A Literary Life Starting from the First Year of High School

Thursday, September 15th, sunny

Lin Shubai has been acting strangely these past few days.

I can't quite put my finger on what's wrong, but he just seems different from before. He's always daydreaming in class, staring out the window, and I have to call him several times before he hears me. Before, although he didn't talk much in class, at least he wouldn't be spacing out like this.

September 16th, Friday, Sunny

Lin Shubai is acting even stranger today.

In Chinese class this morning, Mr. Chen randomly selected students to recite "Autumn Elegy." I had forgotten to memorize it last night while watching "Chinese Paladin," and I was incredibly nervous. Then Mr. Chen called on Lin Shubai. He stood up and recited it perfectly, without a single mistake, not even a stumble.

When did he memorize it? He walked with me after school yesterday.

At lunchtime in the cafeteria, my mom asked me to bring him a peach. He took it, took a bite, and said, "It's pretty sweet." Then he froze, his eyes widening as if he'd seen a ghost.

I asked him what was wrong, and he said nothing.

Why is this person so absent-minded today?

That evening, he knocked on my door and asked to borrow a copy of "Story Collection" magazine from my dad. My dad gave him a whole stack of it; I don't know when he started liking Story Collection.

September 18th, Sunday, sunny

Lin Shubai left home very early this morning.

I met him at the door.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Go out for a bit."

"Where to?"

He didn't answer, but took a stack of manuscript paper out of his bag and showed it to me.

I took it and flipped through it; there were three stories. One was about a poor couple selling things to buy each other gifts, another was about a young writer who went bankrupt after being treated to a meal, and the third was about a noodle shop.

"Did you write this?" I asked him.

"Okay. I'll submit it."

I froze for several seconds. "Where to throw it?"

"Story Club"

I was stunned. When did he learn to write stories?

I ran home to change my clothes and went with him. He was going to a noodle shop on Nanjing Road, because the story was based on that shop, and he needed to ask if they agreed to it.

The proprietress's surname was Zhou, and she was a very kind person. After reading his story, her eyes welled up with tears, and she said, "The little girl writes so well!"

After leaving the noodle shop, we went to the post office. He put the manuscript in a large envelope, wrote the address on it, and dropped it into the mailbox.

The envelope made a "thump" sound when it fell in.

"When will we hear anything?" I asked.

"It might take a week, it might take two weeks. Or there might be no news at all."

When he said "there might be no news," his tone was very calm, but I saw him stand in front of the mailbox for several seconds after submitting the article.

He probably cares about it a lot.

September 19th, Monday, cloudy

Today, Liu Yang turned around from the front row and said that he heard from Lao Chen that there is a writing competition next month, with a first prize of 500 yuan.

I casually asked, "What essay competition?" and Liu Yang started talking non-stop.

Lin Shubai sat beside me without saying a word, but I noticed he was listening.

When school was over, Liu Yang lent us his umbrella and ran back home with his schoolbag over his head. Lin Shubai and I shared an umbrella and walked towards the school gate. The rain was so heavy that his left shoulder was completely soaked.

I moved closer to him, our arms touching. He seemed to stiffen for a moment, but didn't move away.

Thursday, September 22nd, cloudy

After lunch today, on my way back to the classroom, I saw several middle school students squatting by the flower bed, looking at a spider web. Liu Yang went over to join in, and I glanced at it too.

A dragonfly was caught in a spider web, struggling desperately. Several middle school students were arguing about whether to save the dragonfly, but they couldn't reach a conclusion after a long argument.

Lin Shubai squatted down and picked up a leaf. A small piece of spider silk was stuck to the leaf, and he rubbed it between his fingers.

Then he froze, just like when he ate the peach that day.

September 23rd, Friday, cloudy

During class today, Lin Shubai received a text message.

He glanced at it, then shoved the phone back into the drawer, his expression unchanged. But I noticed he kept spacing out afterwards.

He received a phone call at noon and went out to make the call for a long time. When he came back, he had a smile on his face.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"It was the editor of 'Story Collection' who called, saying that all three articles needed to be used."

I almost jumped out of my chair. Three thousand two hundred yuan in royalties! He earned three thousand two hundred yuan from just a few stories!

Upon hearing this, Liu Yang nearly smashed a table in the cafeteria and shouted that he would treat everyone.

Lin Shubai glared at him, telling him to keep his voice down, but he was also laughing.

September 24th, Saturday, Sunny

He went to see the editor today.

I waited for him at the door before he left. He was wearing a new outfit and had washed his hair. I asked him if he was nervous, and he said he wasn't.

I also lent him my favorite Hello Kitty mirror, hoping his meeting with the editor goes well today.

September 26th, Monday, Sunny

Today, Lao Chen told Lin Shubai that he had passed the preliminary round of the essay competition. He pretended to be quite calm, but I noticed that after he came back, he clenched his fist and waved it under the table.

And what happened on the bus—after I got home, I closed the door, leaned against it, and stood there for a while.

His words kept echoing in my mind: "Then try your best."

He said this in such a calm tone, as if it were a matter of course—if you want to do something, just work hard for it, it's that simple.

But other people don't think that way. They'll think you're not good enough, that you're not suitable, that you're dreaming.

But he won't.

I suddenly remembered that day on the bus when he said, "Everyone has to find something they want to do." He was looking out the window when he said that, and his tone was very calm. But now I think that it probably took him a lot of time to find that thing.

He simply found it and started working on it. He wrote stories, submitted them, and entered them into competitions. Step by step, quietly and steadily.

I think I understand why he's "different" now.

It wasn't because he suddenly learned to write stories, but because he knew what he was supposed to do.

When a person knows what they are going to do, the way they walk will change.

I hadn't noticed these things before. Maybe it's because he used to walk with his feet on the ground.

I don't know if I'll be able to become a detective. Police academy has very high admission scores, and my grades weren't particularly good. But he said, "Then just work hard."

Then let's work hard.

I've remembered that sentence.

September 30th, Friday, cloudy

Today is the last day before National Day.

Old Chen mentioned two things in class. One was that the results of the citywide essay competition would be revealed when the holiday came back. The other was the National Middle School Students' Innovative Essay Competition, which was open for voluntary participation.

I knew he would definitely participate, and I was right.

Tomorrow is the start of the holiday. Seven days.

Then the magazine was published. The competition results were also announced.

I'm a little nervous, even though it's not my competition or my submission.

But I was just nervous.

Maybe it's because I hope he succeeds.