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Chapter 17: The Human Chair
The Dwarf, The Human Chair, The Traveler with the Pasted Rag Picture, The Stalker in the Attic, Doctor Mera’s Mysterious Crimes, A Brute’s Love…
As Gu Lu had anticipated, all of Edogawa Ranpo’s most famous short stories appeared before him. In terms of word count, this collection far exceeded the previous anthology he’d worked on. Three of the stories were novellas rather than shorts—like Murder on D Street, which marked Kogoro Akechi’s first appearance.
“This one requires more thought,” Gu Lu mused to himself. “It’s not just about names and style.”
In truth, adapting these stories wasn’t too challenging since most were set in Japan. Aside from one story steeped in Japanese folklore, the rest were fairly straightforward for Gu Lu, who was now well-versed in such adjustments.
The real issue lay in the nature of Ranpo’s works—they were often disturbingly twisted. Take The Caterpillar, for example: both erotic and violent, it was the kind of story that might not even pass muster with Story Digest.
Lost in thought, Gu Lu nearly stepped into traffic while crossing the street. He quickly snapped back to reality. Chongqing in 2012 still had many intersections without crosswalks or traffic lights, and Gu Lu, eager to get home, quickened his pace significantly.
Thankfully, he was out of submissions to send out for now, alleviating an immediate concern. What usually took fifteen minutes walking leisurely over the pedestrian bridge took less than ten today at his brisk pace.
Bam! The old wooden door groaned as Gu Lu entered the apartment. Immediately, a familiar scent greeted him—the aroma of malt. Though Gu Lu wasn’t an expert, his past self had been hypersensitive to alcohol. It seemed his drunkard father was back.
From his predecessor’s memories, Gu Lu knew his father rarely caused trouble when intoxicated. He simply passed out after drinking. His mother hadn’t divorced him because of domestic violence but rather because of his incompetence.
Closing the door behind him, Gu Lu glanced toward the inner room. Sure enough, his father lay sprawled across the bed like a lump of dough, shoes still on, feet and right hand dangling off the edge.
“The smell of booze is disgusting,” Gu Lu muttered under his breath. As usual, he prepared his own meal; there was no waking someone in such a stupor. Drunks slept deeper than infants.
For some reason, his mood felt heavier tonight. Whether it was the lingering emotions of his former self or the discomfort of facing this unfamiliar father figure for the first time since his transmigration, he couldn’t say. Either way, he hadn’t managed to mentally draft any edits for The Human Chair.
Gu Lu didn’t know what time his father woke up. When consciousness finally returned, thirst hit him like a hammer. The room was dark—he couldn’t tell the hour. But wait—there was a glass of cool water on the bedside table. Gulping it down greedily, the burning sensation in his throat eased slightly.
He checked his phone: 4:00 AM. So his son had come home, seen him drunk, and left the water there. Still dizzy, he stumbled to the bathroom to relieve himself before returning to bed. This time, though, he managed to kick off his shoes.
---
The next morning, Gu Lu woke with the biological clock that never failed him. After tidying up, he prepared to head to school.
Zhao Juan cornered him almost immediately upon arrival. “What happened yesterday?” she asked anxiously.
Gu Lu saw no reason to lie. “Wang Wenjun and Bai Xiaohua are good people. We just talked.”
“Did they threaten you?” Zhao Juan pressed, her worry evident.
“You should try trusting me,” Gu Lu replied calmly. “If you don’t believe me, go ask Wang Wenjun yourself.”
Feeling shut out, Zhao Juan grew frustrated—and a little hurt. Though she’d seen from afar that no fight broke out, she knew Wang Wenjun’s personality well enough to doubt things ended so peacefully. Last night, she’d been too worried to focus on her studies, debating whether to call Gu Lu but ultimately chickening out. Now, she slunk back to her seat, head bowed.
“Go comfort her,” Zhou Lin whispered to Gu Lu.
Gu Lu shook his head. His priorities were clear: preparing for the high school entrance exam and earning money. Besides, teenage girls could be exhausting—so quick to anger.
In truth, Zhao Juan’s frustration stemmed from her belief that Gu Lu now disliked her because of Wang Wenjun. Their thoughts weren’t aligned at all.
Another day passed uneventfully. When Gu Lu returned home, he found a feast waiting for him. Salt-fried pork, beef stewed with potatoes, cold chicken feet—a veritable banquet! Starved, Gu Lu devoured the food ravenously.
“I’ve transferred back to work nearby. I’ll be able to cook for you more often,” his father said, watching his son eat with messy enthusiasm.
Hmph. According to his predecessor’s memories, this was the seventh time in two years his father had made such promises. What use were they?
Guilt → Good intentions → Drinking → Absence. It was a cycle Gu Lu had grown numb to. Unlike his predecessor, who clung to hope, Gu Lu simply wanted to enjoy a few decent meals while they lasted.
His father’s cooking skills were impressive, once a key factor in winning his mother’s heart.
After weeks of agonizing anticipation, Story Digest finally responded! Gu Lu exchanged contact information with the editor via QQ (under the screen name “Orange Chief,” changed post-transmigration). Thankfully, his predecessor already had a bank account, opened last year when his father accompanied him to the bank.
“At least this way, if anything urgent comes up, you can access your own funds,” his father had said then. “You can withdraw amounts under a hundred yuan yourself using your ID.”
Funny how the only money ever deposited was the initial hundred required to open the account.
[Orange Chief: By the way, I have a small question.]
[Editor Mu Zi Zi: Please go ahead, Mr. Gu.]
[Orange Chief: If a minor wants to sign a contract, would the process differ?]
An odd question. Old Li paused briefly before responding.
[Editor Mu Zi Zi: Is this regarding one of Mr. Gu’s juniors? If the author is between fourteen and eighteen, parental consent and a copy of the parent’s ID will be needed. Quite troublesome. However, if it’s someone close to you, we could simplify by signing under your name instead.]
Since the bank account had to match the signer’s name, Old Li assumed Gu Lu—a talented writer—wouldn’t embezzle a junior’s earnings. Privately, he speculated the “minor” might even be Gu Lu’s child. But guessing wrong would be awkward, so he opted for the safer term “juniors.”
Old Li followed up with additional notes, exuding warmth and professionalism. As a secondary review editor, contacting authors wasn’t technically part of his job, but he’d volunteered. Partly to expand his network, partly because Gu Lu’s submissions stood out among the best in Story Digest.
[Orange Chief: Actually, it’s not about a junior—it’s about me. I’m underage, so I wanted to clarify the process.]
Up until this point, responses had been instantaneous. But when Gu Lu sent this message, silence stretched for a full minute.
[Mu Zi Zi: Haha, Mr. Gu, you really know how to joke around.]
Why the pause?
Because Old Li had just spat out his tea. Cleaning up the mess took a moment.
[Orange Chief: No joke—I’m fifteen, haven’t taken the high school entrance exam yet, and I enjoy writing. These are my best pieces submitted for consideration.]
Even with such earnestness, Old Li remained skeptical. He offered his phone number to confirm via call.
Gu Lu jotted it down and explained he’d need to return home before calling, as he didn’t bring his phone to school.
That evening, after returning home, Gu Lu dialed Old Li’s number…
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