A Literary Life Starting from the First Year of High School

Monday morning, the sky was overcast, as if it were about to rain.

When Lin Shubai arrived at the classroom, Su Wan was already in her seat. She was flipping through a copy of "Story Collection" magazine. Hearing footsteps, she looked up and asked in a low voice, "Any news?"

Lin Shubai stuffed his schoolbag into the drawer. "It's only been a day. How could it be so fast?"

Su Wan shoved the magazine back, saying, "I'm just in a hurry."

The classroom was already noisy before the bell rang. Several boys were chasing and playing in the aisle, knocking over desks and chairs. The girls in the front row huddled together, passing notes and occasionally letting out suppressed laughter.

Just then, a round-faced boy strolled over from the front row, plopped down in the empty seat in front of him, turned around, and leaned on Lin Shubai's desk: "Lin Shubai, have you finished your math test? Let me copy it."

Liu Yang, nicknamed "Fatty," is a well-known social butterfly in the class. He can chat with anyone, and he's quite familiar with the original owner of this body—or rather, he's familiar with everyone.

Just a few weeks into the semester, he had already become familiar with most of the students. He would chime in during class, wander around after class, and his loud voice could be heard everywhere he went. As for his academic performance, he ranked in the thirties in the class on the initial placement test, especially in math, but he wasn't worried at all.

"You've finished the test. Don't copy everything. Correct a couple of questions." Lin Shubai pulled the math test out of his bag and handed it to him.

"Don't worry, don't worry, I know what I'm doing." Liu Yang took the test paper, his eyes lit up, and he lowered his voice to say, "Hey, did you guys know there's a writing competition next month?"

Su Wan seemed intrigued. "What kind of essay competition?"

"The citywide middle school essay competition," Liu Yang counted on his fingers, "the first prize is five hundred yuan, plus a certificate. I heard it can even add points to the college entrance exam, but I don't know if it's true."

"Where did you hear that from?" Lin Shubai asked.

Liu Yang chuckled and said, "Old Chen said it in his office last Friday. I happened to be there to submit my self-criticism and overheard it."

"Why did you write another self-criticism?" Su Wan asked with a look of disgust.

Liu Yang scratched his head. "I was caught sleeping in English class last Wednesday by Teacher Sun. It's okay, I wrote 800 words, that's enough."

The school bell rang. Liu Yang quickly turned around and stuffed his test paper into his drawer.

The first class was English. Ms. Sun walked in, wearing high heels, and slammed her lesson plan onto the podium with a blank expression: "Turn to page 42 of your textbooks. Last class we covered verb tenses, and we'll continue today."

Lin Shubai glanced at the textbook; the content was very simple, something he had learned in junior high. He decided to start thinking about the essay competition instead.

The citywide middle school student essay competition has a first prize of 500 yuan. It's not a lot of money, but winning an award would be a boost to submitting articles to "Story Collection" magazine—a first-year high school student submitting articles and winning awards would at least give people something to talk about.

However, it's up to Old Chen to choose, and we don't know who he'll pick. His Chinese language scores aren't outstanding, and his essays are just average; he's never stood out in that area before.

Just then, Su Wan poked his arm.

"What are you thinking about?" Su Wan asked softly. "The teacher is calling you."

Lin Shubai looked up and found Teacher Sun staring at him, tapping her finger on the blackboard: "Lin Shubai, how do you fill in this blank?"

An example sentence was written on the blackboard: "I ___(watch) TV when she came in."

"Was watching," Lin Shubai said.

Teacher Sun nodded: "Yes, sit down. Don't let your mind wander in class."

Lin Shubai sat down, and Su Wan chuckled beside him, muttering something under her breath, though judging from her lip movements, it seemed to be "Serves him right."

The last class of the morning was Chinese. As usual, Old Chen entered the classroom as the bell rang, his lesson plan tucked under his arm.

"We won't be teaching new material today, we'll be discussing composition," Old Chen said.

A chorus of groans erupted from below. Old Chen remained unmoved, pulling a stack of composition books from his lesson plan and flipping to one of them: "Last week's composition topic was 'My Ideal.' After grading them, I discovered a problem—everyone's ideals were pretty much the same: either to be a teacher, a doctor, or a policeman. Out of forty-five students in the class, thirty-eight wrote about these three things."

He paused, then picked up a composition book: "Only a few students wrote differently. For example, this one—"

He opened his composition book and read aloud: "My dream is to open a bookstore. The bookstore doesn't need to be too big, but it should have bookshelves covering an entire wall, wooden tables, and hot tea. I want to sit behind the counter every day, watching all kinds of people come in and pick out books, listening to their conversations, and seeing them laugh. If someone can't afford a book, I'll let them sit in the store and read until closing time."

Old Chen closed his composition book: "Who wrote this?"

A girl in the last row timidly raised her hand. Lin Shubai turned around and glanced at her—it was a thin girl with a ponytail, wearing thick glasses, and usually didn't talk much.

"Well written." Old Chen nodded. "It's vivid and heartfelt, unlike some students who wrote, 'I want to be a teacher because teachers are like candles'—do you even believe that yourselves?"

Some people below couldn't help but laugh.

Old Chen glanced at the student who had laughed out loud and continued, "The worst thing about writing essays is being fake. Falsehoods, false emotions, false ideals. You're at the age where you have the most ideas, don't limit yourselves."

The bell rang, signaling the end of get out of class. Old Chen picked up his enamel mug and headed out, but stopped at the door, turned back, and said, "Oh, by the way, there's a citywide middle school essay competition next month, with three spots for each class. Anyone interested can contact me to sign up. I read last week's essays and have a general idea of ​​who's good enough."

Liu Yang turned around from the front row with a "What did I tell you?" look on his face: "See? When has my intelligence ever been wrong?"

"You call that intelligence? That's eavesdropping," Su Wan retorted.

Liu Yang didn't argue with her, but turned to look at Lin Shubai: "Let's go eat in the cafeteria?"

"Okay." Lin Shubai stood up.

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 acquaintances from time to time.

The cafeteria was on the first floor, with long queues at the food windows. The air was filled with the aroma of braised pork and stir-fried vegetables, along with the greasy smell unique to cafeterias. Lin Shubai was in the queue, while Liu Yang stood behind him, tiptoeing to see ahead.

"We have chicken drumsticks today!" Liu Yang exclaimed excitedly.

After getting their food, the three of them found a seat by the window. Liu Yang's plate, besides a chicken leg, also contained braised pork, scrambled eggs, and a large bowl of rice, piled high like a small mountain. Su Wan glanced at it and clicked her tongue twice: "Are you here to eat or to buy supplies?"

"It's for growing up," Liu Yang said, taking a bite of his chicken leg and mumbling, "My mom said boys should eat more."

After finishing their meal, the three walked back. When they reached the foot of the teaching building, Liu Yang suddenly grabbed Lin Shubai's sleeve: "Shubai, aren't you planning to sign up?"

Lin Shubai was taken aback: "Me?"

"Yeah, your Chinese isn't bad, and your writing is decent too. Why not give it a try? You might just get selected," Liu Yang said.

"We'll see."

The first class in the afternoon was math. Lin Shubai sat in his seat, staring blankly out the window. The sky was darker than in the morning, with low-hanging clouds that looked like it could rain at any moment.

Su Wan was flipping through her math textbook, muttering to herself. Liu Yang was sleeping soundly in front of her, snoring away.

Lin Shubai withdrew his gaze and glanced down at the Casio watch on his wrist. Black dial, digital display, simple and practical. A gift from his father, a present for getting into high school.

He hesitated about the essay competition. It wasn't that he was afraid of not writing well—he had decades of reading experience from his previous life in his mind, and even without the classic works unlocked by the system, he could easily write an essay for the competition. What he hesitated about was whether he should make a name for himself at school so early.

Submitting to *Story Collection* is anonymous; editors and readers only see the story, not the author. But essay competitions are different. Winners are announced publicly, and teachers and classmates all know. How do you explain a student who previously wrote mediocre essays suddenly producing an award-winning piece?

But then he thought, he couldn't keep it hidden forever. The system would unlock more works, and he would have to step into the limelight sooner or later. Rather than suddenly appearing and arousing suspicion, it was better to take it one step at a time and let people slowly accept the fact that "Lin Shubai can write."

When school was over, it finally started to rain.

Large raindrops pounded against the windows of the school building, making a loud pattering sound. The corridor was crowded with students waiting for the rain to stop; some called their parents to bring umbrellas, while others simply put their backpacks on their heads and rushed out.

Lin Shubai and Su Wan stood at the entrance of the lobby on the first floor, looking at the torrential rain outside with worry.

"I didn't bring an umbrella," Su Wan said with a bitter face.

"I didn't bring any either."

"What should we do then?"

Lin Shubai looked at the sky; the rain showed no sign of letting up. "Let's wait a bit; it might stop soon."

"This rain doesn't look like it'll stop anytime soon." Su Wan sighed and continued, "My mom has evening self-study today, so no one's home. My dad's not home either, so no one's going to bring me an umbrella."

Liu Yang emerged from behind, holding a blue plaid umbrella with the words "XX Insurance Company" printed on it, clearly a free gift.

"You didn't bring umbrellas?" Liu Yang asked. "My house is nearby, I can walk back. Can I borrow your umbrella?"

"Then what are you going to do?"

"I'll run back," Liu Yang said, shoving the umbrella into Su Wan's hand.

Before they could react, he slung his backpack over his head and dashed into the rain, his chubby figure quickly disappearing into the downpour.

Su Wan held up the umbrella and looked at Lin Shubai: "This umbrella is big enough, let's walk together."

The two walked towards the school gate under an umbrella. The rain was too heavy; the umbrella couldn't cover them at all, and Lin Shubai's left shoulder was soaked. Su Wan leaned closer to him, their arms touching, and neither of them spoke.

When I got to the bus stop, there was a long queue of people waiting for the bus. The rain had lessened a bit, but the wind had picked up, making the "GG" sign on the platform rattle loudly.

"What's wrong with you today?" Su Wan suddenly asked.

"What? What happened?"

"You seem distracted. You're daydreaming in class and don't talk much during meals. Is it about the manuscript?" Su Wan asked, looking at him.

"No," Lin Shubai thought for a moment and continued, "I was just thinking about the essay competition."

"Do you want to participate?"

"I'm considering it."

Su Wan was silent for a moment, then said, "I think you should participate."

Lin Shubai turned to look at her.

"Your three stories were written so well, you'd definitely be fine in the writing competition. Besides, Old Chen has always liked you, maybe he was planning to choose you anyway."

"How did you know Old Chen likes me?" Lin Shubai asked curiously.

"He keeps glancing this way during class, do you think I didn't notice?"

The bus arrived, and the two squeezed on. As usual, there were no seats, so they stood by the back door holding onto the handrail. The rain was still falling outside the window, and the glow of the streetlights blurred into hazy orange patches in the rain.

"Lin Shubai," Su Wan suddenly called out to him.

"Um?"

"Your three stories were really well written."

Lin Shubai paused for a moment, then turned to look at her. Su Wan didn't look at him, gazing at the rain outside the car window, her profile softened by the dim car lights.

"I just can't write," she continued. "I struggle with writing essays. You never used to write anything, but suddenly you can, and you write so well."

She turned her head, her eyes shining: "I think you're destined for great things."

Lin Shubai was a little embarrassed by her words: "Don't talk nonsense, it's just a few stories."

"I'm not just talking nonsense," Su Wan said seriously. "I just have this feeling. You're different from everyone else I know."

The bus arrived at the stop. The two got off; the rain had lessened considerably, leaving only a light drizzle. They walked past the security booth at the entrance of the residential complex, where the radio was still playing Teresa Teng's songs, this time "Tian Mi Mi" (Sweet Honey).

When they reached Su Wan's door, she folded the umbrella and handed it to him, saying, "Take this umbrella and return it to Liu Yang tomorrow."

"OK."

Su Wan pushed open the door, walked in, and then turned back: "Lin Shubai."

"Um?"

"See you tomorrow."

She smiled, turned around, and closed the door.

On the sixth floor, the key was inserted into the lock, and the door opened.

"You're back?" Wang Xiulan's voice came from the kitchen.

"Um."

"Are you wet? Go change your clothes quickly, or you'll catch a cold."

Lin Shubai changed into slippers and went into the bathroom. The boy in the mirror had half his hair wet, and his school uniform jacket was covered in water stains. He turned on the tap, and the hot water warmed his hands.

Outside the window, the rain continued to fall, pattering softly against the glass. In the distance, the tower crane at the construction site appeared and disappeared in the rain and mist, like a giant pointer pointing in an unseen direction.

He dried his hands, returned to his room, and sat down at his desk. The graph paper he had used that night was still spread out on the table; the pen cap was off, and the ink had dried.

The system doesn't know when it will trigger again, the manuscript doesn't know when it will receive a message, and the essay competition doesn't know who Old Chen will choose.

But it's okay.

There is ample time.

He closed his eyes, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Outside the window, the rain gradually subsided. In the distance, neon lights shone through the rain and mist, turning half the sky orange-red. The sound of pile driving at the construction site had long since stopped; only the sound of rain pattering on the sycamore leaves remained, a soft, rustling sound like turning pages of a book.