Chapter 018: Harry, Courting Disaster

United States, New York.

The contrast between the backwardness of Tuvalu and the bustling prosperity of New York left Li Daniu with a profound sense of disparity. As the current King of Tuvalu, it was clear that his life would have little to do with international metropolises like this one. After all, what kind of sovereign spends his days abroad rather than in his own country?

“One day, my Tuvalu will surpass this broken New York,” Li Daniu declared boldly from the back seat of a taxi.

Why didn’t he have a royal car? The answer was simple: poverty.

Even though he had just come into two hundred million dollars, and might earn even more after auctioning the necklace, there were simply too many demands on his funds. Li Daniu couldn’t justify buying a car in America for his own comfort, especially when he might only use it a handful of times a year.

After a series of stops and starts, the taxi finally arrived at his destination: Lunar Publishing House.

Although Burns didn’t quite believe Li Daniu’s claim that he could write a few books and earn hundreds of millions, as the king’s prime minister, Burns couldn’t simply ignore his monarch’s words. So, using the few connections he had, he introduced Li Daniu to an editor at Lunar Publishing.

Originally, Burns had intended to accompany his king everywhere, but Li Daniu had tasked him with initiating negotiations for the purchase of an island. Thus, only two guards and Tuvalu’s national lawyer accompanied him.

“Your Majesty, we’ve arrived,” said Castro, the national lawyer and part-time royal aide, upon seeing the large sign for Lunar Publishing.

“Your Majesty? Sir, did I hear that right? He called you ‘Your Majesty’?” the taxi driver asked in disbelief.

“Yes, that’s my nickname. It’s pretty imposing, isn’t it?” Li Daniu replied awkwardly.

“It sure is. But you should at least ride in a good car to live up to it.”

Once out of the car, Li Daniu quickly pulled his small entourage aside. “Don’t call me ‘Your Majesty’ in public—just call me ‘boss’.”

“But—”

“No buts. That’s an order.” With a wave of his hand, Li Daniu led the way into the publishing house.

Truth be told, Li Daniu wasn’t thrilled to be accompanied by this group. It might look impressive, but it was embarrassing to arrive by taxi, especially with people constantly addressing him as ‘Your Majesty,’ as if advertising to the world that he was the poorest king alive.

Yet, before he crossed over into this world, he’d never written a book, let alone published a novel, so he had to bring along Castro, one of the only two lawyers in Tuvalu. The two guards, of course, were arranged by Burns—ostensibly for the king’s safety.

Safety? Li Daniu snorted inwardly. They couldn’t even bring guns into America. How were they supposed to protect him in a country where nearly every household owned firearms?

Speaking of firearms, Li Daniu was still fuming. As the king of a sovereign state recognized by the United Nations, his security detail should have been allowed to carry weapons abroad. Even when the leaders of certain great nations traveled, they airfreighted their own cars along. But when Li Daniu applied through diplomatic channels to bring weapons into the US, his request was denied—because, he was told, “America is very safe.”

America is very safe? That had to be a joke.

He considered switching countries to publish his book, but Burns dissuaded him with a single comment: “Your Majesty, even the old king never had guards carry guns on foreign visits.”

Fine. Perhaps weak nations have no real diplomacy, but this was truly humiliating—to be refused everywhere.

Reluctantly, and with Burns’ persuasion, Li Daniu agreed to bring two guards. At least, as Burns put it, “They can carry your luggage, open doors, and hold an umbrella if it rains.”

And so, looking more like the owner of a small business than a king, Li Daniu stepped into the doors of Lunar Publishing.

Last year, Lunar Publishing ranked forty-first among global publishers. That might sound low, but among hundreds of thousands of publishing houses worldwide, it was impressive; in the US, they were even in the top ten. In terms of royalties, their annual net profit reached 300 million dollars, while Tuvalu’s entire GDP barely topped ten million—a thirtieth of that.

At the front desk, Castro tactfully invited Li Daniu to wait in the lounge while he went to make arrangements.

After a short wait, Castro returned to say that everything was set, and they could go up to meet the editor Burns had recommended.

Why hadn’t the editor come down to greet him? The question flashed briefly through Li Daniu’s mind, but he let it go. The truth was, his country was simply too insignificant—even a business here outmatched them.

Upstairs, in a modest office, Li Daniu met the editor—a rather ordinary-looking, middle-aged white man—whom Burns had introduced.

“Your Majesty, I’m Harry, a friend of Burns. I hear you’ve written a novel and are looking to get it published?” Harry greeted him, rising from his seat, though without any particular respect.

From Harry’s perspective, though his friend Burns was prime minister, his own salary and benefits were much better. And Tuvalu? It was a country so small as to be almost negligible. He regretted not encouraging Burns to stay in America.

If Li Daniu had known what Harry was thinking, he would have wanted to spit in his face. When Tuvalu surpassed the US and UK, he thought, you’ll be lucky to curry favor with Burns—if I even allow it.

“Yes, Mr. Harry. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule. Would you like to glance at my manuscript first?”

“Of course—the manuscript is what matters most.” Harry smiled, taking the stack of A4 pages Castro handed over and flipping through them absentmindedly.

From the moment he’d received Burns’ call, Harry had assumed this young king was like so many others with power—just looking for a little fame. Lunar Publishing had handled countless vanity projects for celebrities and politicians willing to pay to see their names in print.

After a few minutes, Harry had already leafed through more than a dozen pages.

“I’ve finished reviewing it. Your writing is quite good. Let’s discuss the publishing terms,” he said.

Finished? Are you kidding me?

Li Daniu prided himself on reading quickly, honed by over a decade of devouring novels, but even he couldn’t get through that stack of paper in just a few minutes. Especially since “The Lord of the Rings” was a classic that took twelve years to conceive—every sentence was infused with meaning, demanding careful consideration.

Did this editor possess a photographic memory and lightning-fast reading skills?

“My lawyer will discuss the publishing details with you,” Li Daniu decided, reasoning that someone who’d risen to editor must be competent in his own way. He’d better stay patient.

“Alright,” Harry replied indifferently. He didn’t care who negotiated the terms; in his view, having someone else handle it only proved this was another vanity project.

“Mr. Harry, I am Castro, Tuvalu’s national lawyer. Regarding His Majesty’s book, you may discuss all publishing matters with me.” Castro spoke with confidence; this was only his second time representing Tuvalu’s royal family, the first being when he negotiated compensation after the old king’s plane crash.

“Hello, Mr. Castro. You see, Lunar Publishing receives many similar requests—pop stars, politicians…” Harry rattled off a list of American celebrities. “For these, we charge a standard fee of five dollars per copy, as the printer requires typesetting, and the cost can be adjusted depending on print volume. If you print fewer than fifty thousand copies, it’s five dollars each, non-negotiable. For a hundred thousand copies, the cost drops to four and a half dollars each.”

Ignoring the dumbfounded looks on Li Daniu and Castro’s faces, Harry continued, “Of course, I hope you won’t publicize this price. Normally, our publishing house adds a two-dollar profit per book, since we have to do typesetting, coordinate with printers, and distribute through our channels to bookstores all over America. But, thanks to Burns and your country’s situation, I can waive that two-dollar profit.”

By now, Li Daniu was certain Harry hadn’t actually read “The Lord of the Rings.” He probably hadn’t even skimmed it—otherwise, how could he say something like this?

Because the US strictly enforces anti-piracy laws, authors’ royalties are much higher than in other countries, sometimes up to 60%, and rarely below 20%. Book prices vary, but comparable novels to “The Lord of the Rings” generally sell for around twenty dollars per volume. On the way here, Li Daniu had already considered the numbers: though he was a debut author and couldn’t expect the legendary 60% royalty, with “The Lord of the Rings” having sold over a hundred million copies in his previous world, even a 1% royalty would amount to nearly twenty million dollars.

Therefore, he’d instructed Castro to insist on a royalty no lower than 40%.

But now, Harry wasn’t even discussing royalties—he was treating them as vanity publishers, quoting only the print cost.

Castro was stunned. This was not how it was supposed to go! How could he negotiate under these circumstances? Was his second case as national lawyer going to end in failure? Would His Majesty fire him? But this really wasn’t his fault.

“Mr. Harry, are you sure you don’t want to take another look at the manuscript?” Li Daniu, for Burns’ sake, decided to give him one more chance.

“Your Majesty, I think I’ve seen enough. No need for a second look. I trust that once it’s on shelves, there will be plenty of unsold copies for me to peruse at my leisure.” As he said this, Harry casually stacked the manuscript and placed it on the edge of his desk.

Li Daniu sighed. Burns, it’s not that I won’t do you this favor—it’s just that your friend is determined to sabotage himself.