wavenovel Chapter 87, "The Record of Strange Tales of the Tang Dynasty," has been renamed.
Chapter 87, "The Record of Strange Tales of the Tang Dynasty," has been renamed.
In response to the call, "The Record of Strange Tales of the Tang Dynasty" was officially renamed. Luo Jinnian was very surprised when he heard the news because the new name was "New Sharp Reading".
He hadn't realized any of this before because the original "New Sharp Reading" in his previous life wasn't called "The Great Tang Strange Tales" but "The Guest".
He couldn't quite remember why the name was changed later, but the magazine probably felt that the name was too narrow, confining it to the suspense genre, while they wanted to do much more than that.
After changing its name, it did enjoy a period of glory—a new name, new design, new columns, and even hired a few moderately famous suspense writers to write columns. Those years were the last gasp of print media. At the beginning of each month, newsstand owners would place the latest issue in the most prominent position. The cover was always dark, with a blurry figure or a half-open door, and the words "This Issue's Big Announcement" printed on it in blood red.
Luo Jinnian was still in elementary school at the time. He didn't have much pocket money, but he bought every issue of the magazine. He remembers squatting in front of the newsstand at the school gate, handing the crumpled ten yuan to the owner, and taking the magazine sealed in a transparent plastic bag. The moment he tore open the plastic bag—the smell of ink mixed with the dry smell of paper—is still vivid in his memory.
and after?
Later, newsstands began to disappear one by one. First, the one near the school closed down; the owner said it "didn't make any money." Then the one downstairs from his house turned into a roasted sweet potato stall. And then, he realized he hadn't seen a newsstand on the street for a long time.
"New Reading" made it to the last batch. He remembers seeing the announcement on his phone—the magazine's official Weibo account posted a long article titled "To Our Readers."
The wording was dignified and restrained: "The winter for print media has been longer than we anticipated. We have tried our best, and we thank everyone for your support over the years."
Then *New Insight Reading* ceased publication. It wasn't that it stopped publishing; it was a "period of indefinite suspension."
Luo Jinnian closed his eyes. Memories of his past life flooded back like a tide, giving him no time to prepare. He remembered those bound volumes, from the inaugural issue to the last issue before its closure, neatly stacked on his bookshelf.
He lifted his face from the pillow, sat up, picked up his phone, and checked his bank account balance—the advance payment for the original novel's royalties had arrived, a figure far exceeding his earnings from writing.
The demise of "New Sharp Reading" in his previous life flashed through his mind again and again: circulation plummeted from hundreds of thousands of copies per issue at its peak to less than tens of thousands before it ceased publication; its revenue streams went from being full of colorful car and mobile phone articles to the last few issues featuring book recommendations from the magazine itself on the back cover.
Luo Jinnian suddenly realized a problem.
What he has been doing all along is contributing to "Tales of the Strange in the Tang Dynasty", building up the popularity of his pen name "Early Spring Tea", and accumulating readers through short stories.
Is it time to stop now?
The dream of print publications should come to an end.
He didn't know the magazine's current circulation. But he knew the decline of print media wouldn't be reversed with a second chance. The death of *New Reading* was structural, a product of its time, not anyone's fault. Even if it changed its name a few years later or survived a few more years, the outcome wouldn't be different. Newsstands would still disappear one by one, and readers would still switch from flipping through magazines to scrolling through their phones.
Online literature won out in an instant.
Luo Jinnian put down his phone and walked to his desk to sit down. Several outdated copies of "Tang Dynasty Ghost Stories" were spread out on the table. The latest issue had a dark red cover with the words "This Issue's Highlight: Early Spring Tea's 'Human Chair'" printed on it. He reached out and picked up the magazine, flipped to his own manuscript, and looked at the lead type arranged in rows on the page. The printing was clear, the paper was thick, and it had a rough texture to the touch.
He suddenly felt that all of this was absurd.
Time, how wondrous it is.
The future of this magazine has already been written—from glory to decline, from decline to struggle, and from struggle to that decent "To Our Readers".
Luo Jinnian closed the magazine, pushed it to the corner of the table, and opened his laptop. There was an unread email in his inbox from Lin, the editor of "Tales of the Tang Dynasty," informing him that the sample copy of "The Human Chair" had been sent and the payment would be deposited into his account at the beginning of next month. He glanced at it, didn't reply, and instead created a new email.
Edit for your mentor.
The main text contains only one sentence: "Mr. Lin, I'd like to ask, what's the trend in your magazine's circulation over the past few years? Have you considered a transformation?"
After sending it, he leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the words "Sent successfully" on the screen for a long time. He knew the question was presumptuous; an author shouldn't ask an editor such a question.
The editor's reply came much faster than he had expected.
"Circulation has indeed declined compared to previous years; print media as a whole is on a downward trend, as you know. The publishing house has been discussing transformation, but the direction hasn't been decided yet. Why are you asking this, boss?"
Luo Jinnian looked at the reply but didn't respond immediately. He recalled the failed "transformation" of *New Sharp Reading* in his previous life. None of the magazines that truly survived the disaster relied on "transformation"; they relied on the capital and platforms behind them, on someone willing to inject capital at any cost. *New Sharp Reading* didn't have such people behind it.
He typed a reply: "Just asking. Thank you, Professor Lin."
After sending the message, he closed his email, opened a blank document, and typed a few words in the header: "Early Spring Culture, Three-Year Plan".
He had long since figured something out. He was submitting an article to a magazine that was doomed to fail, but his past name, "Da Tang," had made him think he could escape the tides of the times. However, this name change proved that no one could escape it.
Habit is a terrible thing; it can make you feel perfectly at ease walking down a dead end.
Editor Lin then asked him, "Do you have something on your mind?"
Luo Jinnian stared at the message for more than ten seconds, then typed four words: "No, just asking." After sending it, he put his phone face down on the table, not wanting to look at it anymore.
He was thinking about something from his past life.
After *New Sharp Reading* ceased publication, a crowdfunding campaign called "Save New Sharp Reading" was launched online to raise funds for the magazine's revival. The crowdfunding goal was 500,000 yuan, but less than 80,000 yuan was raised in the end. Luo Jinnian also donated 200 yuan at the time.
The crowdfunding page was never updated after that, and nobody knows where the 80,000 yuan went.
In this lifetime, it is still a news story that has not yet happened, an ending that has not yet arrived.
The night outside the window was deep. He recalled a quote from a magazine editor in his past life: "We are not competing with other magazines, we are competing with the times."
Luo Jinnian made a decision—