A Literary Life Starting from the First Year of High School

When the awards ceremony ended, the auditorium erupted in cheers.

Lin Shubai stood by the stage, holding the crystal trophy in his hand, the certificate tucked under his arm. The trophy gleamed under the lights, and the certificate, with its red cover and gold lettering, looked quite formal. He was looking down at the words engraved on the trophy when a voice came from beside him.

"Lin Shubai".

He looked up, and Qian Xueshen stood before him. He had white hair, wore a gray sweater, and held a brown paper envelope in his hand. The old man was not tall, but he stood very straight, his eyes steady.

"Professor Qian." Lin Shubai switched the trophy to his left hand and shook hands with him using his right hand.

"I read your essay three times." He looked into Lin Shubai's eyes. "The first time I read it, I broke out in a sweat. The second time, I wondered, who is this child? The third time, I felt that you should be sent to a bigger place."

"Thank you, Professor Qian."

Qian Xueshen continued, "It's alright. I called Li He, the editor-in-chief of People's Literature. He read your essay and was very interested. He'd like to meet you and talk to you in person."

"This afternoon, at three o'clock, at the People's Literature magazine office, which is near Wangfujing, not far away." Qian Xueshen paused, "You'll have to postpone your return by a day."

Lin Shubai thought for a moment. The train ticket was for this afternoon, and Old Chen had already bought it. But he knew the significance of the editor-in-chief of People's Literature wanting to see him—it was a top-tier literary journal in China, and many of the names he admired in his previous life had published their works there.

"Okay. I'll tell the teacher."

Qian Xueshen nodded, took out a business card from his pocket and handed it to him: "This is my phone number. I'll be waiting for you in the hotel lobby at 2:30 this afternoon, and we'll go together."

Lin Shubai took the business card, which read "Qian Xueshen, Professor of Chinese Literature, Peking University," followed by his mobile phone number. He carefully tucked the card into his wallet.

"Thank you, Professor Qian."

"Don't thank me," Qian Xueshen waved his hand.

"Lin Shubai!"

Chen Xiaobei emerged from the crowd, holding his phone in his hand, his face still showing the excitement of receiving an award. He had taken off his suit jacket and was draped it over his arm, his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and the top two buttons of his collar were undone, making him look like he had just run 800 meters.

"You're here! I've been looking for you for ages! I recorded everything you said on stage! Look—" He held his phone up to Lin Shubai's face. The screen showed him standing on stage, saying "Thank you, Chen Xiaobei." His voice was a little distorted, but it was clear.

Why are you recording this?

"Keep this as a memento! It's the first time you've won a national first prize, such a precious moment. When you become a great writer in the future, this video can be sold for money," Chen Xiaobei said earnestly.

"Sell it to you?"

"No, I'll keep it for myself. I'm a party involved; I can't buy or sell it, that's insider trading."

Lin Wanqing walked over from behind, holding her trophy and certificate. Her gait was exactly the same as before the award ceremony—neither fast nor slow, her expression unchanged, as if winning first prize was as ordinary as eating and drinking. But Lin Shubai noticed that the tips of her ears were a little red, so she was probably not completely indifferent.

"Congratulations." Lin Wanqing looked at him and said two words.

Congratulations!

The three of them exchanged glances, and Chen Xiaobei laughed first: "Our Shanghai division swept the top two first prizes, plus a second prize. This achievement is enough for us to brag about for a year."

"Your second prize is definitely something to brag about," Lin Wanqing rarely commented.

Are you praising me or insulting me?

"Statement of facts."

Chen Xiaobei thought for a moment and decided to treat it as a compliment: "Thank you. I also think it's pretty impressive."

The three walked out of the auditorium. The corridor was crowded with people. Contestants gathered in twos and threes, some exchanging contact information, some taking photos, and some squatting in the corner making phone calls, their voices low but their tones excited.

Lin Shubai stopped. "By the way, I can't go back today."

Chen Xiaobei and Lin Wanqing turned to look at him at the same time.

"Professor Qian recommended that I meet with the editor-in-chief of People's Literature at 3 p.m.

Chen Xiaobei's mouth formed a perfect "O," his eyes widened like saucers, and he froze, as if under a spell. After about three seconds, he let out a low, forced sound from his chest: "Holy shit!"

Several people in the corridor turned to look at him. Chen Xiaobei didn't care at all and grabbed Lin Shubai's arm: "People's Literature? Editor-in-Chief? You're going to see the editor-in-chief of People's Literature?"

"Um."

Do you know what level of publication People's Literature is?

"Know."

Chen Xiaobei's voice changed drastically, "You know that and you're still so calm? Are you even human? That's *People's Literature*!"

Lin Wanqing remained silent, but the shock in her eyes was unmistakable.

The three of them walked out of the auditorium. Old Chen was standing on the steps by the door, holding a thermos, chatting with a teacher he didn't recognize. He saw Lin Shubai come out, said something to the person, and then walked over.

Old Chen's expression was different from usual—the corners of his mouth were noticeably upturned, and there were smile lines at the corners of his eyes; he exuded a smug air, as if "my student won the national first prize." But when he saw Lin Shubai approaching, he tried to suppress his expression, returning to his usual stern demeanor. However, he wasn't entirely successful in suppressing it; the corners of his mouth were still upturned.

"Teacher Chen, I have something to tell you." Lin Shubai walked over.

"What is it?"

"I can't go back today."

Old Chen paused, his hand holding the thermos cup still. "Why?"

"Professor Qian Xueshen recommended that I meet with the editor-in-chief of People's Literature at 3 p.m.

Old Chen's expression changed subtly—first he paused, then his eyebrows twitched, then his lips twitched as if he were suppressing a laugh or surprise, before finally returning to calm. The whole process lasted about two seconds.

"People's Literature?" His voice was a little louder than usual, but he quickly lowered it.

"Um."

Old Chen was silent for a few seconds, unscrewed the lid of his thermos, took a sip of water, screwed it back on, and said, "Okay. Go ahead. I'll change your train ticket. Tell your mother so she won't worry."

Old Chen turned and left, walking much faster than usual. Lin Shubai watched his retreating figure, figuring he was probably going to find a secluded spot to call the school and share the good news.

In fact, Old Chen did make a phone call. But instead of looking for a secluded spot, he went directly to the stairwell next to the auditorium, took out his phone, found Principal Zhou Zhiyuan's number, and dialed it.

beep - beep - beep -

The call was answered after three rings.

"Hey? Teacher Chen? The results are out?" Zhou Zhiyuan's voice came through the receiver, carrying a suppressed tension.

"He's out. Lin Shubai, the national first prize winner."

There was a second of silence on the other end of the phone, then Zhou Zhiyuan's voice rose noticeably: "Really?"

"Really. They won both the trophy and the certificate."

"Great! Great! Great!" Zhou Zhiyuan said "great!" three times in a row, his voice getting louder and louder. "I knew this kid was good! I knew he'd amount to something the moment I saw him!"

"There's one more thing." Old Chen paused, "Professor Qian Xueshen of Peking University recommended Lin Shubai to meet with the editor-in-chief of People's Literature this afternoon."

There was another second of silence on the other end of the phone, and this time it lasted even longer.

"People's Literature?" Zhou Zhiyuan's voice was a little unsteady.

"right."

"People's Literature?"

"Yes, People's Literature."

Zhou Zhiyuan took a deep breath on the other end of the phone and said something that almost made Old Chen burst out laughing: "Teacher Chen, pinch me and let me see if I'm dreaming."

"Principal Zhou, I'm in Beijing, and you're in Shanghai, so we can't reach each other."

"Then pinch yourself for me. If it hurts, it means it's real."

Old Chen pinched his thigh; it really hurt. "It's true."

"Good! Good! Good!" Zhou Zhiyuan said "good" three more times, each time louder than the last. "Teacher Chen, please tell Lin Shubai to have a good meeting and not be nervous. When he meets the editor-in-chief, he should be polite, but not too polite, just be natural. Also, have him ask the editor-in-chief if he can take a photo with him. If he can, I'll print it out and hang it in the school history museum."

Old Chen felt that Zhou Zhiyuan was starting to get arrogant. "Principal Zhou, he's the editor-in-chief, not a tourist attraction."

"I know, I know, I was just saying. Just let him perform normally. Oh, and have him take a picture of the trophy and send it back; I want to post it on the school website."

"it is good."

"Teacher Chen, you've worked hard. I'll treat you to a welcome-back dinner when you get back."

After hanging up the phone, Old Chen stood in the stairwell, looking at the words "Call Ended" on his phone screen, and suddenly smiled. It wasn't a polite smile; it was a genuine, uncontrollable laugh. After laughing, he cleared his throat, composed himself, pushed open the stairwell door, and walked out.

Lin Shubai had just seen Chen Xiaobei and Lin Wanqing off. As Chen Xiaobei left, he kept turning back, muttering, "Remember to send a message," "Don't forget the details," and "You must tell me what the editor-in-chief looks like," before Lin Wanqing grabbed him by the back of the collar and dragged him away. Before leaving, Lin Wanqing glanced at Lin Shubai, said "Good luck," and then walked away without looking back.

Lin Shubai stood at the hotel entrance and watched them get into a taxi. Chen Xiaobei leaned out of the car window and waved to him until the car turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

He took out his phone and sent a text message to Wang Xiulan: "Mom, I can't come back today. Professor Qian recommended that I meet with the editor-in-chief of People's Literature. I'll go back tomorrow."

After sending the message, he put his phone back in his pocket without waiting for a reply. He knew Wang Xiulan would send a long text message, something like "Be careful," "Don't be nervous," or "Be polite when you meet." He figured he could check it later.

He sent Su Wan another message: "I can't go back today, I'll go back tomorrow. I'll tell you when I see the editor-in-chief."

At 2:30 p.m., Lin Shubai appeared in the hotel lobby on time.

Qian Xueshen was already standing in the lobby. He had changed into a dark gray suit jacket over a white shirt, and his hair was neatly combed; he looked more energetic than in the morning. He saw Lin Shubai and nodded: "Let's go. The car is waiting outside."

The two left the hotel. A black Santana was parked at the entrance. The driver was a young man wearing a dark blue work uniform. When he saw Qian Xueshen come out, he opened the back door.

"Editor-in-Chief Li is waiting for us in his office." Qian Xueshen sat in the back seat, and Lin Shubai sat next to him.

The car started and merged into the traffic. Beijing's streets are wider than Shanghai's, but the traffic jams are just as bad. Traffic lights came and went, one after another, making it a stop-and-go experience.

After driving for about half an hour, the car stopped in front of a gray-white building. A bronze plaque hung at the entrance, with the words "People's Literature Magazine" written in a neat, old-fashioned regular script.

Qian Xueshen pushed open the door and went in, with Lin Shubai following behind. The first floor was the reception area, where a young woman wearing glasses was sitting behind a table. When she saw Qian Xueshen, she stood up.

"Professor Qian, Editor-in-Chief Li is waiting for you on the fourth floor. He asked me to pick you up and take you up."

"it is good."

The three people got into the elevator. It was old, making a humming sound as it ran, and the floor indicator lights flashed. When it reached the fourth floor, the doors opened. The corridor was long, carpeted in gray, with rows of closed doors on either side. A row of magazine covers hung on the wall, ranging from black-and-white editions of the 1980s to recent color versions.

The young woman walked to a door at the end of the corridor and knocked twice.

"Come in!"

Behind the desk sat a man in his sixties, his hair thick but gray, messy, as if he had just woken up and hadn't had time to comb it. He wore a dark red hoodie with the words "I love BJ" printed on it, followed by the smaller characters "Tiananmen," looking like a souvenir bought at a tourist attraction. He was wearing reading glasses and munching on an apple when he heard the door open and looked up.

Li He's gaze first fell on Qian Xueshen, then moved to Lin Shubai and stopped. He took off his reading glasses, looked Lin Shubai up and down, and then casually tossed the apple core in his hand into the trash can in the corner.

"Great! Three-pointer!" Li clapped for himself twice, then stood up, walked around the desk, and came over.

Lin Shubai felt that the opening remarks were completely different from what he had imagined. He thought the editor-in-chief would be a serious, profound person who spoke slowly and deliberately, but the person in front of him looked more like an old man playing chess in a park, except that this old man was in charge of a top national literary magazine.

"You're Lin Shubai?" Li He extended his hand.

Lin Shubai shook hands with him. Li He's hand was strong, and he shook it a couple of times as he shook it, as if he were greeting an old friend.

Li Hesong loosened his hands, put them on his hips, and said, "Let me tell you, when I read 'When the youth are strong, the nation is strong,' I almost stood up from my chair."

Qian Xueshen coughed and said, "Old Li, sit down and talk."

"Can't I stand and talk? My legs are fine." Li He said this, but still sat back down in his chair. He pointed to the sofa, "You guys sit too. Xiao Lin, you sit here, closer to me, my hearing isn't very good."

"I've decided to publish your essay." Li He got straight to the point, without any preamble. "It'll be published next month. The payment is 800 yuan per thousand words. Yours is about 1,500 words, so it'll be 1,200 yuan. If you think that's too little, we can discuss it further."

"That's quite a lot."

"That's fine then." Li He grabbed a cookie from the table, took a bite, and chewed it twice.

(Starting tomorrow, I will update at least 2000 more words, the duration is uncertain)