Otaku Translation: Literary Genius: This Kid Was Born Smart C143

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Chapter 143: Too Greedy!

At noon, in the , a rather extraordinary teahouse.

What made it extraordinary was the presence of famous figures whose portraits adorned the walls of the teahouse—, , Cao Yu, and others. Back then, photographs were still black and white, but Gu Lu had read their works.

His impressions of and differed, and after reading Guo Moruo’s poetry collections, Gu Lu realized that blindly following public opinion was unwise. Guo’s poetic talent was far from what some collectors claimed—it wasn’t on par with children’s scribbles.

“Little Gu, didn’t you bring your parents along?” Mr. Qian immediately recognized his guest, stood up, and glanced behind him.

“As the author, I’m already sixteen, so I can make decisions about copyright cooperation,” Gu Lu replied calmly.

Mr. Qian instinctively assumed parents would accompany such an important meeting. Finding out that this prodigy writer had come alone delighted him—this was too good to be true!

A student would surely be easier to persuade than an adult.

“What kind of tea would you like?” Mr. Qian asked.

“It doesn’t matter; I don’t usually drink tea,” Gu Lu said while subtly observing his counterpart—a man in his fifties with a protruding face and belly.

Had he known only a child would attend, he should have chosen a more casual venue. Mr. Qian thought for a moment before ordering .

“Our company has close collaborations with major stationery brands like and De Li,” Mr. Qian began praising his company even before the tea arrived. “You must know these two brands, Little Gu. Any student would have used their pens.”

“Characters like and Diary of a Smiling Cat have partnered with stationery brands, gaining fame among students,” Mr. Qian continued. “And this year, Huqiang Fantawild released Boonie Bears. The animation just aired, and they’ve already authorized merchandise.”

As the tea was served, Gu Lu accepted the cup and thanked him. He understood that all of this was merely preamble—the real conversation was yet to come.

“Although has illustrations, it lacks animation potential, and its length makes adapting it into an animated series challenging,” Mr. Qian said. “Little Gu, you’re the same age as my child. As your uncle, I won’t deceive you. Without animation support, fairy tales can’t endure long-term. If we delay peripheral development any further, it’ll be impossible to catch up.”

Gu Lu pondered—not over Mr. Qian’s words, but over whether he’d believe them if he hadn’t known The Little Prince's ultimate potential from the start.

“Five hundred thousand yuan! Our company is willing to pay half a million to secure exclusive agency rights for The Little Prince,” Mr. Qian declared confidently. In his mind, such a sum would stun any student. Had parents been involved, he planned to offer one million.

“With the agency rights, we’ll collaborate with Chen Guang and De Li. Before long, The Little Prince will rival Pleasant Goat’s popularity,” Mr. Qian added.

This pie-in-the-sky promise felt dry. While The Little Prince’s global reputation might surpass Pleasant Goat, domestically, it paled in comparison.

“We’re being very sincere here. Although The Little Prince has sold over two hundred thousand copies, it’s not particularly notable among books published this year. Others wouldn’t offer five hundred thousand at such a high price,” Mr. Qian’s tone became increasingly persuasive. “I’m investing in your potential, Little Gu. If this partnership succeeds, there’ll be future opportunities.”

His words were half-truths. True, The Little Prince, released just two weeks ago, hadn’t gained significant traction. False, Mr. Qian based his interest solely on “positive reviews”—the book came bundled with protective covers featuring scenes like “a rose growing on a small planet,” “the fox sitting with the prince,” or “the prince watching the sunset.”

To put it bluntly, Mr. Qian hadn’t read the book. He valued the illustrations. Had the illustrator been someone else, he wouldn’t have approached Gu Lu.

“I have a question,” Gu Lu said, prompting Mr. Qian to nod encouragingly.

He asked, “You mentioned that I’m the same age as your child. I’m sixteen. Did you have children late in life?”

“?” Mr. Qian’s brain momentarily stalled. The topic shifted unexpectedly fast.

“Well, um… Mr. Qian, I appreciate the offer, but the publishing house has already purchased the agency rights for The Little Prince for two hundred thousand yuan,” Gu Lu lied smoothly, ensuring no future complications arose. His innocent gaze sealed the deal.

Damn, I’m too late.

They only paid two hundred thousand? Hell, they’re greedier than me.

Those thoughts flashed through Mr. Qian’s mind as he gazed at the seemingly guileless student. He didn’t think much of it.

Gu Lu pressed on, “Why don’t you negotiate with the publisher to transfer the rights to you? Then, I’ll settle for four hundred thousand.”

“…” Mr. Qian wasn’t insane. Snatching food from the mouths of central Communist Youth League-affiliated publishers? No way!

“Ahem.” Mr. Qian considered how to politely decline.

“Since you’re interested in my potential, I happen to have another serialized work in . Perhaps you’d consider that instead?” Gu Lu suggested.

Mr. Qian maintained a composed expression. “No problem. What’s the title of the other work? Tell me, and I’ll discuss it with the company. We’ll talk again in a few days.”

“.” Gu Lu knew full well this derivative work had restricted copyrights. Just as you couldn’t authorize Sherlock Holmes’ likeness—even if portraying him at ninety-three years old—since Holmes was based on Conan Doyle’s original work.

“I’ll thoroughly review this with my team,” Mr. Qian assured.

He promptly paid for the tea, citing urgent company matters, and left ahead of schedule.

Though the deal fell through, Mr. Qian preserved his dignity—he was indeed a seasoned businessman. However, his greed shone through.

Gu Lu finished the tea and snacks—a habit cultivated since childhood. Glancing at his phone, he realized it was already past one o’clock, meaning he needed to hurry back to class. Thus, he ate quickly.

Once done, he wrapped things up.

“Excuse me, young man. I overheard earlier that you’re a writer?” The teahouse owner suddenly spoke as Gu Lu passed by while leaving. “Are you the author of The Little Prince?”

“That’s right.” Gu Lu was no stranger to being recognized.

Thanks to local media promotion, The Little Prince ranked third in sales within , trailing only behind the capital and Shanghai. Normally, a book’s sales in Chongqing would place it around fifteenth among cities.

One could say Gu Lu enjoyed greater fame in Chongqing than elsewhere—perhaps tenfold higher.

The teahouse owner, dressed smartly in his forties, asked, “Could we take a photo together? With our teahouse signboard?”

Changting Teahouse was literally a pavilion, marked by a large stone tablet inscribed with the characters “Changting.”

“You’re not planning to hang my picture on the wall, are you?” Gu Lu joked, catching on.

“Would Mr. Gu do us the honor of leaving a memento at our Changting Teahouse?” the owner requested.

Black-and-white photos featured renowned figures, while colorful ones showcased accomplished individuals like Mo Huaiqi.

“Next time, definitely next time. I’m running late for school today,” Gu Lu declined.

“Alright, next time then,” the teahouse owner said. What he didn’t know was that he would later come to regret letting this slippery customer slip away—one of the most unfortunate decisions of his career.

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