easily adapt them into compelling narratives.

Hearing this, Zhang Guiyun’s face broke into a smile, his eyes briefly lowered before he looked up and said, “Then, young master Song, let us formalize our agreement.”

Relieved, Song Mu nodded at once.

Zhang Guiyun produced two contract papers and began discussing terms with Song Mu.

The content naturally outlined mutual obligations—when manuscripts were due each month, how much the payment would be. Once everything was settled, Zhang Guiyun wrote his name and pressed his handprint onto the contract, then handed it to Song Mu for inspection.

Song Mu did not hesitate; the offered terms were quite generous, so he wrote his name without further thought.

“Very good, young master Song. Please wait a moment while I finalize the contract and retrieve your writer’s fee,” Zhang Guiyun said with a bright smile, scanning the contract quickly.

Yet as he looked, Zhang Guiyun suddenly froze.

For only now did he notice the name written before him: Song Mu, a native of Shiyang County.

In that instant, it was as if a bolt of lightning flashed through his mind. He abruptly recalled something, his hand trembling as he looked at Song Mu and asked, “Young master, your name is Song Mu?”

Song Mu was slightly taken aback; perhaps when he introduced himself earlier, the shopkeeper hadn’t paid close attention. Judging by Zhang Guiyun’s expression, Song Mu sensed a shift in events.

Indeed, Zhang Guiyun, unable to contain himself, pressed further, “Young master Song, are you the very Song Mu who wrote those poems of eight or nine measures of talent in ‘The Literary Gazette’?”

Now Song Mu understood the shopkeeper’s meaning. 'The Literary Gazette' was renowned across the land, and this bookseller would naturally know of it. He grinned, but nodded in confirmation.

Zhang Guiyun inhaled sharply, hurriedly sitting back down, his face now bearing a hint of reverence.

“So it is... I never expected... young master…”

He was momentarily lost for words, but quickly recovered, his gaze toward Song Mu now bright with admiration.

“Young master Song, are you planning to use your real name for these stories, or adopt a pen name?”

“A pen name?”

Song Mu tilted his head, considering. He had indeed overlooked this detail—at this time, unless writing orthodox works, authors seldom used their real names. For popular or folk literature, writers often chose odd or amusing pseudonyms.

Just yesterday he had seen several booklets whose authors styled themselves as ‘Jujube Tree of the Mountain’, ‘Squirrel and Mandarin Fish’, or ‘Wandering with Sword Across the World’. Most were aliases, perhaps to avoid unwanted attention.

Zhang Guiyun hastened to add, “Young master, you are a scholar of the orthodox tradition. Though popular works are harmless, most literati use pen names for them. Also, I forgot to mention: whenever you wish to collect your writer’s fee, you can do so at any branch of Snowy Reflection Hall.”

“Oh? What does that mean?” Song Mu asked in curiosity.

Zhang Guiyun explained enthusiastically, “Our bookshop has branches in every prefectural city in Jiangnan West. If you take a bamboo token from me, you may collect your fee at any Snowy Reflection Hall. We settle accounts at the end of each month, so you need not worry about discrepancies.”

Song Mu raised his eyebrows in surprise. This bookshop offered a function akin to a bank, likely to protect authors’ privacy—a thoughtful arrangement.

Song Mu was all the more satisfied and nodded, “Very well, I shall choose a pen name.”

He narrowed his eyes in contemplation, then said, “Let it be ‘Pinewood Tales’.”

“Pinewood Tales?” Zhang Guiyun asked, curious about its origin. But Song Mu remained silent.

It was simply a play on his own name—in quick speech, it sounded much like ‘Song Mu Tales’.

Zhang Guiyun said no more, bowing and stepping out. Soon, he returned with a money pouch and a bamboo token.

“Young master Song, your writer’s fee and the contract are in the pouch. Here is the bamboo token—each is different, recognizable only by the accounts office.”

Song Mu took it, examining the golden-yellow token. It bore some small, seal-like script whose meaning he could not decipher.

After reviewing the contract once more, Song Mu rose to take his leave. Zhang Guiyun, all smiles, escorted him to the door.

As Song Mu reached the threshold, preparing to bid farewell, he saw someone approaching.

He looked up and immediately recognized the man—it was Zhang Yiqi.

Zhang Yiqi likewise recognized Song Mu. Seeing the shopkeeper so respectfully accompanying him, he was curious, stepped forward, and greeted, “Brother Song, I hadn’t expected to meet you here today.”

...

End of Chapter.