I am not a literary giant

When Wang Zixu returned home, his wife was not yet home, perhaps held up by her work at the flower shop. The loudspeaker of the supermarket across the street blared out discount announcements, echoing through the dimly lit, empty room, while the last rays of the setting sun shone through the window.

He left a note that read, "I'm going out for a business dinner. I'll bring you some when I get home." Before leaving, he realized that this wasn't a good idea, so he took some vegetables out of the refrigerator, chopped them, and took the chicken out to thaw.

He and Lin Feng arranged to meet at "Old Village Chief." This place is a late-night dining paradise in the hearts of Xihe locals. But everyone has forgotten why it became a paradise; they only know that the prices here are 15% higher than elsewhere.

Wang Zixu often came here for late-night snacks with his classmates after graduating from high school. Many years have passed, and unexpectedly, Lin Feng still chose to meet him here. The inertia of life works equally on everyone.

The dark blue sky marked the complete darkness of night. Early summer nights come late, and it was already past seven in the evening. The streets came alive; vendors set up grills and fans, wisps of smoke rose from the eateries, and the aroma of animal fat sizzling over the charcoal was incredibly enticing.

The two sat down on the street, immersing themselves in the everyday life under the clear blue sky. Raymond Lam ordered several kinds of skewers, stir-fried rice noodles, grilled eggplant, fried tofu, and a case of beer. He was treating.

Before the dishes were served, Lin Feng apologized again: "I thought about what happened with Shen Qingfeng today, and I really feel bad for you. He probably considers you 'one of my people'."

Wang Zixu lightly clinked his beer bottle against his: "How did your conflict escalate to this point? Is it just because of a fight for a position?"

Lin Feng sighed and said, "I didn't explain it clearly to you last time. Let's just chat casually today, and have some drinks while we're at it."

"Yeah, let's just chat." The two touched hands, each drank a little, and chatted casually.

Lin Feng said, "This matter is related to the upcoming leadership change of the Writers' Association. You know, my teacher, Li Tingfang, the president of the Xihe Writers' Association, won't be serving the next term."

Upon hearing the name, Wang Zixu, who was holding a bottle of wine, was taken aback: "Li Tingfang? Which Li Tingfang? Is it that Li Tingfang?"

Lin Feng's mouth dropped open: "Which Li Tingfang is there? You don't know that Li Tingfang?"

The name Li Tingfang appears frequently in the pages of modern and contemporary literary history. She was a representative writer of avant-garde literature in modern and contemporary China, and her achievements extended beyond literature to film, painting, and other fields. Literary history describes her as a "remarkable woman."

That was at the beginning of the reform and opening up period, after all; even extraordinary women grow old eventually. Wang Zixu thought she had long since passed away, but he never expected her to still be alive in the area.

Hearing the news of her with his own ears surprised him greatly, as if a snow-capped mountain seen from thousands of miles away had suddenly appeared before his eyes.

Wang Zixu asked, "Why would a writer of Li Tingfang's caliber be the president of the literary association in such a small place as ours?"

Lin Feng sighed: "Yes, with my teacher's works and qualifications, she could easily be ranked among the top writers in the provincial writers' association, or even the national writers' association. But the old lady is indifferent to fame and fortune and doesn't care about these things at all. She has a house in Donghai, but she doesn't like living there, so she moved back to her hometown and settled down here."

"The high-ranking leader Shen Jianqiu has a connection with her, as you know. This high-ranking leader values ​​culture and education, so he invited her to come out of retirement and take charge of the Writers' Association, to serve as a standard-bearer and benchmark for the literary and artistic circles of Xihe, and to set a cultural example for us in Xihe. The teacher also generously agreed."

The prince felt a surge of respect and asked, "How old is Teacher Li?"

Lin Feng said, "She's seventy this year. She served as the president of the Literary Association for five years. Think about it, at that age, even if she wanted to, she couldn't carry the flag anymore."

Prince nodded: "Therefore, the competition for the next president is fierce."

Lin Feng looked up at the sky and sighed, "Once the teacher steps down, the literary scene in Xihe will probably lose half its momentum."

Wang Zixu asked, "How did you come to know Teacher Li Tingfang?"

When this topic came up, Raymond Lam's face lit up with a rosy glow:

"I was an unknown minor official in Xihe, but I always had a literary dream. I kept submitting my manuscripts to Xihe Literature and Art, rejecting them and submitting them again and again, which annoyed their editorial department to no end."

"They specifically called me to tell me not to submit anymore, and they spend half the month busy rejecting my manuscripts. I told them not to reject the manuscripts, that if they were no good, I could just throw them in the trash and submit them again."

"Perhaps my enthusiasm moved Teacher Li. At the beginning of her tenure, she called me over and asked if I was passionate about literature and if I would like to learn more from her. Of course, I agreed. So I became Teacher Li's last disciple."

The prince was genuinely happy for him, but couldn't help comparing himself to the man and feeling that his own personality was too pretentious. Perhaps it was because he lacked that persistent spirit that he hadn't yet seen his own dawn.

He raised the wine bottle: "What you keep in mind will surely come back to you. Respectfully, Brother Lin."

Raymond Lam also raised his bottle: "What you keep in mind will surely come back to you. Brother Zixu, you are so talented, your reward will definitely come."

The two took a big gulp, and Lin Feng let out a burp. The waiter came over with a plate, saying that all the dishes were served, and made a few marks on the menu with his thumbnail.

Grilled eggplant glistened with oil, and the aroma of minced garlic was irresistible; tofu was fried until golden brown, oily and crispy; lamb skewers were dark reddish-brown, with cumin coating the gamey flavor. The two of them each grabbed a skewer, held it horizontally in their mouths, and chewed on it, enjoying its crispness and chewiness, bursting with flavor.

Lin Feng wiped his mouth and said, "So I started learning to write from my teacher. Before, I was like a headless fly, blindly stumbling around based on my own feelings. But once the teacher pointed it out, I saw the way."

"I don't have any special talent. My talent is being humble, eager to learn, and hardworking. I read whatever my teacher told me to read, and gradually I developed some literary skills. Then my teacher said, 'Try submitting your work for publication again.'"

"Then my articles could be published in Xihe Literature and Art, ten out of ten submissions were accepted, and I could even get published in higher-level magazines. My teacher said, 'You've really mastered the art.'"

Wang Zixu said, "Your spirit and experiences are very inspiring. Good job."

"Dry."

After finishing one bottle, the two of them opened another.

Lin Feng said, "The current vice president candidates are basically just me and Shen Qingfeng. In terms of reputation, I can't even come close to him, but in terms of being reliable, he's not as good. In the past few years, I've handled most of the work of the literary association; he's basically not involved."

Wang Zixu said, "You're being modest. Shen Qingfeng hasn't been popular for many years either. He suddenly became famous and invested a lot in marketing. If you take away the traffic he gained from following the trend, he doesn't actually have much left."

Lin Feng shook his head: "But who can ignore the hype and fleeting popularity?"

The deeper the conversation went, the stronger the alcohol became. Before they knew it, both of them were tipsy. As Wang Zixu was seriously thinking about Lin Feng and the literary world, a voice that was both strange and familiar came from behind them.

"Prince Xu? Is that you?"

……

Ning Chunyan's fingers tapped rhythmically on the keyboard.

She placed her phone next to the computer. The only sounds in the room were the fan and the keyboard.

She was engrossed in typing, her lips moving as she read the words on the paper, strings of characters flowing from the keyboard.

The phone vibrated. Ning Chunyan snapped out of her flow state, leaned over to look at her phone, and saw the name on the screen, a smile playing on her lips.