I came to Chinatown on a mission to get copies of the Chinese classics in their original language. This was at a time that I was much younger. I wished to know how the system was. Of course, I thought, they must come in volumes. At least the narrative prose. Surely there was not a solid 2500-page book weighing down the shelf there. I had no idea what I would come to see. I came to an exclusively Chinese bookstore, and there I found an abundance of semi-pornography, as true pornography is illegal in China, comic books, and documents on political theory. This was most of what I saw, and mostly what I expected. I came to the woman in charge, trying my best with the broken Putonghua I had about me at the time, to find their narrative works. She was incredibly confused. Finally, she lit up, and she seemed to come to a revelation. She walked to a far-off shelf and pulled from it, not a book, but a pamphlet. She handed it to me and said, last one. I studied the thing, unfolding it, and indeed it did carry the name of the 2500-page tome I was looking for. Only, it seemed to be only about 20 or so pages. Quickly I checked the back. It said in Chinese, volume ten. Seventeen dollars.
I have made this ambiguous for my own reasons, as saying where it is would project also to where I am close to.
Ambiguity of location aside, is there a question or topic being presented here? This area of the forum is for the discussion of topics or questions. If this is being presented as an example of your creative writing, it is in the wrong location. Please clarify that part of the dynamic.
Hm. I thought it was a humorous anecdote; I am mistaken. Simply, I thought that it was a funny story that anyone would sell upwards of hundreds of volumes for one book, let alone sell it for such a price. I do find strange things funny, I suppose.
