A Literary Life Starting from the First Year of High School

November 18th, Friday, Chengdu.

No. 11, Section 4, Renmin South Road, Science Fiction World Magazine, 9:40 a.m.

Old Zhou was the first to arrive at the office.

His full name is Zhou Hang, the editor in charge of the "Galaxy Theater" short story column of Science Fiction World. He is 42 years old, wears thick black-rimmed glasses, and has half of his hair white, with the other half sticking out in all directions, as if he had just been in a fight.

He worked at this magazine for fifteen years, rising from a regular editor to a senior editor, and handled at least tens of thousands of manuscripts. He had seen all kinds of newcomers—some wrote hard science fiction that was more difficult to understand than academic papers, some wrote soft science fiction that was so soft that it was all about romance, some wrote "science fiction" like "fantasy," and some wrote a short story of three thousand words into a novella of thirty thousand words, then edited it back down to three thousand words.

There weren't many manuscripts delivered today, at least fewer than usual.

The first letter, with handwriting as messy as a doctor's prescription, was titled "Star Trek: The New Chapter".

Old Zhou glanced at the beginning—"In 3024 AD, the Galactic Federation's interstellar warship 'Explorer' was attacked by aliens in the Orion Nebula..." He read two paragraphs and placed it on his left. In the upper left corner of the stack of papers, a single word was written in pencil: "Retreat."

It's not that it's poorly written, it's just too formulaic. 3024, Galactic Federation, interstellar warships, Orion—he'd seen these words for fifteen years, and he was sick of them. Newcomers like to write these things, thinking that "science fiction" is just "future + space + spaceship + aliens," but true science fiction isn't about piling up terms; it's about having an idea that resonates with the reader.

The second letter was titled "After the Three Laws of Robotics".

Old Zhou read two pages, frowned, read two more pages, put the manuscript down. This one was better than the first one; at least the author had read Asimov and knew what the Three Laws of Robotics were. He wrote four words in the upper right corner of the manuscript: "Has a foundation, but lacks innovation." Then he put it in the "pending" pile.

The third letter, the fourth letter, and the fifth letter.

Old Zhou disassembled and reviewed the manuscripts quickly. His rejection rate was about 90%—he was lucky if he could keep one or two out of ten for backup. He could judge most manuscripts after only reading the first two paragraphs. It wasn't that he was careless; it was just that a good opening and a bad one were really obvious.

The sixth envelope was a large one, thicker than the others.

The title of the first page is "Dinosaurs in the Afternoon".

The man woke up, stretched lazily in bed, and heard excited shouts from outside: "Wow! A dinosaur! The dinosaur is coming out!"

This kind of opening is rare in science fiction manuscripts—most contributors would rather throw the entire universe in the reader's face in the very first sentence.

He continued reading.

He got up and walked to the window, following the child's gaze. On the lawn in the backyard, there really was a dinosaur, its huge body slowly pacing, its thick tail dragging on the ground. Strange prehistoric ferns grew wildly, and huge ancient dragonflies glided slowly in the air...

Zhou Hang breathed a sigh of relief after reading the entire article. This was the best article he had seen in a while. On an ordinary afternoon, the earth slowly replayed its entire history of life, from ancient dinosaurs to the present day of humans. When all time came to an end, a family embraced each other peacefully, facing the end of all things with equanimity.

This article does not belong to the traditional "hard science fiction" genre. It intertwines the micro-perspective of family with the macro-perspective of military affairs, hiding a grand tragic core.

In the story's final scene, the man doesn't erupt in hysteria, but calmly opens his arms to his wife and children. This is an individual's last act of tenderness before the devastating blow of fate, and a glimmer of humanity left behind by the author amidst cruel despair.

This type of manuscript is truly rare in all his years of editing work. Zhou Hang wrote "Excellent" on the manuscript without hesitation.

Putting down the first article, Zhou Hang picked up the second one.

Title: Artificial Beauty

These four words made him frown slightly. The word "beauty" in science fiction manuscripts is usually not a good sign; it either refers to an artificial intelligence companion robot, which is not very original, or it refers to some kind of biological modification that turns into a horror movie. But with the quality of the first article as a reference, he decided not to rush to a judgment.

"This is an extremely ingeniously crafted robot girl. It can be said that no matter how charming and beautiful a woman is, she cannot compare to this man-made modern woman. She has absorbed the strengths of all the beauties in the world and is simply a perfect fairy."

This opening made Zhou Hang's brows furrow more and more, just as he had initially thought.

However, as he watched, Lao Zhou became more and more focused, until the very end, "From beginning to end, the non-toxic and insensitive robot stood safely, while all the greedy customers and the fraudulent bosses perished in the poisoned wine."

This story, "Artificial Beauty," shocked him even more than the previous one. The core of the previous story, "Dinosaurs in the Afternoon," was written in a more subtle way, leaving a warm and melancholic feeling that lingers after reading it.

But this story is different. It unhesitatingly dissects human desires and greed, presenting them to everyone. The customer is greedy for beauty, the boss is greedy for money, and everyone wants to get something from that perfect robot. In the end, everyone pays the price.

He has been working on this column for fifteen years, and it's rare for him to receive two articles on the same day that are both worthy of being rated "excellent"—it happens only a few times a year.

He placed the two manuscripts side by side on the table and stared at the three words "Lin Shubai" for a long time. He knew Lin Shubai and had read the past two months' worth of "Story Club" magazine. He had to admit that Lin Shubai's three stories were really well written, but Zhou Hang did not expect that Lin Shubai could also write science fiction.

Zhou Hang stood up, picked up the two manuscripts, and walked out of the office.

The editor-in-chief's office was at the end of the corridor, the door ajar. Zhou Hang knocked twice.

"Come in."

"Old Zhou, what's up?" Editor-in-Chief Wang Hongwei looked up at Zhou Hang.

"I have some new manuscripts, please take a look." Zhou Hang walked over and placed two manuscripts on the editor-in-chief's desk.

After reading both articles, Wang Hongwei put down the manuscript, took off his glasses, leaned back in his chair, and looked at Zhou Hang.

"This author, Lin Shubai. Is that the one—?"

"Yes." Zhou Hang nodded. "It's the one from 'Story Collection,' the one who won first prize in the national essay competition. He's a first-year high school student, sixteen years old."

Wang Hongwei put down his manuscript and looked at Zhou Hang: "What are your plans?"

"Both articles will be used, and the payment will be 500 yuan per thousand words."

Wang Hongwei thought for a moment and said, "Five hundred for a thousand words is fine, but when you contact the author, ask him if he has any other manuscripts. This output and quality are worth following up on in the long term."