Halfway through the letter, he heard Mrs. Martin's shrill voice pierce through the floorboards, urging the tenants downstairs for dinner.
Lionel hadn't fully digested his afternoon meal and had no desire to eat Mrs. Martin's tongue-insulting food, so he chose to ignore her.
He still had a piece of bread and a slice of bacon, which he could snack on later if he got hungry.
After carefully considering his words, he finally finished the last sentence of the letter:
"...In short, please thank Mr. Emile for me. However, necessary caution is still required. If possible, Father could send a letter to Orby Trading Company, and I will also inquire about the Panama Canal in Paris."
"Yours, Lionel"
After finishing, Lionel checked it again, and after confirming there were no issues, he carefully folded it and placed it in the inner pocket of his coat, planning to mail it on his way to school tomorrow.
Next was the matter of how to make money.
Including the 20 francs his family had just sent, his total assets were only a little over 110 francs. In Paris, a place where every inch of land is precious, this would only cover rent, food, paper and pens, newspaper and book rentals, and various other expenses for at most two months.
If he couldn't find a way to make money quickly, he would have to return to the Alps, whether he wanted to or not.
Lionel calculated that, without affecting his studies, the suitable part-time jobs for him were only a few:
First, tutoring for middle-class families, teaching on weekends, which, if he was lucky, could bring in about 40 to 60 francs a month.
Second, working as a copyist, working every night, paid by the page, about 3 to 5 sous per page, which could earn him about 20 francs a month.
This would barely allow him to survive in Paris.
As for other jobs, such as a bookstore assistant or a cafe waiter... as a poor student from the provinces, no one would hire him without a guarantor.
Of course, there was a third path—submitting manuscripts and becoming a writer!
This was the golden age of French literature, from Victor Hugo to Balzac, and then to Flaubert and Zola, all of whom achieved wealth accumulation and class ascension through writing.
This included Maupassant, whom he had just met today—although he was currently an unknown government clerk who could only treat people to meals at a "public dining table," after the immortal Ball of Fat was published, he quickly resigned from his job to become a full-time writer.
Soon after, he moved to the expensive Rue de Douai; a few years later, he even bought a yacht and sailed to Italy for a vacation.
Lionel's original self was also a well-known scholar in the Alps, and choosing to study at the Faculty of Arts at Sorbonne University naturally meant he harbored dreams of becoming a great writer.
However, no matter how many manuscripts he submitted, they were always like a stone sinking into the sea, with no news.
Lionel took out a stack of papers from the desk drawer—these were the manuscripts left by his original self. After his rebirth, there were too many memories to sort through, and he had been in a daze for a long time, so he hadn't had time to examine them closely.
As a young lecturer in the Chinese Department at Yenching University—Zhang Chaohua—who was now Lionel, he felt a headache just looking at the titles of these manuscripts:
"The Ideal Education," "Love and Reason," "The Sacred Maiden," "Echoes from the Depths of the Alps"...
Each piece had a serious, precociously mature face.
Looking at the content, most were academic poems, essays, and literary criticisms. Although the writing was not bad, the values were strongly religious and had long been eliminated by this era.
Furthermore, his original self's aspirations were extremely high, only submitting to major newspapers like Le Figaro, Le Républicain, and Revue des Deux Mondes, so naturally, there was no follow-up.
It should be known that in the 1850s, after the great Mr. Hugo became a wealthy man and "the conscience of France" through writing, this path began to become exceptionally crowded.
Every newspaper and every publisher received a large number of submissions, and behind each submission was an ambitious young person who wanted to become the next Hugo or Balzac.
As the editor-in-chief of Le Figaro once sarcastically described it: "More numerous than flies in a public latrine!"
So, there was no need to think; the manuscripts Lionel's original self submitted, like most other submissions, were quietly piled in the corners of newspaper offices and publishing houses, waiting to be discarded once a certain quantity accumulated.
This was somewhat similar to the Chinese literary scene from the 1990s to the early 21st century.
A young writer without much background who wanted to make a name for himself had only a few ways:
If France were still in the imperial era, the best shortcut would be to participate in the poetry competition held by the Académie française, write a hymn that pleased an emperor, and then gain the opportunity to enter the literary world.
Of course, there was also a universally applicable path in every era: networking.
Start by mixing in local literary circles, publishing some clumsy poems and novels in small newspapers, then writing flattering letters to great writers with one's own works attached. If a positive, praising reply was received, one could then use that reply to frequent the offices of newspaper and publishing house owners.
Of course, it would be even better to become a student of a great writer, or even just an aide; there would always be opportunities for them to provide recommendations.
Additionally, starting as a journalist and building a reputation and connections in the publishing industry before choosing to become a writer was also a viable option.
However, no matter which path, Lionel's original self clearly had not accumulated any experience or social connections in this regard, only foolishly writing outdated articles, hoping that a miracle would one day appear.
The current Lionel was short on money, constantly on the verge of starvation, and even less able to engage in more social activities. If he did find a copying or tutoring job, all his free time would be squeezed dry.
So, of course, he would not continue to stubbornly stick with Le Figaro or Le Républicain.
He pulled out a stack of newspapers from a corner of the room—newspapers with extremely poor print quality, leaving his hands covered in ink if he touched them too hard—La Lanterne, Le Polichinelle, Le Vacarme...
These newspapers published sensational news and jokes, the cheapest ones even selling for only 3 centimes each, and they were all outdated newspapers from several months ago.
Lionel's original self collected these newspapers not to admire their articles, but to wipe his bottom—although there was a communal toilet on the stair landing of this apartment building, the stingy Mrs. Martin clearly wouldn't provide toilet paper.
So, these outdated tabloids became the cheapest substitute. Spending 3 sous could solve a month's worth of wiping issues, and besides leaving a certain area pitch black and shiny, there were no other side effects.
And now these "toilet papers" became Lionel's lifeline. He eagerly read various jokes from them, analyzing what exactly the fun-loving people of Paris enjoyed reading...
If any newspaper owner was willing to open submissions immediately, it would certainly be these small tabloids, not the major newspapers that sold 100,000 or 200,000 copies a day.
After finishing these "toilet papers," Lionel was already confident, picked up paper and pen, and wrote furiously, filling two whole pages in no time.
This could be considered "testing the waters," right? Not too much, otherwise the sunk cost would be too high.
Only the signature was difficult; using his real name could cause problems later, and a pseudonym... Lionel pondered for a moment and then wrote a few words:
"An Honest Parisian"
