A Literary Life Starting from the First Year of High School

Tuesday, November 8th.

When Lin Shubai arrived at the classroom, there were no piles of offerings on the desks, and Liu Yang himself was sleeping in the front row.

everything is normal.

What was unusual was the newsstand near the school gate. When Lin Shubai passed by in the morning, he saw the owner arranging newly arrived magazines on the shelf, with the November issue of "Story Club" placed in the most prominent position. A middle-aged man in a gray jacket was already standing there, holding the magazine in his hand, flipping to the first page, and reading it while standing.

On the other side of the city, the story of "Chunhua Noodle Shop" is being read by different people.

JA zone, a certain GG company.

Zhou Min walked into the office with a cup of coffee, put her bag on the chair, and habitually glanced at the pile of letters on her desk. There were no letters, but there was one thing—a copy of "Story Collection," the November issue, which her colleague Xiao Lin had placed on her keyboard with a sticky note: "This issue's editorial is particularly good; it's written by the same author who was supposedly a high school student last time. Take a look."

Zhou Min put down her coffee and picked up a magazine. She and Xiao Lin had an unspoken agreement: whoever found a good article would recommend it to the other. The last article, "The Most Precious Gift," was first discovered by Xiao Lin, and the two of them discussed it for a long time in the cafeteria.

She read about the New Year's Eve when Xiuying took her two children to the noodle shop for the first time. She read about how Chunhua's sister-in-law grabbed an extra handful of noodles and ladled an extra spoonful of soup. She read about how the youngest child stared intently at the noodles on the next table, not uttering a sound, only swallowing hard.

I read about Xiuying coming every New Year's Eve, and ordering only one bowl of noodles each year. I read about how Sister Chunhua secretly added half an extra portion every year, and said "it's the same" every year. I read about how one New Year's Eve, the snow was particularly heavy, and Sister Chunhua poured them three cups of hot water so they could warm up before eating.

I read that the mother and her two children hadn't come for two consecutive years. I read that Sister Chunhua always put three extra pairs of chopsticks next to the cashier on New Year's Eve.

More than a decade later, two well-dressed young men helped a gray-haired woman into a noodle shop and ordered three bowls of clear broth soba noodles. When it came time to pay, the eldest son paid ten times the usual amount. He said, "Madam, thank you for that half-portion of noodles all these years."

Zhou Min put down the magazine and reached for the tissue box.

Xiaolin peeked over from the opposite workstation, holding a half-eaten apple. Seeing Zhou Min pull out a tissue, he grinned and asked, "Crying?"

"No," Zhou Min blew her nose. "I got something in my eye."

"Where did this come from in the office?" Kobayashi took a bite of the apple, chewing it with a crunchy sound.

Zhou Min crumpled the tissue into a ball and threw it into the trash can, glaring at her: "Are you here to read the article or not?"

"I've finished watching it. I watched it on the subway this morning." Kobayashi threw the apple core into the trash can, and then hit a three-pointer.

Zhou Min smiled, then picked up the magazine again and read the ending. "The snow is still falling outside, and the lights at Chunhua Noodle Shop are still on."

Is this noodle shop legitimate?

Xiaolin slid his chair over and pointed to the address in the magazine. "I checked, there really is a Chunhua Noodle Shop on Nanjing Road. Do you want to go?"

"Are you going tomorrow at noon?"

"Go ahead. While you're at it, ask the proprietress if she knows any author named Lin Shubai."

Zhou Min nodded and carefully put the magazine into her bag.

Chunhua Noodle Restaurant on Nanjing Road.

Zhou Chunhua stood behind the counter, holding a remote control, pressing buttons on the air conditioner on the wall. It was a bit chilly inside the Shanghai store in November, so the air conditioning needed to be turned on.

It was 10:30 a.m. It wasn't lunchtime yet, and there were only two tables occupied in the restaurant: an old man was eating plain noodles in a corner, and two young women were eating wontons by the window.

The door was pushed open with a creak.

A young man in a delivery uniform came in, carrying a cardboard box and sweating profusely. He placed the box on the counter and pulled a form from his pocket: "Zhou Chunhua? Sign here."

Zhou Chunhua took the form, signed it, and the young man turned and left, running faster than a rabbit.

She used scissors to cut open the cardboard box, inside were ten magazines—the November issue of "Story Club". She picked up the top one, flipped through it, and turned to the first page, where she saw the title: "Chunhua Noodle Shop", with the words "Lin Shubai" below.

She put the magazine back in the cardboard box, picked it up, and placed it in the cabinet under the counter. Then she took out her phone, scrolled to the contact list for "Little Girl," and sent a text message: "Little Girl, I received the magazine. It's well-written. Next time you come for noodles, Auntie will treat you."

After sending the message, she put her phone back in her apron pocket and continued wiping the table.

Four o'clock in the afternoon, in the Chinese language department office of a middle school.

A bespectacled female teacher sat at her desk, a copy of "Story Collection" open in front of her. Her name was Fang Min, she taught eighth-grade Chinese, and she was thirty-four years old. After reading "Spring Blossom Noodle Shop," she picked up a red pen and wrote a line next to the article: "Can be used as reading material on the theme of 'warmth'."

Then she picked up the phone and dialed the number of the Chinese teacher in the next class: "Ms. Li, have you seen the opening page of this issue of 'Story Collection'? I'm planning to have my students read this article in next week's reading class. Would you like to join me?"

The sound of turning pages came from the other end of the phone, followed by a voice saying, "I just finished reading. Okay, let's do it together."

At six o'clock in the evening, Zhou Min and Xiao Lin came out of the office building.

The two walked side by side toward the subway station. Xiaolin was still holding the "Story Collection" magazine in her hand, flipping to the page about "Chunhua Noodle Shop," and reading it as she walked.

Kobayashi closed the magazine. "Do you think that author, Lin Shubai, is actually a high school student?"

"Some people online say it is, others say it's a pseudonym. I checked, but I couldn't find anything."

Kobayashi stuffed the magazine into her bag. "I'll just ask the noodle shop owner tomorrow. By the way, what time is it tomorrow?"

"12 o'clock. My treat."

"Then I'll eat two bowls."

"Can you eat two bowls?"

"You can take the leftovers home. You've come all this way, shouldn't you buy more?"

The two people walked into the subway station and disappeared behind the card-swiping turnstiles.