At a single command, every piece of abandoned, ownerless land in Suining City was surveyed, measured, and registered within seven days.
The townspeople stared in confusion at the dilapidated houses sealed off with official notices.
What could the government want with houses this rundown? Were they planning to rebuild them?
The answer soon became clear.
The government office posted an announcement declaring that all ownerless land within the city would be auctioned off. The notice was posted not only throughout Suining City—even many merchants in Songzhou City had heard about it.
The auction would be held a month later, giving them plenty of time to make up their minds and come.
At the first watch of the night, every room in a row at the back of the government office was brightly lit.
Song Jinzhao stood staring at a map covering an entire wall, occasionally marking it with her brush.
Song Anhao sat facing a wall of storybooks, pondering hard enough to make his head ache. One idea after another was crossed out on the sheet of paper before him.
Meanwhile, Song Qiming had already begun planning how to drive the land prices as high as possible at the auction a month later—especially how to make merchants from out of town see Suining City’s enormous potential.
The only one thinking about getting to the clinic early the next day was Song Shixue, who had gone to bed long ago.
Over breakfast the next morning, Song Anhao excitedly shared the idea he had come up with.
“I’m planning to hold a competition. We’ll invite anyone who wants to write storybooks—or already knows how—to write on a randomly assigned theme. Then we’ll sign contracts with everyone whose work is good.”
Song Jinzhao paused with her fingers and asked with a smile, “How did you come up with that?”
Song Anhao propped his chin on one hand. “At first, I had no idea what to do. Then I thought about how Big Brother could hold an auction to sell the land, and I realized I could hold a competition to find writers.”
“Elder Sister, will you be one of the judges? When it comes to good taste, no one can compare with you.”
The chicken soup wontons in the bowl were still steaming. Song Jinzhao set down her spoon.
“Only a small portion of the population can read and write fluently. People who can write storybooks—or even want to write them—are rarer still. How do you plan to organize this competition?”
A printing house was no government office. It could not simply issue an order and expect people to comply on the strength of official authority and credibility. Getting proud scholars to submit their work voluntarily would be difficult enough, especially with transportation being inconvenient and there being no internet.
Song Anhao raised one finger toward the ceiling, his eyes shining with confidence.
“There’s nothing silver can’t solve. As long as the reward is generous enough, people will come. I’m planning to offer prizes to twenty winners. The first-place winner will receive three thousand taels of silver, the second place one thousand five hundred, and the third place one thousand.”
“Fourth through tenth place will each receive five hundred taels, and eleventh through twentieth place will each receive three hundred. Great rewards inspire great courage.”
After calculating the total, Song Qiming’s eyes widened. “The prize money alone comes to twelve thousand taels!”
Song Anhao nodded vigorously. “And that’s not all. I’m also going to print one hundred thousand flyers and put them up as far away as possible, so that as many people as possible hear about it.”
Song Qiming fell silent.
Was this what it felt like to have money to burn?
Still, if that many people really came to Suining City, perhaps they could make good use of the opportunity.
Song Jinzhao said, “I’ll agree to be a judge as long as the number of applicants exceeds one thousand.”
“No problem. If we can’t even get a thousand applicants, then there’s no point in holding the competition.” Song Anhao spoke with complete confidence.
He took a huge bite out of a steamed bun, as though he were chewing his way through all the storybook writers who would soon be added to his money-making roster.
Song Qiming posted two notices in every county, while Song Anhao scattered a thousand flyers across each one.
The deliberately emphasized prize amounts successfully caught the attention of everyone who could read.
“Three thousand taels? The Song Family Bookshop is being awfully generous.”
“Even second place gets fifteen hundred taels. I’ve studied the classics all these years—writing a storybook should be a piece of cake.”
Quite a few people thought the same way.
Even if they couldn’t win three thousand taels, surely they could manage to win three hundred.
The auction and the storybook competition would both be held a month later. For a time, the official roads leading to Suining City grew increasingly crowded.
One carriage after another carried four or five people. Some travelers sat with their eyes closed, searching for inspiration. Others were engrossed in reading storybooks, while still others gazed out at the scenery, wondering what sights might be worth including in a story.
The merchants traveling alone in their carriages stood in stark contrast to them. Some even had goods loaded aboard.
As they watched the carriages ahead and behind them, along with the hurried pedestrians on the road, their anticipation for the auction grew stronger.
More people meant more business and more money to be made. No one wanted to miss an opportunity they could already see coming.
