Chapter 88 Recruitment

Chapter 88: Recruitment

The new shop was not far from Meng Wan's home; a thirty-minute walk brought them there. It was a two-story building facing the street, situated in a good spot at the center of the street, surrounded by bookshops and painting studios, quiet and elegant.

Behind the shop was a large courtyard, four main rooms, and two side rooms.

This property had originally been used for a food business, with the backyard serving as a woodshed, kitchen, and staff quarters.

Meng Wan first took Huang Zheng to see the backyard. As they walked, he said, "Pick one of the back rooms for yourself, and keep another as a storeroom. The kitchen is too big for our needs—partition half of it for other uses, and divide the rest into individual rooms. If we ever have writers without a fixed place to stay, they can be lodged here."

"Understood, Sister-in-law," Huang Zheng nodded as he followed, afraid of forgetting details, holding paper and a writing brush in his hands.

They then circled to the front of the shop. The ground-floor hall was quite large. Meng Wan, referencing the decorative style of Kongmo Bookshop, mused, "No need to partition the main hall into rooms. Decorate it in an elegant style. Later, order some low tables for this area, and this area should be re-floored with hardwood."

Huang Zheng hesitated and asked, "Sister-in-law, should the flooring be of wenge wood or huangshan wood? And what style should the tables be?"

Meng Wan could only give a general idea; the details truly stumped him.

He said with a sigh, "This really needs an expert."

"What kind of expert?"

Nie Zhiyao walked in through the door with his page.

Seeing him as if a celestial being had appeared, Meng Wan said joyfully, "You came at the right time. Huang Zheng, this is the Second Master of our Qingxiao Pavilion."

Huang Zheng paid his respects. Meng Wan shared his ideas for renovating the shop with Nie Zhiyao, only to be met with his mockery. "Are you short on silver or short on help? Why do everything yourself?"

Huang Zheng lowered his head, blaming himself for being useless and causing his sister-in-law so much trouble.

Meng Wan’s tone softened, "No, not at all. I'm only providing the rough ideas. Once the shop is running, naturally I won't need to come and supervise every day."

Nie Zhiyao walked a lap around the shop, getting a sense of the space, then said to Meng Wan, "Since you're renting the shop and you came up with the idea, I can't just use my name. That would be taking advantage of you. My uncle says that among friends, you can help those in need, but never let one party give endlessly—that's a big taboo."

Meng Wan had originally planned to seek his advice on shop renovations anyway. Hearing this, he smiled and said, "You must know much more about this than I do. I'll leave the shop renovations to you."

With the decoration settled, there were other matters to discuss.

"Also, about our urgent need to recruit writers. I've been thinking—we shouldn't limit ourselves to men. For writing stories, using a pen name, who would know if the author is male, female, or a gē'ér?"

Nie Zhiyao's eyes lit up. "You mean we can recruit female writers?"

Meng Wan spoke in a moderate tone so Huang Zheng could listen carefully. "Exactly. But when we post the notices, we can't specify that. Also, it's not realistic for female writers to work in the same office as male writers. So I'm thinking of a submission system. We hire a female or gē'ér supervisor to collect their submissions. They can work from home, and the supervisor goes to pick up manuscripts and deliver their wages monthly."

Nie Zhiyao’s eyes sparkled. "Great idea! If you trust me, let me handle this. I know a suitable supervisor—an elderly nanny in my service who has signed a lifetime contract. She was even trained by my grandparents and has seen many ups and downs. She'll be reliable."

"Since I'm partnering with you to open the shop, of course I trust you. If you have someone capable, it saves me effort." Meng Wan had originally wanted him to help find people anyway, as high-ranking families had more leisure to cultivate their young ladies and young masters in reading and writing. Some were quite talented in poetry and prose, no less than the hardworking scholars.

Naturally, Nie Zhiyao's status made it easier to approach such people.

They finalized more details in the shop. Huang Zheng couldn't contribute much for now, feeling a sense of inadequacy but even more admiration.

The next day, Meng Wan visited the Nie residence again to discuss renovation details with Nie Zhiyao. He himself could draw interior design sketches, and Nie Zhiyao supplemented ideas and details. More importantly, Meng Wan knew nothing about materials and needed Nie Zhiyao's input.

Having studied sketching, Meng Wan even made a perspective drawing, making it easier for the craftsmen to build.

Nie Zhiyao had studied music, chess, calligraphy, and painting since childhood. Though not from a scholarly family that provided women's education, he had his own insights. Even so, seeing Meng Wan's drawing, he was amazed.

"How did you do this? It's so lifelike, as if it were real!"

Meng Wan didn't have the audacity to claim it as his own invention, so he made up a story: "When I was a child, a wandering monk taught me for a while. I learned this painting technique from him, but I never saw him again after that."

*Art teacher, I miss you. Thank you for teaching me a skill that lets me earn a living in this strange world.*

Nie Zhiyao had initially wanted to seek out this master, but hearing this, he sighed. "Such an extraordinary recluse must not be tempted by wealth or power. Meeting him was truly your fortune."

Meng Wan thought of his art teacher's usual aloof and detached demeanor, and how she would look half-dead after every payday. He fell into an awkward silence.

"What are you two doing holed up in your room?"

Nie Erfulang suddenly appeared from the main courtyard to see them. Actually, it wasn't sudden—every time Meng Wan visited Nie Zhiyao, Nie Erfulang would invite him over to talk. Over time, Meng Wan realized that this man might be a little fond of him.

Not that Meng Wan was narcissistic, but he did seem to be quite likeable.

Meng Wan and Nie Zhiyao stood up and greeted him. Nie Zhiyao said first, "Second Uncle, Wan Ge'er and I are drawing plans for our joint shop renovation."

The family already knew about their joint venture, so Nie Erfulang wasn't surprised. He sat down on the daybed and picked up the drawing from the low table. "Oh? Let me see what it looks like."

The next moment, his voice rose slightly. "Did Wan Ge'er draw this?"

Meng Wan felt embarrassed. "Yes, I drew it. It's not good, please don't laugh at it, Uncle."

Nie Erfulang frowned quickly. "Didn't I tell you to call me Uncle along with Yao Ge'er?"

Meng Wan quickly corrected himself: "Second Uncle!"

"Mm." Nie Erfulang was satisfied.

"If you're not in a hurry to use this painting, lend it to me for a couple of days."

Meng Wan hastily said, "Second Uncle, don't say that. If you like it, take it. I can draw another."

Nie Erfulang promptly rolled up the painting and put it away. "In that case, I won't stand on ceremony. You two have fun. Come visit me when you have time."

He came and left abruptly, leaving Meng Wan completely baffled.

Nie Zhiyao thought: *Second Uncle doesn't usually like schemers like me, does he? Why is he so warm with Wan Ge'er, when Wan Ge'er is even more scheming than I am.*

Meng Wan redrew the plan and left the drawing with Nie Zhiyao, letting him purchase wood according to the design and purpose, while Huang Zheng hired craftsmen to supervise the renovation.

For Qingxiao Pavilion, Meng Wan held a 40% share as founder, Nie Zhiyao 30%, Huang Zheng 10%, and the remaining 20% was kept in the pavilion as rewards for outstanding employees.

If a writer's style matured, and their output stabilized, they would sign a long-term contract with profit-sharing to retain them at the pavilion.

With these details settled, only the recruitment of writers remained.

"Brother Wan." During the lunch break, Song Tingzhou waited at the entrance of the dining hall and called out to a student around thirty years old.

The man stopped, clasped his hands, raised them to his forehead, and bowed formally. "Brother Song, congratulations on your success in the provincial exam."

Song Tingzhou returned the bow. "Thank you, Brother Wan. I hope you will pass the exam three years from now."

This man was Wan Sui, one of the many xiucai from Changping Prefecture School who had gone to Fengtian for the exam, but unfortunately failed.

Wan Sui felt bitter inside but maintained his courtesy. "Thank you for your kind words, Brother Song. By the way, what did you call me for?"

Song Tingzhou carefully considered his words before speaking. "Brother Wan, you know that I come from a farming family just like you. My family wasn't well-off before, but things improved a bit when my mother and her husband started doing some business."

Among scholars, there were always gossips, and Song Tingzhou was a notable figure at the school. His family circumstances were naturally known to some.

Nowadays, breakfast stalls selling fried dough are everywhere, and everyone knows that it was Song Tingzhou Fulang who sold the recipe and bought a new house. Some people muttered behind his back, saying sour things like, "Find a good husband and you'll have no worries about food and clothing."

Song Tingzhou didn't know, and even if he did, he wouldn't care. He would think it was the truth anyway.

Wealthy scholars wouldn't envy the Song family's meager gains; those who said such things were mostly poor scholars raised by farming families. These people stuck together tightly, and Wan Sui was one of them, though he never openly gossiped about others, making him somewhat of an outsider among these impoverished scholars.

"What does Brother Song mean?" Wan Sui couldn't figure out why Song Tingzhou was saying this to him.

Song Tingzhou's lead-in was brief, but he had no patience for more rambling. "A younger brother from my hometown has opened a shop and needs writers for storybooks. If Brother Wan is interested, you'd like to give it a try."

Wan Sui's temper flared. He might have failed the provincial exam, but as a Linseng (government stipend scholar) of the prefectural school, how could he stoop to writing storybooks?

Was Song Tingzhou insulting him!

"I—"

He barely got one word out before Song Tingzhou interrupted. "For a single storybook, good or bad, at least ten taels of silver. If it sells well, there will be additional royalties."

Wan Sui's anger got stuck in his throat. "I... I'll do it!"

—

"To ensure a smooth opening and attract more writers, favorable conditions are key. Once there are enough people, we can improve quality through training and gradually implement a sales ranking royalty system."

Meng Wan's shop was being constructed quickly. Above the storefront hung a large red plaque, one meter wide and three meters long, painted with red lacquer, bearing the three characters "Qingxiao Pavilion," which Meng Wan had asked Song Tingzhou to inscribe.

The ground-floor hall was bright and spacious; sunlight streamed through the clean window paper onto the light yellow floorboards.

To the left of the entrance was a counter, and on the wall opposite the door, copying Kongmo Bookshop's setup, they placed a rosewood statue of the Wenchang Emperor; the offering table held fruits and incense offerings, and the incense in the burner looked freshly lit, filling the room with a pleasant wood scent—clearly good stuff.

Nie Zhiyao footed the bill for all of this, and he’d even invested more than Meng Wan.

Along the walls, in the middle, and by the windows, three rows of low tables were arranged, six in each row. Under each table was a straw mat with a cotton cushion on top.

The second floor had sixteen small private rooms, all the same size, each with a desk and chairs. As the weather grew colder, thick cloth curtains hung at the doorways to keep out the wind.

Meng Wan, Nie Zhiyao, and the others were meeting in the ground-floor hall.

Nie Zhiyao asked, "What do you mean by sales ranking royalties?"

Sitting among the group, Meng Wan explained, "These writers' storybooks need to be filtered by Huang Zheng first. He'll pick the best few, then proactively go to other major bookstores to see if they're willing to publish them and negotiate the royalty splits between our Qingxiao Pavilion and the authors. Once the books are sold, we'll rank the authors monthly based on their royalties. Those at the top get an extra share from our pavilion; those at the bottom get nothing."

Nie Zhiyao raised an eyebrow. "You're quite the generous boss."

Meng Wan smiled, his eyes curving. "I just want to make a bit of honest money, not seek great wealth or fame. Money can never be fully earned, but if I focus solely on business maneuvering, I might forget my original intentions. I'm just an ordinary person, and I'm afraid I might one day be tempted by sudden wealth, hurting both myself and others. Better to hold back a bit."

The old maid beside Nie Zhiyao nodded approvingly. "Meng Fulang is righteous. This old servant once heard the madam say something similar."

She was the maid from Nie Zhiyao's household, having followed the family head through many ventures. Though a servant, she carried an imposing presence; even Huang Zheng felt inferior before her.

Meng Wan turned his gaze to her and said politely, "Aunt Dai, I'll leave the matters with the womenfolk to you. The young ladies and gentlemen aren't short on money, and they have various temperaments. We don't necessarily need the best writers, but we must find those who cause little trouble. You understand what I mean."

A bad temper wasn't a problem—it meant straightforwardness. What he feared were those from complicated families with many schemes, who might use Qingxiao Pavilion as a front to drag in shady matters.

Aunt Dai stood up and bowed, her voice steady and mature. "Master, rest assured. This old servant will carefully screen them."

Meng Wan also stood up from the cushion, his gaze swept over those present: Aunt Dai, Huang Zheng, and two newly hired young assistants.

With a composed demeanor, he addressed everyone, "A new shop opening won't immediately attract a large number of writers who can produce brilliant storybooks to make money. For at least half a year, we won't just not earn—we might even lose money. But don't lose heart. Steady yourselves and focus on improving the details, looking toward the future."

"Yes!"

As they left Qingxiao Pavilion, Nie Zhiyao called Meng Wan to walk with him.

"When I left home today, my second aunt said to bring you along. She's prepared a feast."

Meng Wan boarded the carriage, with Bi Yun and Nie Zhiyao's page walking alongside.

"It's not a festival or special occasion. Why suddenly invite me for a feast?"

Nie Zhiyao had heard some rumors. "It seems my second aunt has some important guest."

Meng Wan was even more puzzled. "A guest of your family—why invite me to accompany the feast?"