A Literary Life Starting from the First Year of High School

When school was over, Lin Shubai stuffed the award certificate into his schoolbag. The red-covered certificate was a bit thick, and it squeezed his textbook crooked when he put it in. He straightened it, zipped it up, and the two of them walked out of the classroom together.

Liu Yang caught up from behind, his backpack slung over his shoulder, muttering, "Shubai, can I borrow your certificate to take a picture? I want to send it to my cousin."

"Why bother taking pictures of the certificate? Just buy a magazine yourself."

"That's different. A magazine is a magazine, and a certificate is a certificate. A magazine proves you can write stories, and a certificate proves you can write essays. You have to show off both."

Su Wan glared at him: "Can you stop trying to show off everything?"

"I call this sharing my joy," Liu Yang said matter-of-factly. "My brother is successful, I'm happy, and I'm telling the whole world, so what?"

Lin Shubai ignored him, and the three of them walked towards the school gate. The owner of the newsstand at the school gate was packing up when he saw Lin Shubai and called out, "Little student, your copy of 'Story Collection' is selling well! Several people have asked about it today."

Lin Shubai was a little confused by what his boss said: "Ask me?"

The boss chuckled. "Which one are you asking about? Someone specifically came looking for the October issue, saying there's a great article written by a student in it. You're pretty impressive, getting a student published in a magazine."

"Thank you, boss." Lin Shubai nodded without saying anything more.

On the bus, Su Wan suddenly called out to him, "Lin Shubai."

"Um?"

"What were you thinking when you wrote about Cuifang cutting her braid?"

Lin Shubai thought for a moment: "I haven't thought about it much. I just feel that if someone is willing to sell their most precious thing, it must be because they feel there is something more worthwhile."

Su Wan closed the magazine and placed it on her lap: "Then tell me, what is the most precious thing?"

"It depends on the person. For Cuifang, it was her queue and pocket watch; for Jianguo, it was his pocket watch and queue. But they both felt that the other was more important than these things."

Su Wan was silent for a moment, then said, "What you said makes a lot of sense."

The bus arrived at the stop. Two people got off.

When she reached Su Wan's door, she turned back and said, "When we get back, show your parents the certificate; they'll be so happy."

"Um."

"See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

Su Wan opened the door and went inside. Lin Shubai continued walking upstairs. On the sixth floor, he inserted the key into the lock, and the door opened.

Lin Shubai changed into slippers and put his schoolbag on the sofa.

Lin Jianguo glanced at him: "Why are you a little late today?"

"Old Chen asked me to talk about the essay competition."

"An essay competition?" Lin Jianguo put down the remote control. "Are the results out?"

Lin Shubai didn't say anything, but unzipped his backpack, took out the red-covered certificate, and placed it on the coffee table.

Lin Jianguo paused for a moment, then reached out and picked up the certificate, flipping it open. The living room light shone on the three words "First Prize," the gold lettering reflecting a faint glow.

When Wang Xiulan heard no more movement, she turned off the stove and came out of the kitchen. She was still wearing oven mitts as she walked over and glanced down at the certificate on the coffee table.

"First prize in the first-year high school group of the citywide middle school essay competition?" Wang Xiulan's voice was a little louder than usual. "Shubai, is this the 'Back View' you wrote?"

"Um."

Wang Xiulan took off her heat-resistant gloves and carefully examined the certificate. She had taught Chinese for over a decade and had seen countless certificates, but this one was clearly different.

"How many first prizes were there in the whole city?" she asked.

"The teacher said fifteen."

How many are there from your school?

"Just me."

Wang Xiulan didn't speak. She put down the award certificate, then picked it up again and looked at it. Her eyes were a little red.

Lin Jianguo, who had been silent the whole time, suddenly stood up, walked up to Lin Shubai, and patted him on the shoulder.

"Okay." Lin Jianguo said one word, then turned and walked towards the kitchen. "Let's add another dish tonight."

Wang Xiulan stopped him: "What dishes do you want to add? The ribs are already stewing, I'll just fry some eggs too."

"Okay." Lin Jianguo sat back on the sofa, but this time he didn't pick up the remote control. Instead, he stared at the certificate on the coffee table for a long time.

Lin Shubai stood in the middle of the living room, looking at his parents, a feeling he couldn't quite describe welling up inside him. This feeling was different from the day he received the sample copy; that day it was a surprise, but today it felt more like a sense of relief.

Wang Xiulan carefully placed the certificate on the coffee table, then looked at Lin Shubai: "Let me see your 'Back View'."

"It's with Lao Chen. He said he'd show it to the other teachers in the Chinese language group and return it to me in a couple of days."

At dinner, two more dishes appeared on the table. In addition to braised pork ribs, there was also a plate of sliced ​​braised beef, which Lin Jianguo had bought a few days ago, intending to save it for later.

During the meal, Wang Xiulan suddenly said, "Your grandma doesn't know about your essay award, does she? Call her tomorrow and tell her."

"it is good."

After finishing his meal, he returned to his room. He sat down at his desk, placed the sample copy of "Story Club" magazine and the award certificate side by side on the table, and looked at them for a few seconds.

Then he put the certificate in the drawer and opened the manuscript of Charlotte's Web.

I haven't achieved my goal yet today.

He wrote for over an hour, filling two more pages. He stood up and stretched. Then he sat back down at his desk, tidied up the manuscript he had written that day, and tucked it into his notebook. Then he took out the notice for the National Middle School Students' Innovative Writing Competition and read it again.

"Journey and Rejuvenation" - "The World I Live In"

"The Journey and Rejuvenation" is too broad and easy to write about superficially. "The World I Live In" seems simple, but it is not easy to write about it in a fresh way. He needs to find an angle that can showcase his abilities without appearing too deliberate or too mature.

After thinking for a while, Lin Shubai decided to write about revival and the journey. Although there were no ready-made works for him to copy, he felt that with the many model articles he had read in his previous life and the accumulation of so many years of writing online novels, passing the preliminary selection should not be a big problem.

Lin Shubai thought for a while and then started writing.

Time flies like an arrow, and the years pass like a shuttle. In the blink of an eye, decades have passed and the world has changed dramatically; the epic song of the Yangtze River, with its million-strong army, is deeply moving, and the ode to the Yellow River, with its howling wind and neighing horses, remains as fresh as ever.

For decades, a single red boat has steered the nation across China, and under the leadership of the Party, the Chinese nation stands tall in the East with a brand-new image. A century of glory, some lament the fleeting nature of time; a millennium of achievements, others praise the enduring spirit.

There is a kind of affection that will not fade even a hundred years; there is a kind of love that will not diminish even a hundred years of changing times. Every time it is recalled, it evokes passionate fervor; every time it is mentioned, it fills one with boundless pride…

This article is based on a sample article that Lin Shubai had read before. Although Lin Shubai did not remember it word for word, he still remembered it roughly.

It was almost 11 o'clock when I finished writing the essay.