Can the publicity expenses be given directly to me?

Louis was a newly promoted editor-in-chief at Sunlight Publishing House. In his thirties, to have secured such a position at a major publishing house spoke volumes about his capabilities. Typically, an editor-in-chief's primary responsibility was to communicate with authors and coordinate publication matters. Yet, as with any profession, things were far from simple; beyond his official duties, an editor-in-chief was also expected to discover new authors.

Every day, the publishing house received countless submissions. These manuscripts were initially screened by junior editors, who then forwarded the outstanding ones to the editor-in-chief, leaving it to them to decide whether a book was worthy of publication. The editor-in-chief’s salary was not fixed; a significant portion depended on whether the books they chose to publish became bestsellers. If a book sold well, the bonuses would be substantial. Although writers generally produced less than singers or actors—especially those who wrote physical books, often taking years to craft a single work—few authors only ever published one book in their lifetime.

If such an author existed, there were only two possibilities: either they realized their book wouldn’t sell and decided to switch careers, or their single book was enough to secure their legacy, making further writing unnecessary and perhaps even risky to their reputation.

Thus, the number of bestselling authors an editor-in-chief could connect with determined their income and standing. Louis had earned his promotion by discovering a remarkable work while he was still an editor; after recommending it, the book became a hit, and just as the previous editor-in-chief retired, Louis was elevated.

But having only one author under his wing was far from sufficient.

Naturally, the author of Louis’s previously recommended bestseller became his client. However, that author’s last work had only been on the shelves for a year, and the new manuscript in progress would take at least another year to publish, with no guarantee against delays—it was, after all, the nature of writing.

Louis had inherited relationships with several authors from his predecessor. Yet, even if these authors published through Louis and their works became successful, it didn’t count for much; the publishing house would at best offer him modest consolation bonuses, far less than for authors he personally discovered.

Hence, Louis had recently been on the hunt for new talent, even following the book reviewer accounts on EyeBook. Some might find this odd, since reviewers recommend already published works, whose authors are usually contracted with publishers. What use would this be to Louis? For writers and readers, a novel is a matter of culture, but for publishers, it is a commodity—a means of profit. The publishing industry is, in essence, a marketplace, barely related to culture. And in commerce, poaching authors from other publishers is perfectly normal.

When Louis saw two reviewers recommend a book called "The Lord of the Rings," authored by a newcomer, he didn’t pay much attention at first. Poaching an author was never a quick affair.

But when the notorious critic Reno revealed that the book had been self-published, Louis became excited. At that moment, speed was of the essence, so he managed to obtain Li Daniu’s phone number from Harvard University—fortunately, Li had studied there, so his contact information was available. Otherwise, Louis thought, finding a king’s personal phone number would be no easy feat, even for a monarch of a tiny country.

Once he got through, Louis hadn’t even had a chance to build rapport before Li Daniu stunned him with a figure he uttered through gritted teeth—forty-five percent.

“A bit low,” Li Daniu remarked, unconcerned whether this was Louis’s maximum authority. In his view, this was a work destined for massive success, and that share would mean a significant loss for himself. Of course, had he met Louis right after the first review and been offered this percentage, he might have agreed, for at that time he wasn’t certain if the book would truly be as explosive in this world.

But as it turned out, the limited number of buyers all gave it glowing reviews. Clearly, even in a new world, the book’s charm remained undiminished, and Li Daniu was no longer satisfied.

“Your Majesty, that percentage is the highest I can currently offer. To increase it further would require approval from higher authorities. You must understand, though your book is excellent in my eyes, you are still a rookie author...” Louis hadn’t finished speaking, but the implication was clear: without market validation, how could Li Daniu feel entitled to demand more?

“I’m well aware,” Li Daniu replied. He understood that a newcomer had no right to make demands before the market had tested his work, but he knew exactly what kind of miracle this book had created before, so his dissatisfaction was natural.

“Louis, is it?” Li Daniu disliked the back-and-forth of negotiation and cut straight to the point: “Harry from Lunar Publishing has already approached me for the rights to this book. I quoted him sixty-five percent. Of course, I know that’s impossible, but due to personal reasons, I gave such a high price. You can reconsider; I won’t accept forty-five percent, and I’m not in a hurry.”

Of course he wasn’t in a hurry—once more people discovered the book, someone would surely raise the price. But Louis was anxious. He had no time to ponder what grudge Harry might have with Li Daniu; he simply wanted to secure the publishing rights to "The Lord of the Rings" as quickly as possible. So he made a decisive offer.

“Your Majesty, I can use my temporary authority to grant you fifty percent royalties, and promise to devote all my available promotional funds to marketing your book. How does that sound?”

Every editor-in-chief had a certain amount of discretionary promotional funds. For Louis, this was an all-or-nothing gamble. If the book sold well, the spent funds would be reimbursed, perhaps even increased; if it flopped, his position would be in jeopardy.

“Are you certain?” Li Daniu had researched publishing industry norms, knowing what risks Louis would face with such a move.

“I’m certain!” Louis replied, wasting no more words. He had reached his limit; further talk would be less effective than actual benefits.

“Very well, I agree.” Li Daniu made his decision. Truth be told, this book had come to him so easily; fifty percent royalties were already generous. He could hold out for more, but Tuvalu was in urgent need of funds.

A book relying solely on word-of-mouth could never match those with promotion.

“That’s wonderful, thank you so much. When would you be available to sign the contract? It’s best to do it in person; if you can’t come to the United States, I can travel to Tuvalu.” Louis sounded cheerful, but his enthusiasm was already waning, for he had staked his future on this. Although he believed strongly in the book, and so far it had no negative reviews, who could guarantee such an investment would yield the expected returns?

No business is a sure thing; Louis had decided to gamble everything on this opportunity, but now that he’d secured it, he was beset by doubts.

“No need for all that trouble. I happen to have business in the U.S. soon, so I can sign the contract while I’m there,” Li Daniu replied, sensing Louis’s dampened mood. But he had no interest in comforting Louis, for if Louis made no mistakes, Li Daniu could make him the luckiest man in publishing.

“That’s wonderful, Your Majesty, I’ll be waiting for your arrival in the United States.”

“Wait,” Li Daniu was about to hang up when a thought struck him. “I forgot to ask—how much promotional funding can you control right now?”

Shouldn’t that question have come up during negotiations? How could he ask after agreeing? Louis suddenly felt this king might not be very reliable.

“It’s fine, just curious. I won’t go back on my word after agreeing,” Li Daniu sensed Louis’s hesitation and explained. He didn’t really care about the amount; the allure of "The Lord of the Rings" would make it a global bestseller with minimal investment. The size of the promotional budget only determined whether it hit the bestseller lists a day sooner or later.

“One million dollars.”

“That much? Isn’t it a bit wasteful just for promotion? You might as well just give it to me, haha...” Li Daniu joked cheerfully.

Louis didn’t find the joke funny at all. Was such an unreliable author really up to the task?