A Literary Life Starting from the First Year of High School

Monday, October 17th.

Lin Shubai was woken up by Liu Yang snapping a rubber band.

It wasn't an alarm clock, nor was it the sunlight outside the window; it was a yellow rubber band that flew from the front and struck him precisely on the forehead. He had stayed up a little late yesterday thinking about the Shinichi Hoshi short story collection he had unlocked, so he was catching up on sleep during the break today.

"Ouch." Lin Shubai touched his forehead.

Liu Yang was slumped over the table, clutching a rubber band in his hand. His face screamed "I didn't mean to," but his eyes screamed "I did!" Next to him was a stack of paper bullets folded into triangles, which looked like they had already ruined several classmates.

"What are you doing?" Lin Shubai asked in a low voice.

"I'm calling you to get up." Liu Yang said matter-of-factly, "The teacher is coming soon, and you're still daydreaming."

Su Wan stood to the side without even looking up, scribbling little figures on a piece of scrap paper, muttering, "Can't you just greet people normally?"

"He doesn't hear me when I call him normally," Liu Yang said confidently. "Last time I called him three times, and he just grunted and continued staring blankly. That's what I call using extraordinary measures."

Music class was the class Lin Shubai most wanted to skip every week, without exception.

It wasn't because he was tone-deaf—well, he was a little. But what really gave him a headache was his music teacher, Sun Mei, a woman in her fifties with curly hair who always wore floral shirts. She had a habit that terrified all the students: she would randomly pick someone to sing in each class.

Today is no exception.

"Lin Shubai!"

Teacher Sun stood next to the piano, holding the attendance list in her hand, her gaze behind her glasses precisely locking onto the third row by the window.

When Lin Shubai stood up, Su Wan next to him was already suppressing a laugh. Liu Yang in the front row turned around and mouthed two words: "My condolences."

"Today we're going to review 'Jasmine Flower,' which we learned last week. You sing the first line first," Teacher Sun said, giving her a tune.

Lin Shubai took a deep breath.

"What a beautiful jasmine flower!"

After he finished singing the first line, the classroom was silent for about two seconds, then someone burst out laughing, followed by the whole class. Liu Yang laughed so hard he was practically lying on his desk, his shoulders shaking. Su Wan covered her mouth, her eyes crinkling into crescent moons.

Teacher Sun frowned, but didn't say anything harsh. She just waved her hand and said, "Sit down. Your breathing is unstable. Practice more."

As Lin Shubai sat down, he said in a voice only Su Wan could hear, "I never want to hear jasmine flowers again in my life."

Su Wan laughed so hard she almost slipped off her chair.

"Alright, quiet down." Teacher Sun clapped her hands. "We're not going to talk about a new song today. I brought something with me."

She turned around and took out a large black bag from behind the podium, unzipped it, and took out a guitar.

The wooden body of the violin, a brownish-yellow color, gleamed warmly under the classroom's fluorescent lights. The neck was long, with six strings stretched taut from the headstock to the bridge.

"Guitar." Teacher Sun hugged the guitar to his chest, plucked the strings with his fingers, producing a series of crisp sounds. "Don't tell me you've only seen them on TV. Who has ever learned to play? Raise your hand."

Seven or eight students in the class raised their hands. Liu Yang raised his hand the highest, and he stood up from his chair.

"Liu Yang, you can play?" Teacher Sun was a little surprised.

"Yes!" Liu Yang patted his chest confidently. "I can play 'Two Tigers' with one string."

The whole class laughed again. Teacher Sun couldn't help but chuckle too: "If playing just one string counts, then that counts as knowing how."

"Teacher, can I try?" Liu Yang asked eagerly.

Teacher Sun handed over the guitar.

Liu Yang took the guitar, holding it in his arms like he was holding a disobedient cat. The headstock was upside down, the body was tilted, and the six strings made a few piercing noises in his hands. He plucked the sixth string twice with his right index finger, humming "Two tigers, two tigers, running fast," but the notes he produced were completely off-key.

"Alright, alright." Teacher Sun couldn't stand it anymore and took the guitar back. "You should go back and practice first."

Liu Yang scratched his head and sat down, with an innocent expression that said, "I think I played pretty well."

"Who else wants to try?" Teacher Sun asked, holding her guitar and scanning the class.

No one raised their hands.

"Okay, I'll play a tune for you." Teacher Sun sat down, placed the guitar on her lap, pressed the strings with her left hand, and plucked them with her right. A melody flowed from her fingertips, light and bright, like a summer breeze.

Lin Shubai didn't know much about music, but he had to admit that the melody was quite nice. His gaze fell on Teacher Sun's fingers—those fingers pressed on the strings, the fingertips pressing against the metal wires, the strings were pressed down, touching the frets, producing accurate pitches.

A string, when pressed down and plucked, produces a sound.

After playing a section, Teacher Sun stood up and handed the guitar to a student in the front row: "Pass it around, everyone touch it and get a feel for it."

It was five minutes later when the message reached Lin Shubai.

He took the guitar.

The guitar wasn't heavy, and the wood felt wonderfully smooth. His fingers first touched the body of the guitar, the smooth, cool finish. Then, his fingers naturally landed on the strings.

There are six strings, each of different thickness. The thinnest one is the tautest, and pressing it down hurts your fingers. The thickest one is loose, and plucking it will produce a buzzing sound for a long time.

His fingers slid across the strings, from the sixth string to the first, the patterns of the metal wire clearly visible beneath his fingertips, as if they were engraved.

【Trigger Keywords】

[Hope + String]

【Life on a String (Shi Tiesheng)】

Amidst the vast, desolate mountains, two blind men, one old and one young. The old blind man plays a three-stringed plucked instrument, while the young blind man follows behind. The two travel from village to village, making a living by telling stories.

The blind man's master told him: "If you break a thousand strings, you can retrieve a prescription from the instrument case and cure your eyes."

The blind old man played the zither his whole life.

He would break a string and collect it like a gold bar. One, two, a hundred, five hundred. He would mend the broken string, then break it again. He played for fifty years, finally playing a thousand strings.

He opened the instrument case—inside was not a prescription, but a blank sheet of paper.

He sat on the cliff edge all day. The wind blew, and he couldn't see, but he could hear. Below, people were singing, crying, and arguing. He couldn't see anything, but he heard everything.

Then he went back to the blind boy and said, "I remembered wrong, it's not a thousand, it's twelve hundred."

The blind boy believed it.

The old blind man knew the prescription was fake. But a person needs something to hold onto while they live. A broken string can be mended, but if that something is gone, the person is truly blind.

Lin Shubai had grown accustomed to this feeling. From the initial trigger of "The Gift of the Magi" by his watch, to the later triggers of peaches, oranges, spider silk, children's drawings, and photos of cardboard boxes, each trigger was accompanied by a flood of text entering his mind. At first, his heart would race and his pupils would dilate, but now he could receive it without batting an eye—at least on the surface.

Liu Yang turned around from the front row, gesturing as if he were playing a guitar: "Shubai, you looked really serious when you touched the guitar just now, like Old Chen grading essays. Did you also think that guitar felt good to play?"

"Hmm, it feels good."

"I'm telling you, I'll go back and ask my dad to buy me one, and I'll learn to play it seriously. Once I've learned, I'll play it for you."

Su Wan immediately raised her hand: "I request to wear earplugs."

Liu Yang pretended not to hear.

The bell rang, signaling the end of get out of class. Ms. Sun put the guitar back in its bag and left.

"Life on a String" is a story that uses lies to sustain life and explores the meaning and hope of survival.

Yesterday, he originally planned to submit some essays he had memorized in his previous life to "October" magazine. After all, at that time, he only had Shinichi Hoshi's short story collection and "Red Sorghum Family". He did not plan to write "Red Sorghum Family" at the moment, and Shinichi Hoshi's short story collection was science fiction, which was not suitable for submission to "October". This essay, "Life on a String", was just right.

The full text of "Life is Like a String" is over 10,000 words. If you really put your mind to it, you can finish it in a day or two. The main reason is that you don't need to modify the original text, so it's very quick to write.

After I finished writing it, I sent it to Chen Yuanshan and asked him about the publication of "Charlotte's Web".

Liu Yang's voice interrupted his thoughts: "Shubai! Let's go! To the cafeteria!"

Lin Shubai stood up, stuffed his textbook into the drawer, and followed Liu Yang and Su Wan out.

"What's wrong with you today?" Su Wan walked beside him. "You were spacing out in class, and you were spacing out after class too. Did you finish writing that long novel and have nothing to do?"

"I'm brainstorming new stories."

"Again?" Liu Yang's eyes widened. "Your novel hasn't even been published yet, and you're already writing a new one?"

"I have something on my mind, and I feel uncomfortable if I don't write it down."

The three walked towards the cafeteria. The corridor was crowded, and Liu Yang led the way, shouting "Make way, make way!" like a police car clearing the way. Su Wan followed behind, greeting the students who passed by.

"Shubai, has there been any news from Editor-in-Chief Chen about your novel?" Liu Yang asked from the side.

"It won't be that fast. They need to contact the publisher, the publisher needs to evaluate, and the process will take at least one or two months."

Liu Yang put down the chicken bone. "One or two months? Does that mean I'll have to wait until next year to get a signed copy?"

"What's your hurry? You're not going to run away."

Liu Yang wiped his mouth. "I was just worried about you. Let me tell you, my cousin heard that you published an article in 'Story Club' and asked me to send him a copy. I sent it, and after he read it, he called me and said, 'Your classmate is pretty awesome.' I said, 'Of course, he's my brother.'"

Su Wan rolled her eyes from the side: "When are you going to change 'my brother' to 'my classmate'? It sounds like you're some kind of gangster."

"That's different. Classmates are classmates, and brothers are brothers. You can have many classmates, but you only have a few brothers." Liu Yang was serious for a rare second when he said this, but he immediately resumed his playful smile. "Of course, Su Wan, you're half a brother."

"Why half?"

"Because you are a woman."

Su Wan picked up her chopsticks and pretended to hit him. Liu Yang shrank back and chuckled twice.

Lin Shubai picked up a piece of tofu, chewed it a couple of times, and suddenly asked, "Have you ever thought about this?"

"What's the problem?" Su Wan asked.

"So... what is the purpose of life?"

Liu Yang and Su Wan were both stunned.

Liu Yang put down the chicken leg, his expression somewhat blank: "Are you alright? Did you get discouraged by Teacher Sun in music class just now? Singing off-key is nothing to doubt your life, is it?"

"No, I was just asking casually."

Su Wan looked at him, her gaze becoming more serious: "Why did you suddenly think of this?"

"It's just something I thought of. Have you thought about it?" Lin Shubai didn't mention "Life on a String." He had only read through "Life on a String" once and was just expressing his feelings.

Su Wan thought for a moment: "I want to be a criminal investigator, to catch bad guys and put the good people at ease. Does that count?"

"Calculate."

Liu Yang scratched his head: "I want to... eat all the delicious food in the world. Does that count?"

"That counts too." Lin Shubai couldn't help but smile.

"And what about you?" Su Wan countered, "What are you thinking?"

Lin Shubai thought for a moment, "I want to write stories. To let many people see them, to let many people remember them."

Liu Yang slammed his hand on the table: "That settles it! You want to write stories, I want to eat delicious food, and she wants to catch bad guys. Everyone has their own 'why,' why do you care what others think?"

Lin Shubai paused for a moment, then smiled: "You're right."

"Of course." Liu Yang took a smug bite of his chicken leg. "Although I'm not good at Chinese, I do understand some principles of life."

Su Wan, unusually, didn't argue with him.

After finishing their meal, the three walked towards the classroom. As they passed the playground, several middle school students were squatting by the flower bed, the same ones from the other day, looking at an ant nest. Liu Yang leaned over for a look and said, "Ants moving house means it's going to rain," before Su Wan pulled him away.

In the afternoon class, Lin Shubai sat in his seat, taking notes when he needed to, and looking up when he needed to. But there was also a notebook on his desk with the words "Life is Like a String" written on it, and a short paragraph had already been written below it.

"The old blind man thought: If I break a thousand strings, I will be able to see. This thought was like a thread that led him for fifty years."

Su Wan, who was standing next to her, glanced at the words "blind man" and "string" and frowned, but said nothing.

When school was over, Liu Yang caught up with me from behind: "Shubai, I've been thinking about your question about 'what is the purpose of living' all afternoon."

"What came to mind?"

"I think the point of living is to wait for good food," Liu Yang said seriously. "Like chicken legs today, spare ribs tomorrow, or hot pot the day after. If you give up today, you won't get spare ribs tomorrow. So no matter how hard it is, you have to hold on until tomorrow."

After listening, Su Wan was silent for two seconds, then said, "You are the most philosophical person I have ever met."

"Really?" Liu Yang's eyes lit up.

"Fake."

Liu Yang was discouraged, but quickly cheered up: "Anyway, you understand what I mean."

Reaching the school gate, Liu Yang waved and ran off. Lin Shubai and Su Wan walked towards the bus stop.

"Was the question you asked today related to that new story you told us?" Su Wan suddenly asked.

Lin Shubai glanced at her: "How did you guess?"

"You always think about strange questions before you write anything. Before writing 'Spring Blossom Noodle Shop,' you squatted by the flower bed and looked at the spider webs for a long time. This time you asked 'What is the purpose of life?' You must be thinking about some story again."

Lin Shubai did not deny it: "Yes, I want to write a story about a blind man."

"blind?"

"Yes. Two blind men, one old and one young."