A Literary Life Starting from the First Year of High School

Saturday morning, the sky was high and the clouds were light.

Lin Shubai stood in front of the mirror for a while before leaving. He was wearing the same light gray sweatshirt he wore yesterday, the jeans Lin Jianguo had bought at the No. 1 Department Store, and white canvas shoes. His hair was washed and untreated, hanging naturally, making him look like an ordinary high school student.

"Not bad," Lin Shubai muttered to himself in front of the mirror.

Wang Xiulan was knitting in the living room. When she saw him come out, she looked him up and down and asked, "Wearing new clothes today? Where are you going?"

"I'm going out for a bit; I have an appointment with someone."

"Who is it? Su Wan?"

"An editor."

Wang Xiulan paused in her knitting needles: "Editor? What editor?"

"The editor of 'Story Club.' I submitted a few articles to them before, and they said they wanted to use them and asked to meet with me today."

Wang Xiulan put down her knitting needles, her expression shifting from surprise to seriousness, and then to something hard to describe—something between "My son submitted a story to 'Story Club' and it was published" and "How come I didn't know about this?"

"You child, you never tell the family anything. It's the essay competition, and this time too. I've been teaching Chinese for so many years, let's see if I'll ruin your life."

Upon seeing this, Lin Shubai quickly said, "Of course not, I just wanted to give you a surprise."

Wang Xiulan looked at him for a few seconds, then stood up, walked over to him, and reached out to straighten Lin Shubai's clothes. She did this without saying a word, and her movements were very slow.

"What time will you be back?" Wang Xiulan asked.

"Noon, I guess."

"Don't eat random things outside."

"understood."

"Do you have enough money?"

"enough."

Wang Xiulan took out fifty yuan from her pocket and stuffed it into his hand: "Take it, just in case you need it."

Lin Shubai wanted to say that his royalties were almost 3,200 yuan, but seeing his mother's gesture of handing him the money, he accepted it anyway.

Come back soon.

"Okay, got it."

When they reached the fifth floor, Su Wan's door was open. Su Wan was squatting by the door tying her shoelaces. Hearing footsteps, she looked up, saw Lin Shubai, and immediately stood up: "Going out already?"

"Yes, I had an appointment with the editor this morning."

Su Wan glanced at him and nodded: "You're dressed alright, not embarrassing at all."

"When have I ever embarrassed myself?"

"Anyway, just be careful." Su Wan said, taking something out of her pocket and handing it to him.

Lin Shubai looked down and saw a small round mirror, about the size of a palm, with Hello Kitty printed on the back. It was the mirror that Su Wan usually kept in her schoolbag to look in.

Why are you giving me this?

"Let me show you if your expression is normal. Don't be so nervous you look like a puppet, making people think you're unreliable."

"I'm not nervous at all."

"Just carry a mirror and check your expressions from time to time. Don't smile too stiffly, and look people in the eye when you speak, don't look around."

Lin Shubai looked at the Hello Kitty mirror in his hand, somewhat amused and exasperated: "When did you become so long-winded?"

"I've always been this long-winded, you just haven't noticed."

The two went downstairs and parted ways at the entrance of the residential complex. Su Wan turned left to buy breakfast. Lin Shubai turned right and headed towards the bus stop.

He walked a dozen steps, then glanced back. Su Wan was still standing there, looking down and searching for something, her ponytail hanging down, obscuring half her face. She probably sensed his gaze, looked up, and waved at him.

Lin Shubai waved and turned to leave.

The bus wasn't crowded. It was Saturday morning, and few people were going to work; those heading into town for shopping hadn't left yet. Lin Shubai found a window seat and stuffed the Hello Kitty mirror into his pocket.

The street scene outside the car window changed little by little; we were almost at Nanjing Road.

Lin Shubai mentally went over the things he needed to do today: meet with someone, discuss the manuscript, consult on "Charlotte's Web," and also "observe Lü Jia's reaction," which Su Wan had asked him to do—though he was also a little curious himself.

The bus arrived at the stop. Lin Shubai got off and walked towards Chunhua Noodle Shop. Nanjing Road Pedestrian Street was already quite crowded with people: tourists, young people strolling, and elderly people carrying shopping baskets. The shop windows along the street displayed the latest autumn styles, and several fashionable girls were taking pictures in front of the glass.

As you turn into the alley, you see a sign with the words "Chunhua Noodle Shop" hanging at the entrance. The corners are a little curled up and some paint has peeled off, but it's been wiped very clean.

A person was standing on the steps in front of the noodle shop.

The woman, in her early forties, had short hair with a few gray hairs at her temples. She wore a light dark blue jacket, carried a black shoulder bag, and held a folder in her hand. She was standing at the door, looking up at the sign.

As Lin Shubai approached, she turned around. The two looked at each other.

Lu Jia's gaze lingered on him for a second before shifting away, glancing behind him—probably waiting for someone who looked more like "Teacher Lin".

Lin Shubai walked up to her and stopped.

"Hello, are you Ms. Lü Jia?"

Lü Jia turned her head and looked at him again. This time, her gaze lingered for a long time, moving from head to toe before returning to his face.

"I am Lü Jia. You are...."

"Lin Shubai".

Quiet. The alley was quiet. The noise from Nanjing Road in the distance seemed muffled, as if filtered through a pane of glass. A sparrow chirped twice on the overhead power line and flew away.

Lü Jia's expression went through several stages: first confusion, then surprise, and then something somewhere between astonishment and amusement. Her eyebrows lifted slightly, and the corners of her mouth twitched, as if she were suppressing a laugh or confirming something.

"Are you Lin Shubai?" Lü Jia asked. The "Teacher Lin" in her tone had changed to "Lin Shubai," the form of address had changed, but the voice was still the same as the one on the phone.

"right."

"First year of high school," Lin Shubai added.

Lü Jia glanced at Lin Shubai for a few more seconds, but her professionalism as a senior editor allowed her to quickly adjust. She switched the folder to her left hand, extended her right hand, and said, "Hello, Lin Shubai. I'm Lü Jia, editor of the red edition of 'Story Club'."

Lin Shubai shook hands with her. Lü Jia's hand was dry, and her grip was just right, neither too light nor too heavy.

"Let's go in and sit down, shall we? I haven't had breakfast yet." Lü Jia glanced at the entrance of the noodle shop.

"it is good."

It creaked as I pushed it open. There weren't many people in the shop; it was Saturday morning, and no one had come to eat noodles yet. Most of the seven or eight tables were empty, except for an old man sitting in the corner, slowly eating a bowl of plain noodles in front of him.

Zhou Chunhua was standing behind the counter, filling a thermos with boiling water. She looked up, saw Lin Shubai, and smiled, "Little girl, you're here? Bringing a friend over for noodles today?"

"Hello, Aunt Zhou." Lin Shubai walked in. "This is Teacher Lü, the editor of 'Story Collection,' the one I told you about."

Zhou Chunhua put down the thermos, wiped her hands, and looked Lü Jia up and down: "Oh, you're the editor who's going to publish the story of my shop?"

Lü Jia smiled and said, "Hello, boss lady. Your shop description is exceptionally well written; even our editor-in-chief praised it."

"What's so great about it? It's just a run-down noodle shop." Zhou Chunhua waved her hand, but couldn't hide the smile on her face. "Sit down, sit down. What do you want to eat? It's on me today."

"How could I possibly accept that?" Lü Jia said.

"Don't mention it. I haven't even thanked the kid for writing about my shop yet." Zhou Chunhua came out from behind the counter, holding a menu in her hand. "Two bowls of noodles? Braised beef noodles, my signature dish."

"Okay," Lin Shubai said.

Lü Jia nodded, "Then I'll trouble you."

The two found a seat by the window. The window was very clean, and they could see the light and shadows in the alley outside.

Lü Jia placed the folder on the table, opened it, and inside were photocopies of Lin Shubai's three manuscripts. The paper was marked with many red marks, some with circles, some with wavy lines, and small notes written next to them.

When Lü Jia saw Lin Shubai's gaze fall on the manuscript, as if he had thought of something, she quickly said, "Don't misunderstand, these marks aren't for revisions, they're my own notes. There are some parts that I think are particularly good, so I marked them for future reference."

"fine."

"May I ask how old you are this year?"

"sixteen."

"My daughter is two years younger than you." Lü Jia said this in a very flat tone, but there was something in her eyes that seemed to convey a complex emotion: "My daughter is about the same age as you, yet you wrote such a manuscript."

Then the noodles were served. Zhou Chunhua brought them over herself: two bowls of braised beef noodles, the soup a deep reddish-brown, topped with pieces of beef and cilantro, the noodles arranged neatly.

"Enjoy it slowly, and add more if you need more," Zhou Chunhua said.

"That's enough, that's enough." Lü Jia picked up her chopsticks, took a mouthful of noodles, blew on it, and put it in her mouth. After chewing a couple of times, she nodded: "Mmm, delicious."

Lin Shubai also started eating. The noodles were chewy, the broth was rich, and the beef was stewed until tender, just like the last time he ate there.

Lü Jia ate a few bites of noodles, put down her chopsticks, and opened the folder.

"Let's get down to business." Lü Jia's tone changed, shifting from casual conversation to a working tone. "We've already finalized the three articles you wrote. 'The Most Precious Gift' will be in the 'Emotional Stories' section, 'Lunch' will be in the 'Urban Stories' section, both in the first half of October. 'Spring Blossom Noodle Shop' will be in the front page of the red section, in the first half of November."

"Okay, you can decide."

"We just discussed the payment on the phone: 500 yuan per thousand words, 3,240 yuan for three articles. The remittance slip will be mailed next week to the address you provided."

"OK."

Lü Jia wrote a few words in the folder, then looked up at him, her gaze changing. It shifted from an editor's professional exchange with an author to something else—perhaps curiosity.

Lü Jia looked into Lin Shubai's eyes: "How could a sixteen-year-old write something like this?"

"I'm not doubting you, I'm just curious," Lü Jia said, realizing her words were ambiguous.

"It's nothing." Lin Shubai had thought about this question many times. He needed to find a way to explain the past without arousing too much suspicion.

Lin Shubai replied, "Maybe it's because I've loved reading stories since I was a child—all kinds of stories, from novels, magazines, television, and even stories I heard on the street. The more I read, the more images formed in my mind. I just wrote those images down."

Lü Jia looked at him but didn't speak immediately.

"You just said you 'have liked it since you were little,' what did you watch when you were a child?"

"I read everything. Chinese textbooks, story collections, newspaper supplements, old magazines bought from roadside stalls." These are the original owner's memories, and the original owner did indeed read these things.

Lü Jia nodded, then asked, "How long did it take you to write those three articles?"

"I wrote it on and off for a week."

"Three articles a week." Lü Jia repeated the number, as if to make sure she hadn't misheard.

"I wrote the first one a little slower, but the next two were faster. The story was already in my mind, so it was just a matter of time before I wrote it down."

Lü Jia placed her chopsticks on the bowl, leaned back in her chair, and looked at Lin Shubai. Her gaze held both curiosity and a certain approval.

"You remind me of someone. When I first started as an editor, I met a young man in his early twenties who submitted a short story. It was exceptionally well-written, and when I called him to tell him I wanted to use it, he was so excited on the other end of the phone that he could barely speak. Later, he became a regular contributor to our magazine and is now a fairly well-known writer."

She paused, then continued, "But you're different from him. He writes well, in a youthful, energetic way. Your writing..." She glanced down at the manuscript in the folder, "...it doesn't seem like something a young person would write. Not that it's mature, but—it's too steady. The structure, the rhythm, the control of emotion—it's all too steady."

"Maybe it's because I'm a genius." This was also the answer Lin Shubai had prepared. No matter what world it is, geniuses are an unreasonable existence.

Lu Jia looked at him, paused for a moment, as if shocked by Lin Shubai's "shamelessness," and then nodded as if agreeing with Lin Shubai's words: "You are indeed a genius. I hope you can write even better things in the future."

The noodles were finished. Zhou Chunhua came over to collect the bowls and asked if they wanted more soup. Lü Jia said no, it was enough. Zhou Chunhua then looked at Lin Shubai and asked, "Little girl, is that enough noodles? Would you like some more?"

"That's enough, thank you Aunt Zhou."

Zhou Chunhua left with her bowl. Lü Jia watched her return behind the counter and suddenly said, "The proprietress you wrote about, was she modeled after her?"

"almost."

"Where is her husband? In the article you wrote, the proprietress had a husband who was always busy in the kitchen."

"Aunt Zhou's husband is indeed in the kitchen. I saw him when I came here." Lin Shubai glanced in the direction of the kitchen and saw a figure busy behind the curtain. "I haven't talked to him, but Aunt Zhou said he also agreed to let me use the noodle shop as a story."

Lü Jia nodded and wrote a few more lines in the folder. Then she closed the folder and looked at Lin Shubai.

"That concludes the discussion about the manuscript. Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

Lin Shubai was taken aback: "How did you know?"

"I sensed it over the phone. When you talked about the manuscript, you were very straightforward, answering every question without hesitation. But a few times you paused while speaking, as if you wanted to say something but didn't."

Lin Shubai hadn't expected Lü Jia to have such strong observational skills.