Chapter Thirty-One: The Storm Rises

When Zhou Xuan received Wei Xiyue’s call, he already knew that the publication and booming sales of “The Chronicles of the Ming Dynasty” would inevitably ruffle some feathers, but he hadn’t expected the backlash to come so swiftly. It was only the first day back at work, yet the reports had already surfaced—proof enough that this had been meticulously planned.

Just yesterday, on February 6th, the Northern Literary Gazette published a signed article by a senior editor from a certain Imperial Capital publishing house entitled, “How Can Flippant Takes on History Sell So Well?” The article painted an astonishing scene: a novel that distorts history and is riddled with personal conjecture was selling like hotcakes, reaching sales of three hundred thousand copies in a single week!

What was supposed to be a serious and earnest historical novel had become a tool for profiteering, and the fact that the public was flocking to buy it was, in the author’s view, a lamentable state of affairs. The article went on to list in detail the discrepancies between “The Chronicles of the Ming Dynasty” and the accepted historical record, using these examples to underscore the book’s alleged distortion and misinterpretation of history.

Thereafter, the literary supplement of the Imperial Capital Evening News featured a commentary by a well-known historian titled, “Beware of Roguish History.” This piece argued that the commercial success of “The Chronicles of the Ming Dynasty” signaled the spread of a pernicious trend: history told with the tone of a street ruffian. What should have been grave and dry historical narrative was now rendered in popular, even slightly rogueish language, catering to the masses and laced with strong personal emotion. Such writing, the article claimed, grossly violated the core spirit of history—“using history as a mirror to correct one’s conduct.” If what readers absorbed was merely another’s speculation, colored by personal feelings, how could they possibly form a correct view of history in their minds? How could they objectively and fairly evaluate history, or draw lessons from it? In the commentator’s eyes, popular historical works like “The Chronicles of the Ming Dynasty” were nothing short of irresponsible.

Following yesterday’s reports, a torrent of criticism erupted, with articles attacking “The Chronicles of the Ming Dynasty” springing up everywhere. Although Xiling Publishing House had anticipated such a scenario, they had not foreseen the onslaught would be so intense.

Yet as Zhou Xuan listened to Wei Xiyue recounting the criticisms and slanders in the press, his thoughts took a different turn.

The emergence of anything new is always accompanied by tribulations—especially when a stagnant pool is suddenly disturbed by a stubborn stone; the entrenched old guard will inevitably resist and attempt to suppress it.

To Zhou Xuan, this was only natural. The attacks from historians, too, were something he had anticipated when preparing to write “The Chronicles of the Ming Dynasty.” Such circumstances had arisen even in later times, but with the development of online literature and the shifting of public opinion, the backlash was never quite as fierce. However, with the publication of “The Chronicles” coming eight years ahead of its time—when the internet was just beginning to take root—it was understandable that some earnest historians would find it hard to accept.

But in Zhou Xuan’s eyes, “The Chronicles of the Ming Dynasty” was, after all, just a novel—not a conventional historical treatise. Compared to the time-travel novels that would later sweep the market and upend history, his work was child’s play. Not to mention, the likes of Huang Yi’s “A Step Into the Past” had already blazed a trail, making “The Chronicles of the Ming Dynasty” seem even less remarkable.

Moreover, Zhou Xuan believed that true historians were too engrossed in their academic pursuits to bother with something like “The Chronicles.” In truth, the book’s plain and accessible style would only help more people understand that period of history; its contribution to historical awareness outweighed its drawbacks, and this was undeniable.

Now, with both the Northern Literary Gazette and the Imperial Capital Evening News singling out “The Chronicles” for attack, it seemed as if there was a concerted effort to consign the book to oblivion. Part of this, Zhou Xuan mused, was the common affliction of envy, while another part was likely fear of Xiling Publishing’s potential rise.

Xiling Publishing was already at the pinnacle of second-tier publishers, just one step away from joining the elite. At this critical juncture, unearthing a bestseller like “The Chronicles of the Ming Dynasty” would certainly provoke the top-tier publishers to try to stifle its momentum. Was it any coincidence that the article in the Northern Literary Gazette was penned by a senior editor from Northern Press in the Imperial Capital?

Since taking the neural domain enhancement drug, Zhou Xuan’s thoughts had become remarkably agile; he could see through things at a glance, always a step ahead.

For this reason, he wasn’t particularly worried about the criticism. In fact, the more fierce the attacks, the better the sales for “The Chronicles.” Sometimes, bad publicity only piques the public’s curiosity—they want to see just how “terrible” the book really is.

In Zhou Xuan’s view, there was no need to intervene. When it comes to reputation, it’s better to allow open debate than to try to suppress it. With hundreds of thousands already reading “The Chronicles,” word of mouth would only draw more people into its fold.

On the other end of the line, Wei Xiyue hadn’t expected Zhou Xuan to hold such views. For the publishing house, letting criticism go unanswered was unthinkable; their instinct was to rally supporters to counter the attacks. To them, this was a battle they could not afford to lose. If they let their adversaries fire at will, “The Chronicles of the Ming Dynasty” might be strangled in its infancy.

So, after calling Zhou Xuan, Wei Xiyue hurried to the president’s office to discuss Xiling’s response.

Bang!

The president slammed his palm on the desk, fuming, “Northern Press has really gone too far, slandering ‘The Chronicles of the Ming Dynasty’ like this.”

Wei Xiyue was equally incensed. “We expected some backlash, but never thought Northern Press would stoop so low. I think they’ve already contacted more newspapers and magazines—there will be even more negative commentary in the next few days. We have to be ready, we can’t let them get away with this.”

The president frowned, “Here in the southwest we have some influence, so it shouldn’t be a big issue. But up north, in the Imperial Capital, we’re powerless. Northern Press’s influence runs deep there; there’s nothing we can do.”

“All we can do is publish articles refuting their points,” Wei Xiyue suggested. “After all, the sales of ‘The Chronicles’ speak for themselves—no one can dispute that. As the saying goes, the people have sharp eyes. We can also interview readers to see what they think of the book, let them compare it to previous historical works, and share their opinions.”

The president clapped his hands in approval. “Excellent idea! The people’s eyes are sharp. Let’s conduct more interviews and let the public speak. Stir the waters a bit—orthodox history and popular retellings are two different things; there’s no point in being so pedantic.”

“Who knows, this whole commotion might make ‘The Chronicles’ even more famous, and the sales might soar even higher…” Wei Xiyue said with a smile.

And so, as the controversy over “The Chronicles of the Ming Dynasty” erupted on the second day back to work after the New Year, the public was kept fascinated, and the book’s sales only climbed higher amidst the storm.