A Literary Life Starting from the First Year of High School

Chapter 122 Interview

May 1st, Wednesday.

Lin Shubai was awakened by a series of knocking sounds; it was Wang Xiulan knocking on the door.

"Shubai, are you up yet? The reporters will be here soon, so hurry up and get ready."

He rolled over, glanced at the time—9:20. He had been writing until after 1 a.m. last night, revising the part about Neil waiting to die in the wilderness twice, and was finally satisfied.

After getting dressed and stepping out the door, I found the living room had changed.

The coffee table was so shiny from being wiped clean that it reflected light, and the fruit bowl on it had been replaced with new fruit—oranges, apples, and bananas—arranged neatly.

A new, dark blue sofa cover was draped over the sofa; Wang Xiulan had bought it specially yesterday. The Sony TV on the TV cabinet was polished to a shine, and next to it were Lin Shubai's crystal trophy and several sample books.

Wang Xiulan stood in the middle of the living room, holding a rag in her hand, her gaze sweeping over every corner like a scanner.

"Mom, you don't need to make such a big fuss."

"This isn't about formality, it's about courtesy." Wang Xiulan glared at him. "The reporters have come all this way, we can't let them see our house in such a mess. Go tidy up the room, make the desk neat, fold the bed, and open the curtains to let in some fresh air."

""

At 9:50, the doorbell rang.

Wang Xiulan went to open the door, and there were two people standing there: in front of her was a woman in her early thirties, and behind her was a young man in his twenties, carrying a camera and with a bag hanging around his neck.

"Hello, is this Lin Shubai's house? I'm Fang Huo, a reporter from the Shanghai Culture Daily. This is my colleague, Xiao Zhou, a photojournalist." For some reason, the woman's voice naturally carried a sense of friendliness.

"Come in, come in!" Wang Xiulan stepped aside. "Is there traffic?"

"It's alright. Although there were a lot of people during the May Day holiday, we left early." Fang Di changed into slippers and walked in. The sunlight swept across the living room and landed on Lin Shubai, who was standing next to the sofa.

Wang Xiulan came out of the kitchen with a teapot, poured a cup of tea for Fang Di and Xiao Zhou, and then brought out a plate of cut fruit.

Fang Di said "Thank you, Auntie" and then sat down on the sofa.

"Lin Shubai, before we officially begin, let's go over the questions." Her tone was a bit more formal than before, but still gentle. "The questions I'll be asking today will roughly fall into several categories: your writing experience, your views on *Four Generations Under One Roof*,

And your upcoming creative plans. The whole process will take about forty minutes to an hour, during which Xiao Zhou will take some photos, including a few in the room.

Lin Shubai nodded.

Fang Di opened her notebook, glanced at him, and said, "I have a few questions I'd like to ask for your opinion on first. First, regarding your age and studies, I'll ask questions like whether writing will affect your studies, how your grades are, etc. Do you mind?"

"I don't mind."

"Secondly, regarding your family, I will briefly mention your parents' support for you, but I will not ask too many personal questions. If you feel you don't want to answer certain questions, just say so, and I will not press you further."

95

"it is good."

Fang Di closed her notebook, looked up at Lin Shubai, and said, "Thirdly, regarding your upcoming creative plans—I will ask what you've been writing lately, whether you have any new books in the works. If there's any information you don't want to disclose for the time being, tell me in advance, and I won't ask, or I won't mention it in the reports."

"no problem."

"Okay." Fang Di jotted down a few notes in her notebook. "Shall I turn on the voice recorder?"

"it is good."

Fang Huo pressed the power button on the voice recorder, and the red indicator light came on.

"Lin Shubai, let's start with 'Four Generations Under One Roof.' This book has sold over 50,000 copies in just over a month since its release. What do you think of this achievement?"

Lin Shubai picked up his teacup and took a sip. "I'm quite happy, but what makes me even happier is that many readers said they wanted to visit the hutongs in Beijing after reading it. I think if a book can spark people's interest in a place or a period of history, then it's more than just entertaining."

Fang Di nodded. "Some people online say your writing has a maturity beyond your years. What do you think?"

""

"I think it's probably because I matured earlier than most people. When I write, I don't think about how the story should be written; I only think about how to write it. If I were to write using the standards of a sixteen-year-old, there would be many things I couldn't write."

Could you elaborate?

Lin Shubai thought for a moment, "For example, Qian Moyin in 'Four Generations Under One Roof.' If we write about Qian Moyin's transformation from a sixteen-year-old to a hero, it might be portrayed as a good person turning into a hero. But the reality is not like that. He didn't actively want to be a hero; he was forced into it. The war blocked all his escape routes, and he had nowhere else to go, so he took up arms."

"You're only sixteen, how can you understand the helplessness of a sixty-year-old man in war?"

Lin Shubai paused for two seconds, "Because I've read a lot of diaries and memoirs written by people from that era, I think people don't necessarily need to experience war to understand it."

Fang Di wrote a few lines in her notebook, "I heard you're still writing something new? What's your next book?"

"Yes, I'm currently working on a new project, a picture book novel called 'Hugo in the Clock Tower,' which tells the story of an orphan hiding in a clock tower in the old North Railway Station of Shanghai in the 1930s, a broken mechanical doll, and a toy store owner."

"A picture book novel?" Fang Di raised an eyebrow. "Why did you think of this type?"

"Because I've always wanted to write a story about being forgotten. The old man in the story, May, made many films when he was young, but then war came, the film was destroyed, the company went bankrupt, and he was forgotten. Someone who once did such wonderful things, and in the end, no one remembers him. The picture book format is perfect for this story; the combination of text and illustrations enhances that nostalgic atmosphere."

Fang Di wrote a few strokes in her notebook, then looked up, a hint of curiosity in her eyes.

"I looked through your previous works. Charlotte's Web is a fairy tale, The Little Prince is more of a philosophical fable, and Four Generations Under One Roof is a realistic novel. You've also published science fiction short stories in Science Fiction World. Now you're going to publish a picture book novel. Isn't this a bit of a leap?"

Lin Shubai knew this question would come sooner or later. From "The Most Precious Gift" to "Life on a String" to "Charlotte's Web" to "Four Generations Under One Roof", and then to Shinichi Hoshi's science fiction short stories, his list of works is indeed diverse. Some people think this is talent, some think it is ambition, and some think it is a lack of focus.

But in his view, this is not a "large span", but rather "not being confined by any framework".

"I believe a writer shouldn't be limited by genre. I write fairy tales because the story is suited to be told in a fairy tale style; I write about the War of Resistance because the story requires a realistic touch. If I defined myself as a fairy tale writer, I wouldn't have been able to write 'Four Generations Under One Roof'; if I defined myself as a realist writer, my science fiction wouldn't exist."

Fang Di looked at him without interrupting.

"In addition, I actually wrote a mystery novel."

Fang Di paused, her pen still in her hand. "A mystery novel?"

"Yes, it's called 'The Astrological Murder Mystery.' It's finished and handed over to 'The Deduction of Time.' They've decided to publish it as a standalone book, and it should be in the layout now. I'm not sure when it will be released yet, but it should be soon."

"Detective novels? That's a completely different genre from fairy tales and war novels."

"It is quite different. Writing a mystery requires a completely different way of thinking. You have to design the trick first, then bury all the clues, let the reader follow along, and finally give an answer at the end that makes me wonder why I didn't think of that. I spent a lot of time writing this book, mainly repeatedly scrutinizing the logic for any loopholes."

"You just said you wrote a fairy tale because that story was suitable to be told in a fairy tale style." What about this mystery novel?

What made you think this story should be written as a mystery?

Lin Shubai thought for a moment, "Because the trick itself is very deductive. A painter, six daughters, corresponding to six constellations, six mutilated corpses—this setup itself is the skeleton of the mystery. The most unique thing about mystery novels is that they allow the author to play an intellectual game with the reader, and I want to play this game."

Fang Di laughed, "You're only sixteen. Do you think you can outsmart readers who've spent half their lives reading mystery novels?"

"It's okay if I can't win, but at least I have to try."

"You write fairy tales, fables, stories about the War of Resistance, science fiction, and mystery novels. Aren't you afraid people will say you're too eclectic?"

"I can't control what others say; all I can control is the next sentence, the next paragraph, the next piece. And I think being 'diverse' isn't necessarily a bad thing. If a writer can only write one kind of thing, their creative life probably won't be very long. I'm not saying that's bad; everyone has their own areas of expertise and preference. It's just that for me, trying different genres is inherently an interesting thing."

Fang Huo asked a few more questions about the literary society and the publication "Hope," which Lin Shubai answered one by one.

After chatting for about half an hour, Fang Huo closed his laptop. "That's about it. Xiao Zhou said he wants to take some photos. Can we take them in your room?"

"Can."

Lin Shubai stood up and led Fang Huo and Xiao Zhou towards his room.

Xiao Zhou raised his camera and took a few pictures of Lin Shubai sitting at his desk. He then asked Lin Shubai to pick up a pen and pretend to write something.

"Be natural, there's no need to pose deliberately."

Zhou pressed the shutter a few times, then put down the camera and glanced at the bookshelf.

On the bookshelf were sample copies of "Charlotte's Web," "The Little Prince," and "Four Generations Under One Roof," as well as several magazines—"Story Club," "October," "Science Fiction World," and "People's Literature"—all neatly stacked together.

Xiao Zhou took a few photos of the bookshelf, and then moved the camera to the desk.

There was an open notebook on the desk, with a pen beside it. The notebook was filled with English writing. "Is this your homework?"

Fang Di noticed it too. She walked over and glanced at the title, which read "HelIIsth" written in pen.

"Absence of God," she looked up at Lin Shubai, a hint of curiosity in her eyes.

"Is this something you've been writing lately?"

Lin Shubai nodded.

"English novels?"

"right."

Fang Di stared at him for two seconds, then quickly scribbled a few lines in her notebook, "Could you elaborate? Is this for publication or something?"

Lin Shubai sat down at the desk. "It's a British literary award called the Bath Novel Prize. This year they've added a novella category, and I'm going to submit this piece to the competition."

"The Bath Novel Prize?" Fang Huo repeated the name and wrote it down in his notebook.

"My agent thought my work was suitable for a British literary award and suggested I give it a try."

"6

"Agent?" Fang Di paused, her pen still holding the pen. "You have an agent in England?"

"Yes, Alan Carter, a literary agent in London, found the Chinese version of 'The Little Prince' in a used bookstore in London last year. After reading it, he contacted me through a friend. He came to Shanghai last month, and we signed the contract in person."

Fang Di's eyes lit up. Having worked as a journalist for eleven years, her intuition told her this was a great news story—

A 16-year-old Chinese high school student was discovered by a British agent in a used bookstore, signed a contract, and even wrote a novel in English to enter a British literary award. This information, when included in news reports, generates more buzz than "sales exceeding 50,000 copies."

"He found your book in a used bookstore?" Fang confirmed.

"It was a coincidence," he said, adding that it was the biggest coincidence in his 23-year career as a manager.

Fang Di wrote a long paragraph in her notebook: "Who is this Alan Carter? Do you know anything about him?"

Lin Shubai thought for a moment, "He has been a literary agent in London for twenty-three years, representing more than a dozen authors, two of whom have won the Booker Prize, and three of whom are consistently on the bestseller list."

Why would he be interested in you?

"He said he read many of my works before finally deciding to sign the entire overseas agency rights."

Fang Di nodded. "What about the Nabass Prize for Fiction? How much do you know about it?"

Lin Shubai told Fang Huo the information he had learned from Allen.

"So, do you feel confident?"

Lin Shubai nodded. "I'm confident. I have a lot of confidence in this work."

Fang Di was surprised by Lin Shubai's response. This was also the first time Fang Di had witnessed Lin Shubai's sharp and ambitious side. They had been chatting for almost an hour, and the young man had always been in a calm and unhurried tone, like a cup of lukewarm water, neither too hot nor too cold.

"Is an English version of 'The Little Prince' being prepared? Could you give us a hint about the progress?"

"The translation work is already underway. Allen is in contact with several publishers in the UK, and if all goes well, it could be published in the UK by the end of this year or early next year."

Fang Di asked a few more questions about who the translator was, which publishers were being targeted, and Allen's assessment of the market. Lin Shubai told her everything he could.

Fang Di closed her notebook, turned off the voice recorder, and stuffed it into her canvas bag. "Thank you for taking up your morning."

""

"fine."

Fang Di went to the door to change her shoes. Xiao Zhou had already packed up the camera and was standing by the door waiting. Wang Xiulan came out of the kitchen with a plastic bag in her hand, containing a few apples.

"Reporter Fang, take some apples home to eat. They're homemade and quite sweet."

"Auntie, you're too kind, no need to thank me."

"Take it, it's not heavy."

Fang Di smiled, took the bag, and said, "Thank you, Auntie."

""

She turned to Lin Shubai, extended her hand, and said, "Then we'll be going now. I'm sure you'll gain even more fans after the reports come out."

"Then I'll take your kind words."