Song Anhao crouched at the doorway, practically straining his eyes with anticipation. Yao Ying urged him several times to go back inside and sit down, but he refused.
“Even if I sat, I wouldn’t be at ease. I’ll wait right here for Elder Sister to return.”
Earlier, to create the movable-type printing press, he had spent two thousand taels of silver. Now that the books were printed but couldn’t be sold, Song Anhao was frantic with worry.
After leaving the coal factory, Song Jinzhao had gone on to inspect eight shops in the city. By the time she returned to the government office, the sun was nearly setting.
Hearing the sound of hooves approaching, Song Anhao snapped his head up.
When he saw that it was Song Jinzhao, he immediately stood up from the ground—but having crouched for so long, his legs were numb from the knees down the moment he took a step.
Fortunately, Yao Ying was quick to steady him, or he would have tumbled down the steps.
“Elder Sister~” he called, his voice drawing out the last syllable as he shot toward her like a firecracker.
Song Jinzhao dismounted and caught him. “What’s wrong?”
His eyelids drooped; clearly, he was upset.
Song Anhao tilted his chin up, turning his face toward her.
“I printed ten thousand copies of The Cry of Injustice, but in three days on the shelves, I’ve only sold twenty-three. It’s a huge loss.”
Song Jinzhao raised an eyebrow in surprise.
She had read the book herself and expected it to sell well.
Taking his hand, she led him into the study.
“How many bookshops in the city did you approach to sell it?”
Song Anhao’s eyelids sagged like a balloon pricked by a needle.
“I reached out to three bookshops, and I even printed flyers to hand out on the streets, but no one bought it.”
Song Jinzhao asked, “What about the flyers? Let me see them.”
Yao Ying, standing nearby, immediately produced a flyer and placed it in front of Song Jinzhao.
The entire sheet was covered in neat, tiny script. It was dizzying to look at and gave no desire to read.
“How many copies of the flyer did you print, and who did you give them to?”
Song Anhao blinked.
“I printed five thousand copies and distributed them only in the inner city. Manager Lou said plenty of people fought to take them.”
Song Jinzhao slapped the flyer down onto the desk.
“In Suining City, fewer than one in ten people are literate. You handed out five thousand flyers randomly on the streets—were they supposed to grab them for use in the latrine?”
Song Anhao was taken aback. “But before, you always handed them out on the streets.”
Song Jinzhao replied, “Food and clothing are necessities, regardless of literacy. But someone who can’t read will never buy a book.”
“You need to distribute these flyers where scholars gather. Otherwise, it’s all wasted effort.”
She held the flyer up, facing Song Anhao. “And this flyer of yours lacks any novelty—there’s no desire to keep reading it.”
“Advertising needs to highlight a key point and leave a lasting impression. You have to first draw readers in, leaving them restless for the ending, so they have no choice but to buy the book.”
Song Anhao fell into thought.
“Elder Sister means I should print part of the book on the flyer?”
Song Jinzhao nodded. “You could print the first half of the first story from The Cry of Injustice on the bottom half of the flyer. Anyone who wants to know the ending will have to buy the book.”
“In Suining City, sales will top out at a few thousand copies at most. You need to expand to Songzhou City and even south of the Yangtze River. Once Liu Ziyuan’s reputation is established, his next book will have no trouble selling.”
Song Anhao leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling beams in deep thought for a long time.
What Elder Sister said made sense, but…
He bit his lip and looked at Song Jinzhao sheepishly.
“Doing all that costs money, and the bookshop’s accounts are already empty.”
Since buying the bookshop, he had asked Elder Sister for three thousand taels of silver in installments. He could barely bring himself to ask again.
Song Jinzhao calmly took out a key.
She opened the small cabinet under the desk, pulled out a five-hundred-tael banknote, and handed it to Song Anhao.
“Keep it as a loan. Pay me back when you make a profit.”
Compared to restaurants and taverns, a bookshop was a long-term investment and would serve a bigger purpose later.
Song Anhao hesitantly took the banknote, worried he might not be able to repay it.
“Elder Sister, you mentioned earlier you wanted to meet Liu Ziyuan. The second volume of The Cry of Injustice is due for submission the day after tomorrow. Want to come along?”
Remembering her earlier suspicions about Liu Ziyuan’s identity, Song Jinzhao nodded.
“Morning or afternoon?”
Song Anhao’s mood lifted slightly. “Noon. We’re meeting for a meal at a restaurant.”
Song Jinzhao said, “Alright. We’ll go together.”
