A Literary Life Starting from the First Year of High School

"Fifteen minutes left," the proctor repeated.

Lin Shubai had already checked his essay twice, and now he had nothing to do but sit in his seat and stare blankly.

Zhang Siyuan next to him was still writing, the pen tip almost piercing the paper. Li Yiming behind him didn't make a sound, probably having finished writing a long time ago, perhaps resting with his eyes closed, or maybe rummaging in his pocket for a third chocolate.

"Five minutes left."

A commotion began to stir in the classroom. Some students started flipping through pages to check their work, some put down their pens and picked them up again, and some stared at their essays as if in prayer. Lin Shubai carefully put away the four pens, placing the gold fountain pen separately in a hidden compartment of his pencil case—this was Liu Yang's father's prized possession.

"Time's up. Everyone stand up and put down your pens."

The proctor's tone left no room for argument. Several students wanted to write a few more words, but she glared at them, silencing them. Seeing that glare, as powerful as a "little boy's," the students immediately stopped what they were doing.

The assistant teachers began collecting the papers. One teacher collected them from the front row to the back, and another from the back row to the front. Lin Shubai placed his composition paper on the corner of the table and watched them being collected, feeling an indescribable sense of relief.

"Candidates, please take your personal belongings and leave the examination room in an orderly manner."

Lin Shubai picked up his pencil case and exam admission ticket. His legs felt a little numb when he stood up, so he stomped his feet twice, making a "thump-thump" sound. Zhang Siyuan, who was next to him, glanced at him and asked, "What are you doing?"

"My leg is numb, what else can I do? Give my leg an electric shock?"

Zhang Siyuan stomped his feet twice, expressionless: "My shoes have thin soles, so they conduct electricity better."

The corridor was already packed with people; sixty examinees plus their accompanying teachers completely blocked the third-floor corridor. Some were comparing answers—"What angle did you write about?" "I wrote about environmental protection." "That's a useless topic, environmental protection is all you wrote about. I'm asking you what exactly you wrote about." "It's just environmental protection."—This kind of conversation was practically meaningless.

When the three of them went downstairs, they met Old Chen at the top of the stairs on the second floor.

"Finished the exam?" Old Chen asked. Of course, the exam was over; it was already over. But Lin Shubai understood it as an opening line, similar to "Have you eaten?"

"The exam is over," the three of them said at the same time.

"What's the question?"

"Our Earth Home".

Old Chen nodded, not asking how they wrote it. He took a sip of water and then said, "Let's go, the car is waiting at the door. Go back and get some rest, don't think too much."

The group walked towards the school gate. Halfway there, Lin Shubai suddenly remembered something, took out his phone, and turned it on. When the screen lit up, there were seven unread text messages—three from Liu Yang, two from Su Wan, and two from 10086 (China Mobile's customer service number).

Liu Yang's first message: "Have you finished the exam? Call me when you have!"

The second point: "Haven't you finished your exam yet? I'll wait a little longer."

Article 3: "My English class is over, why haven't you come out yet?"

Su Wan's first message: "How was it? What was the topic?"

Article 2: "Let me know when you're done writing, don't keep me waiting anxiously."

Lin Shubai replied to Su Wan first: "The exam is over. The topic was Earth, our home. I wrote a story. I'll tell you when I get back."

Su Wan replied instantly: "Okay. Be careful on the road."

I had just given Liu Yang a message about having fun when the phone rang.

"Shubai! You've finished the exam?! How did it go?! What were the questions?! How did you write them?! Are you confident you can win an award?!" Liu Yang's voice burst out from the receiver, like a machine gun. Lin Shubai moved the phone away a little.

Ask me one question at a time.

"Okay. Finished the exam?"

"The exam is over."

"How is it?"

"good."

"What's the question?"

"Our Earth Home".

"How did you write it?"

"I wrote a story about a hole."

"A cave? What kind of cave? A cavern? A mountain cave? A black hole?"

I'll talk to you later; it's hard to explain over the phone.

"Okay, okay. So, are you confident you can win the prize?"

"I don't know. Let's wait for the results."

"I think you can win. If you can't, then this competition is rigged."

"The way you're talking makes it sound like you've read my essay."

"No need to look, I believe you."

After hanging up the phone, the three of them had already reached the school gate. The car was still parked in the same spot, and the driver was leaning against the door smoking. When he saw them coming, he put out his cigarette and opened the sliding door.

"Get in the car, we'll take you home."

As usual, Old Chen sat in the front passenger seat. Lin Shubai, Zhang Siyuan, and Li Yiming sat in the back.

Zhang Siyuan leaned against the car window and suddenly said, "Guess how many points I'd get on my essay today if it were out of 100?"

Lin Shubai turned and glanced at him. "You make an estimate yourself."

"I don't know. I wrote an argumentative essay arguing that 'protecting the environment is protecting humanity itself.' I used three sub-arguments, each with two supporting arguments: one theoretical and one factual. The structure was complete and the logic was clear, but I don't think it was very meaningful."

"Why is it boring?"

"Because I don't even believe it myself. The things I wrote, like 'Earth is our only home' and 'Destroying the environment is self-destruction,' sound like slogans to me. When I was writing them, all I was thinking about was how to get points."

Lin Shubai was silent for a moment. He wanted to say, "I feel the same way," but he didn't say it. Because he believed in the story he had written today. Not that he believed the hole really existed, but he believed in the principle—what you throw into the world, it will eventually return to you.

Li Yiming peeked out from behind: "I wrote a narrative essay about a river in front of my hometown when I was a child. It was polluted, and then it was cleaned up. The ending says, 'The river is clear again, but the stones at the bottom are no longer the same stones as before.' I think it's alright, but I don't know if the judges like this kind of style."

"Your ending is quite good, it has a certain charm," Zhang Siyuan said.

"What does it taste like? The taste of river water?"

"No, it's just... that indescribable taste. Like finding an undercooked peanut in your porridge, it's like that 'clunk' sound."

Li Yiming thought for a moment: "Your analogy is also very strange."

"Same to you."

When the car arrived at Lin Shubai's house, Old Chen turned around from the passenger seat and said, "You've worked hard today. Go back and get some rest. The school will notify you when the results are out."

"Thank you, Teacher Chen."

The aroma of braised pork wafted through the living room. Wang Xiulan poked her head out from the kitchen. "Finished the exam?"

"The exam is over."

"What's the question?"

"Our Earth Home".

Wang Xiulan nodded, not asking how she wrote it. Having been a Chinese language teacher for so many years, she knew that the worst thing to do after an exam was to keep asking, "What did you write?" She turned and went back to the kitchen, her voice coming from inside: "Wash your hands and eat. Your dad will be back soon."