In the living room, Yi Feiyang looked at the surrounding decorations. Among them, a deer head hanging on the wall and a rifle mounted on it caught his attention.
"I shot that in Indiana last year. God, I almost fell off a cliff trying to chase it, but God bless me and I was lucky enough to come home with a good reputation. As for that gun, it's
My grandfather's favorite weapon, it can be loaded with seven rounds of bullets at a time, and it is extremely powerful when fired. With one shot, it can blow the head of any animal!" Stephen King proudly introduced his honors and collection.
Taste.
Yi Feiyang smiled and said: "I also like hunting. If we have the opportunity, we can study together."
"Research? Oh, really? Okay." Stephen King was stunned for a moment and smiled.
Yi Feiyang picked up the rifle, loaded it, took aim, and gestured. The rifle rotated in his palm, cool and beautiful!
Yi Feiyang praised: "What a gun!"
Seeing the other party's "natural familiarity", Stephen King was obviously a little uncomfortable. He was even more afraid that he would drop his antique gun on the ground.
In the past, those literary young people who came to visit me were either uneasy or at a loss, and were speechless when facing themselves. But this person in front of him obviously did not belong to this category.
Just when Stephen King was worried that the other party had a gun and didn't know how long it would take to draw, Yi Feiyang put the gun back where it was, then crossed his legs and sat on the sofa, looking like he was ready to talk.
"Coffee or tea?" Seeing Yi Feiyang sitting down, Stephen King asked enthusiastically. "I know you Chinese people all like to drink tea. I have your very good West Lake Longjing here, and Tieguanyin.
Of course, I bought them all in Chinatown, so I don’t know if they are genuine or not.”
"Whatever you want, anything is fine." Yi Feiyang smiled. To be honest, he didn't have any big requirements for drinking tea or drinking.
"It seems like you are an indifferent person... Let's take Longjing, I like its taste very much."
Stephen King had someone prepare tea, then sat down and said to Yi Feiyang: "You must be curious as to why I invited you to meet. To put it bluntly, it's your novel." Then he put down the manuscript that Yi Feiyang had sent.
On the table.
"It is undeniable that the novel you wrote is very creative, really very good. I have never seen a novice who can design the creative idea of a short story so perfectly."
"However, unfortunately, I have to point out that your writing style is really a bit..." Stephen King curled his lips and gestured, as if looking for the right wording.
"I understand what you mean, isn't it too bad?" Yi Feiyang said.
"Yes, you can say that." Stephen King was a little surprised by Yi Feiyang's words. You know, anyone who creates is obsessed with saving face, but it is very rare to be so frank as the Chinese guy in front of him.
"I admit, it's really bad. I'm not an expert in wording and sentence making. That's why," Yi Feiyang paused, "I will show you these three short stories. I hope you can read them."
Give me some opinions." Yi Feiyang looked at Stephen King with half-smiling eyes.
Stephen King was not used to this kind of conversation.
Although he is a writer, since he became famous, whether it is the editor of a publishing house or a publisher of books and periodicals, it is he who takes the initiative and takes the initiative when talking to him.
"Ahem, dear Mr. Yi, is it okay for me to call you this? I have to say that you are a very frank person, and I like people like you! So now let's start talking about the main point... The main point is, if you
Put these three novels in my hands, and I can revise them into masterpieces! Excellent products, do you understand? The kind of masterpieces that can be published in newspapers, magazines, or even be published as stand-alone books!" Stephen King vowed.
Yi Feiyang laughed, and then said inappropriately: "How much is it?"
"Ah, what?"
"I mean, if I sell these three novels to you, how much can you give me?"
Stephen King was startled for a moment. Talking about money hurts feelings, but it seemed that the two of them had no feelings to talk about.
Then again, don’t we all say that Chinese people are very concerned about face and don’t like talking about money? Why does this guy always say money when he opens his mouth?! Isn’t he Chinese, but Korean or Japanese?!
Seeing Stephen King looking at him dumbfounded, Yi Feiyang had to remind him: "How much do you pay for three novels?!"
"Ahem, if you insist on talking about money, then you make a price." Stephen King's meaning is very obvious. Many small authors will be embarrassed to talk about money when they talk to this great master. As long as I can give them some advice.
, they are already grateful. Boy, you are the first.
However, Yi Feiyang didn't feel that it was shameful to talk about money at this time. Chinese people just want to save face and suffer. He, Yi Feiyang, is not such a saint.
"One price, three hundred thousand dollars!"
Since the other party is an idol, I will ask for less, maybe 300,000 yuan as a cost!
This is someone's well-intentioned intention.
However, Stephen King smiled, very contemptuously.
"Oh, dear China Yi, it seems that you haven't understood the situation yet; I invited you here today not to do business with you. I am optimistic about you and think you have a future, so I tell you so much; and you
Well, it seems that you have not clearly seen your identity, you are nothing now..."
"Of course, I don't deny that you may become a great writer in the future, but now, I still hope you can face reality. Three novels, three hundred thousand dollars, is a joke! Who in the United States will give you three novels?
One hundred thousand dollars, just for these three ideas? God, you think too highly of yourself!"
A series of contemptuous words and painful ridicule.
But all this did not move Yi Feiyang.
To be honest, if it were three days ago, Yi Feiyang, who was short of money to death, might have considered selling his three novels at a low price, but now...his uncle, Yi Feiyang smiled.
"Dear Mr. Stephen King, according to you, how much are these three novels of mine worth?"
"How much?" Stephen King crossed his arms and leaned on the sofa. "I can pay you up to thirty thousand US dollars! This is already the maximum amount!" His expression was full of charity.
In Stephen King's eyes, the amount he offered was enough to give the other party face. Shit, the average small author couldn't get even ten thousand US dollars, let alone thirty thousand, not to mention that the other party was Chinese.
In the United States, a country with serious racial issues, there seems to be no precedent for Chinese authors wanting to stand out.
Regarding Stephen King's "charity", Yi Feiyang shrugged and smiled arrogantly.
"Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Stephen King. I know that maybe this is the highest price you have ever offered, but it is too different from my request! Then we have nothing to talk about, but I have something to say
I want to tell you..." Yi Feiyang stood up and stared oppressively at Stephen King, the famous American "King of Terror" in a top-down posture.
"It doesn't matter if you don't buy these three novels of mine now, because they will sell for three million in the future!"
Three million dollars?!
Stephen King could hardly stop laughing.
How can it be?!
These Chinese people are so funny!!!
"Unless you are really favored by God, or Goddess of Luck favors you, this kind of miracle will never happen!"
Yi Feiyang knew that talking more would be useless, "Well, just wait and see. I, Yi Feiyang, will let you know in a short time that everything I say will become a miracle!" He stood up and left.
"Is it a miracle? Haha, okay, I will wait! No more, dear friend!" Stephen King sat on the sofa without getting up, watching Yi Feiyang leave with some disdain.
A woman came over from behind and put her arms around Stephen King's neck, "What's wrong, honey? Why don't you see off the guests?"
"He is too arrogant and I don't like it."
"Oh, really? But the stories he wrote are really good. I especially like the one called "The Green Mile."
"So what? In a complicated place like the United States, who would know him? No matter how brilliant his story is, he is still just an unknown person! What's more, he is still Chinese!" Stephen King laughed.
"Maybe, you were not famous before, but now you have become a great writer." The woman gently stroked Stephen King's hair.
Stephen King bit into a cigar and smiled.
"There may be a Santa Claus in the United States, but there will definitely not be a miracle like him!"
"Besides, to become famous in such a short time, is this possible?!" Stephen King shook his head and blew out a puff of smoke.
