Wang Jian stood in front of the window at the St. Regis, looking at the Colosseum not far away, bathed in dots of light, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.
Behind him, a middle-aged Caucasian man kept talking nonstop.
"Mr. Wang, we have invited so writers who have a certain level of fa in Italy, and even in all of Europe, to the new book release."
"Random House hopes you can mingle with them, using so of their quotes for the book’s spine."
Wang Jian curled his lip in disbelief at the inefficiency of traditional publishing work.
"They can’t even catch up with eating shit while it’s still hot!" he critiqued in his mind.
It had been already three full days since Wang Jian arrived in Ro.
Hollywood stars from Los Angeles, Parisian fashion insiders, and other groups adept at clout-chasing had already started their second round of "consolation" for Diana.
Even certain African countries that had received Diana’s support had caught on and begun to condemn Prince Charles.
And himself?
He could only visit Ro’s sights and wait for Italian Random to prepare for the new book release.
He even got so bored that he started playing "Arcane Throne II" sent by EA.
Alright, although the ga was indeed not bad.
It beca popular upon release because the protagonist could take different paths, gain different knowledge, and then generate a variety of skills, which greatly pleased players.
But even if it outperford "Tomb Raider" and "The Elder Scrolls" to beco the hottest RPG ga of 1996, for Wang Jian it was rely a pasti to kill ti.
After all, the ga rights had been sold in a bundle, while the physical books would continue to bring in a steady stream of inco.
"Such popularity still can’t compare to so writers’ endorsents?" Wang Jian sneered to himself.
But this was Random’s ho court, not a website.
And he was just a writer waiting for his physical book to be published, not a "Technology Elite" anymore.
So, he stood up and said emotionlessly, "Let’s go then."
As he walked past Sarah’s room door, Wang Jian hesitated for a mont but ultimately decided to skip it.
Compared to the aningless gatherings of writers, he believed it was more important to master more female writing techniques.
Besides, the author of "My Genius Girl Friend" would definitely refuse to attend such gatherings.
He shrugged and joined the Random staff to head to the hotel’s banquet hall.
"Is this... a writers’ gathering?" Wang Jian looked at the scene before him, feeling as if he had ti-traveled to the Middle Ages.
The magnificent and bright chandeliers, the dazzling silverware, and there was even an orchestra playing outdated classical music.
He glanced at the attire of the guests present and saw tailcoats and classical long dresses...
"Shit! Next Audrey Hepburn won’t appear and tell this is actually a shooting for ’Roman Holiday’, right?"
Wang Jian asked himself, having attended several writers’ gatherings in the United States.
Even compared to ordinary gatherings, they were indeed not as noisy, and they were as quiet as the "high society."
But no matter how "high society" it was, it shouldn’t revert to the salon mode of Paris, right?
"Mr. Wang, let introduce you," the deputy editor of Italian Random shook hands with a middle-aged Caucasian and said to Wang Jian with a smile.
"This is a descendant of Sir Conan Doyle, also a writer."
"The Adventures of Sherlock Hols"?
Wang Jian was surprised for a mont and shook hands with him.
But he didn’t expect the Caucasian to casually brush him off and then turn his head to continue talking with the deputy editor of Random House.
Even when he left with a glass of wine, he didn’t say another word to Wang Jian.
"This is Mrs. Agatha Christie’s granddaughter; she has already published three works."
The deputy editor introduced with a smile, "This is Mr. Wang, a bestselling author from the United States."
"The United States, bestselling?" The lady in a dress that resembled a court gown looked at Wang Jian with a smile that wasn’t quite a smile.
Then, she extended her hand covered in white gloves towards Wang Jian.
Wang Jian looked at her hand and was slightly taken aback.
This is...
To perform the hand-kissing gesture myself?
These writers really consider themselves nobility?
"Fuck, I at least am a billionaire, I don’t need to put up with this shit."
He pretended not to understand the other party’s attitude and reached out for a handshake.
The gesture surprised the female writer and the deputy editor of Random House.
As a result, the descendants of the other famous writers ignored Wang Jian even more.
"The book promotion is supposed to revolve around , right?" Wang Jian, holding his plate, watched the n and won dancing not far away, sowhat speechless.
"They don’t like you, just as they don’t like ," a male voice arose beside Wang Jian’s ear, "They think they’re Alexandre Dumas Fils, inheriting literary talent from their ancestors."
"It’s ridiculous because those books are trash, completely unsellable."
"They start claiming that literature is noble and shouldn’t pander to the public."
Huh?
Such sharp criticism?
Wang Jian turned to look and found that the speaker was a middle-aged man.
"Christopher," the middle-aged man introduced himself with a smile, "in a sense, we are rivals this year."
Rivals? Europe?
Wang Jian studied the man, his brain whirring.
It clicked after a mont.
This year’s Hugo Award for science fiction was presented by the United States Writers Association for his own "Anomalies."
The British Writers Association had put forward "Deadly Magic."
And the author of that book was the man before him.
"Don’t mind their attitude," the British writer said, raising his glass with a smile, "They look down on all writers whose books sell well."
Wang Jian watched the man’s retreating figure, his brows deeply furrowed.
So, was it because of these useless wretches that he wasted three precious days?
He put down his glass and started looking for the deputy editor of Random House Italy.
This couldn’t be the end of it!
"Sir, the deputy editor is in the smoking room," said a waiter to Wang Jian.
Wang Jian nodded and quickly headed toward a little room.
But, the smoky interior gave him pause.
"I only learned after arriving here that Princess Diana’s autobiography had been authorized to a bestselling Arican writer!"
"And an Asian at that!"
"Wasn’t your father friends with Princess Diana’s father? Why didn’t you get the authorization?"
"I heard that Prince Charles is considering a divorce, so I planned to try to get the authorization afterward."
"You’ve miscalculated this ti, haven’t you? The Asian snagged the deal, right?"
"Ha, scandals between Princess Diana and Prince Charles happen often. After so ti, the public will forget."
Wang Jian at the entrance to the smoking room also helplessly nodded.
This was precisely what he feared would happen; after all, public mory is short-lived.
"Mr. Wang," at this mont, the voice of the deputy editor of Random House Italy arose from behind him.
"Were you looking for ? What’s the matter?"
But before Wang Jian could respond, the man began to gesticulate excitedly.
"Mr. Wang, I have good news to tell you!"
"Princess Diana, oh, no," he quickly corrected himself, "Ms. Diana has announced that she has requested a divorce from Prince Charles!"
"What?"
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