Chapter Eighty-Six: This Is, This Is Not

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After leaving the Enlightenment Academy, Zhu Yingtai walked to a deserted street corner, began rubbing her cheeks, and muttered an incantation under her breath. In just three minutes, her features shifted from strikingly handsome to those of a mature middle-aged woman.

“There’s no need to change these clothes. Yes, this will do.” She tidied her attire slightly, nodded in satisfaction, and hired a carriage to head toward the courtyard she rented.

Sitting in the carriage, she leaned her head against the window, watching the scenery flash by, unable to stifle a yawn. She had truly risen early today, and the past few days spent working on the third volume of “Azure Robe, Bamboo Raft” had left her exhausted. She’d never pushed herself so hard before.

“Are… are you Mr. Peach Blossom?” The driver seemed to be a fan, vaguely recognizing her distinctive features. He grew excited, debated for a long moment, and finally couldn’t resist asking.

“No.” Zhu Yingtai frowned slightly and denied it offhand.

“Oh, then I must have been mistaken. I thought you were Mr. Peach Blossom. My apologies.” The driver started, hastily apologizing.

“It’s nothing.”

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Rain Pavilion Street—a place lined with continuous mansions, beautiful scenery, and auspicious feng shui. Within stood magnificent pavilions adorned with carved beams and painted rafters. Artificial hills and ponds were built on either side, groves of bamboo and trees flourished, and there were wind pavilions and waterside terraces. It was the best location for high officials and aristocrats to reside.

The area was superb, so naturally the prices were exorbitant, enough to discourage most.

At the entrance to one such mansion, five editors waited.

One was the chief editor of Qingshan Publishing House—the other four were seasoned, respected editors, and among them was Wang Chang, who had once mocked Liu Ping.

A carriage was parked nearby. Since it was a bit chilly outside, they waited inside for Mr. Peach Blossom—Zhu Yingtai.

The chief editor, Hu Meng, felt no impatience; instead, he smiled with excitement. “Who would have thought that Mr. Peach Blossom would submit his manuscript so diligently these days? If only he could keep this up, how wonderful that would be.”

A single novel from Mr. Peach Blossom brought Qingshan Publishing House unimaginable profits. It could be said that Mr. Peach Blossom alone supported half the publishing house. Without him, Qingshan would never have become the dominant force in Yangzhou, let alone rank among the top ten publishers in the entire Grand Summer Dynasty.

Long ago, Mr. Peach Blossom had once considered laying down his pen, which had nearly terrified Hu Meng out of his wits. If he stopped writing, it would have been disastrous—an immeasurable blow to Qingshan. With countless promises, favors, and pleas, Hu Meng finally persuaded him to continue.

Since then, he had fulfilled Mr. Peach Blossom’s every request without hesitation. For the sake of his old works and new projects, he even suspended submissions, spent money to invite other famous authors, and rallied both editors and writers to offer suggestions.

“It’s probably because of that book,” one of the editors guessed.

The others instantly understood what he meant.

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“Legend of the Divine Three Kingdoms—no idea where it came from. For Youshu Publishing House to produce such a masterpiece, it’s bizarre. Why didn’t Long Aotian choose Qingshan?” Wang Chang wondered aloud, puzzled. He did not know that the author of that book was the very writer he had once driven away.

Hu Meng sighed. “Who knows? I’ve read ‘Legend of the Divine Three Kingdoms’—it’s absolutely brilliant, astonishing in both conception and execution. As much as I hesitate to praise it, it’s the truth. There’s no denying it.”

Beside him, another editor, Hu Xiu—Hu Meng’s younger brother—nodded. “Indeed, it deserves all the praise. Youshu Publishing really struck gold. I think Mr. Peach Blossom must feel some pressure because of this book and wants to surpass it, hence his newfound diligence.”

Hu Meng gave a wry laugh. “Then perhaps this is a blessing in disguise. By the way, Hu Xiu, have you found Long Aotian yet? After all these days, you still haven’t?”

Hu Xiu shook his head. “His whereabouts are far too mysterious, and the staff at Youshu Publishing are tight-lipped. There’s not a single clue to follow.”

Hu Meng replied, “Keep searching. Spare no expense or position—I don’t believe we can’t get an editor to talk. If we can lure Long Aotian to Qingshan, we’ll offer him whatever he wants!”

Hu Xiu nodded solemnly. “Understood.”

Suddenly, an editor exclaimed, “Mr. Peach Blossom is here!”

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With his manuscript in hand, Liu Ping left the academy, muttering, “Why did Zhu Yingtai disappear so early? Strange.”

“Oh well, I’ll ask him later. For now, I should deliver the manuscript.”

He hired a carriage and headed to Youshu Publishing House.

“Though the editors suggested coming to collect the manuscript themselves, that would be a bit too conspicuous. If people discovered I’m the author of ‘Legend of the Divine Three Kingdoms,’ I’d be in for no end of ‘trouble.’ Better to keep it secret for now,” he whispered, looking at the manuscript. “It just means a little more hardship—getting up early to deliver it myself.”

“But after finishing this second volume, I’m definitely going to slow down. Writing this much is exhausting—surely I deserve a proper rest?”

Feeling justified in a decision that would later bring agony to countless readers, Liu Ping’s mood gradually improved.

Before long, he arrived at Youshu Publishing House.

At the gate, an editor was waiting. When he saw Liu Ping step down from the carriage, he hurried to greet him.

“Editor Fang, why are you waiting here? You flatter me,” Liu Ping said.

“Mr. Long, you’re too modest!” Editor Fang replied with a smile. “Hearing that you’d personally bring your manuscript made me feel remiss—how could I not come to welcome you? If only I’d known which route you’d take, I would’ve met you sooner.”

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Such courtesy left Liu Ping pleased, though he shook his head. “You really do exaggerate.”

“Not at all, not at all. The chief editor and the others are already waiting—please, come in,” Editor Fang urged.

“Very well.” Liu Ping nodded.

Many onlookers watched in surprise and confusion. Who was this youth, to be treated with such respect by an editor? Just now, did they call him Mr. Long? Could it be—could he really be Long Aotian?

The Long Aotian who wrote the sensational “Legend of the Divine Three Kingdoms”—and so young?

How could it be!

Impossible… right?

They all stared, wide-eyed and incredulous. Only after Liu Ping entered and disappeared inside did they smack their thighs in regret, wishing they’d chased after him to ask more.

Inside a room, several editors sat waiting. A couple were newly hired and felt terribly anxious. Soon, they would meet the famous Long Aotian—how could they not be nervous? Would he have a good temper? They’d better be careful not to offend him, and choose their words wisely…

The door opened, and Editor Fang led in a boy of thirteen or fourteen. For a moment, everyone was stunned—who was this? Could it be…?

As Liu Ping entered, the senior editors all stood up, bowing in greeting, while the new editors stared at him as if they’d seen a ghost.

Long Aotian—so young?

Could it be real?

For a moment, they were too stunned to react. Only when reminded by a colleague did they realize their lapse, and hastily apologized.

Liu Ping smiled, unconcerned, and handed the manuscript to Chief Editor Fang Yi. “This is the second volume of ‘Legend of the Divine Three Kingdoms.’ Please have a look.”

Fang Yi received it with a warm smile. “Excellent, excellent.”

He opened the manuscript, glanced at the first line, and instantly froze. The contents were so strange. As he continued reading, he couldn’t help but be shocked, eyes widening, stammering, “This, this is—this isn’t…”