1985, the year of the great writer, began with Infernal Affairs!

The more He Chongshan looked at Xie Lu, the more he felt that this kid was not like an eighteen-year-old at all.

Such insight into human nature, understanding of fate, and grasp of complex relationships could not have been written without decades of experience.

But he still wrote it.

My stomach started growling again, this time louder and a little painful.

I haven't eaten or drunk anything since noon, I'm starving.

He carefully tidied up the manuscript paper, put it back in the kraft paper envelope, placed it in the middle drawer of his desk, and locked it.

Then he stood up, ready to go outside to find something to eat.

I had just reached the door when I stopped again.

He glanced back at the drawer, then couldn't resist going back, opening it, taking out the manuscript, flipping through it, and reading two pages. He read two more pages.

My stomach hurt again.

He Chongshan reluctantly put the manuscript back, locked it again, and finally left.

The corridor was quiet, and the lights in the editorial office were all off. He walked out, his steps slower than usual, his mind still racing with those characters and plots.

As he reached the gate, the old gatekeeper was about to lock it when he saw him come out. He paused for a moment, then said, "Editor-in-Chief He, you're just leaving?"

"Yeah, I worked overtime."

The old man looked at the sky; it was completely dark. "This shift is going to be late; it's already past seven o'clock."

He Chongshan waved his hand and went out the door.

The streetlights were on, but there weren't many pedestrians.

He found a small restaurant that was still open and ordered a bowl of noodles.

The noodles were served, steaming hot. He picked up his chopsticks, took a bite, but couldn't taste anything.

The same question is still on my mind: How did Xie Lu do it?

What has a college freshman, coming from the countryside, seen and experienced? How can he see through the complexities of people's hearts so clearly?

He recalled Xie Lu's eyes—calm, neither humble nor arrogant.

Those eyes didn't look like those of an eighteen-year-old; they looked like someone who had lived several lifetimes.

Perhaps this is what geniuses are like.

He Chongshan thought to himself.

They're truly blessed with natural talent; you can't be envious.

After finishing his noodles, He Chongshan slowly walked back.

He Chongshan arrived home at almost nine o'clock.

He pushed open the door. The lights were on inside, and the aroma of food wafted from the kitchen, but it was long since cold.

The television was on in the living room, the volume turned down low. Shen Jingshu sat on the sofa, holding a knitting needle, knitting something.

Hearing the door open, she looked up, glanced at the clock on the wall, then at him, but said nothing.

He Chongshan changed his shoes, placed his briefcase on the small table by the door, and walked over with a forced smile: "Still not asleep?"

Shen Jingshu ignored him and continued to knit with the knitting needle.

He Chongshan sat down next to her and leaned over to look at what she was knitting: "What are you knitting? A sweater? For me?"

Shen Jingshu then spoke, her tone neither warm nor cold: "For the dog."

He Chongshan choked for a moment, then chuckled awkwardly, "We don't keep dogs at home."

"That's why it's never finished."

He Chongshan knew that his wife was just throwing a tantrum.

No wonder, we agreed to come back for dinner tonight, but it didn't end until nine o'clock.

He didn't explain, but simply moved closer to her and softened his voice: "I really had something to do today, the editorial department was busy."

"When are you not busy?" Shen Jingshu's needles didn't stop. "You're busy until nine o'clock, and you don't even come home for dinner or ask someone to come back and tell me. The food I left for you is still in the pot, and it's already cold."

He Chongshan quickly said, "I've already eaten. I just grabbed a quick bite outside. Don't be angry. I'll definitely tell you in advance next time."

Shen Jingshu glanced at him but didn't reply.

After a few seconds of silence, she spoke again, her tone less harsh but still tinged with reproach: "You, when you get busy, you don't care about anything. You were like this when you were young, and now that you're old, are you still like this? Don't you care about your health?"

"Yes, yes, of course I want it," He Chongshan quickly agreed. "Today is indeed a special case; we'll be more careful next time."

Shen Jingshu put down the yarn she was holding and looked at him: "What's the special situation? Another good manuscript?"

He Chongshan nodded.

Shen Jingshu understands him best.

After so many years of marriage, she had long since figured out He Chongshan's temperament.

He usually seems composed, but when he comes across a truly good manuscript, he becomes a completely different person. He can skip meals, sleep, and even going home.

I wasn't this attentive when I was pursuing her back then.

"What manuscript?" she asked casually, picking up a teacup from the coffee table and taking a sip.

Instead of answering directly, He Chongshan asked, "Do you remember 'Infernal Affairs'?"

Shen Jingshu put down her teacup: "Nonsense, how could I not remember? You talk about it every day, while eating, while sleeping, and even in your dreams."

Last time, he even talked in his sleep in the middle of the night, saying something like "Chen Yongren is so pitiful," which startled me.

He Chongshan laughed: "Do you remember when I went to Wuhan last month to meet the student who wrote 'Infernal Affairs'?"

"I remember, his name is Xie Lu, right? You even brought Qiu'er with you." Shen Jingshu nodded. "What's wrong?"

He Chongshan leaned back on the sofa and said slowly, "He told me at the time that 'Infernal Affairs' was actually a trilogy."

The part we're watching now can only be considered the second part.

There are prequels and sequels.

Shen Jingshu was taken aback: "A trilogy? A prequel?"

"Yes." He Chongshan looked at her and deliberately slowed down his speech. "The prequel is about Ni Kun, Han Chen, Huang Zhicheng when they were young, and also Ni Yongxiao."

Who is Ni Yongxiao?

"Ni Kun's son. In the prequel, Ni Kun is the protagonist's father. The real protagonist is this Ni Yongxiao."

As Shen Jingshu listened, her brows furrowed slightly as she recalled the plot of the first part.

"Go on."

He Chongshan didn't continue speaking. Instead, he stood up, walked to the coffee table, poured himself a glass of water, and slowly drank it.

Shen Jingshu waited a few seconds, and seeing that he didn't move, she couldn't help but ask, "And then? Just tell me."

He Chongshan took a sip of water, put down the cup, and sat back on the sofa. He still didn't say anything, just looked at her and smiled.

Shen Jingshu rolled her eyes at him: "What are you beating around the bush for? Just tell me!"

"You really want to hear it?"

"nonsense."

He Chongshan then slowly spoke: "The manuscript for the prequel arrived this afternoon."

Shen Jingshu's eyes lit up: "We're here? Lawyer Xie finished writing?"

"It's finished. Eighty-five thousand words, the complete manuscript."

"I received it at noon and didn't finish reading it until after 7 pm."

Shen Jingshu became interested and didn't complain that He Chongshan was reading the manuscript so late: "How is it?"

Instead of answering directly, He Chongshan asked, "Guess how it compares to the first one?"

Shen Jingshu thought for a moment: "It should be about right, right? The first one was already very good, it would be good if we could maintain that level."

He Chongshan shook his head.

Shen Jingshu was taken aback: "Worse than the first one?"

He Chongshan shook his head again.