A Literary Life Starting from the First Year of High School

Tuesday, March 7th.

When Lin Shubai and Su Wan entered the school gate, they noticed a group of people gathered near the bulletin board in the teaching building lobby. Upon closer inspection, they saw that they were several first-year high school students, each holding a dark blue-covered magazine and flipping through it. One of the boys, wearing glasses, turned to a certain page and said to the person next to him, "Look at this one, 'Night on the Galactic Railroad,' it's really well written."

The girl next to her leaned over for a look: "Written by Lin Shubai? That Lin Shubai?"

"Otherwise, it could be any other Lin Shubai."

Lin Shubai passed by them, slowing his pace but not stopping. He didn't want to be recognized and then fall into an awkward conversation like, "You're that Lin Shubai, right?" He lowered his head and quickly walked across the hall toward the stairwell. He had experienced that kind of conversation too many times. Every time it was the same process: the other person said his name, he nodded, the other person said, "Wow, you're amazing," he said, "Thank you," and then the two of them stood awkwardly, not knowing what to say. So he lowered his head and quickly walked across the hall toward the stairwell.

Su Wan followed behind him and whispered, "Why are you walking so fast? They're not going to eat you."

"It's so embarrassing. When someone says 'You write well,' I say 'Thank you,' and then I'm speechless. I can't exactly ask them to analyze my reading experience for me, can I?"

Su Wan thought for a moment and said, "You can ask, 'What parts do you think are well-written?' and throw the question back at them."

"That would be even more awkward, what if he couldn't answer and the two of them just sat in silence."

Just as the two reached the middle of the hall, a boy in a school uniform darted out from the side, already holding a copy of "Hope." He flipped to the table of contents and said, "You're Lin Shubai, right? Did you write Hoshino's 'Night on the Galactic Railroad'?"

Lin Shubai nodded.

The boy held up the magazine in front of him: "What did you come up with in the title 'Train in the Milky Way'? After reading it, I dreamt last night that I was riding a train in the Milky Way, but when I got off at the station, I found myself in the school cafeteria. I was so angry!"

Lin Shubai suppressed a laugh: "At least you got to your stop and didn't miss it."

The boy paused for a moment, then chuckled twice, grabbed the magazine, and ran off. Su Wan glanced at him sideways and said, "Your fans have now expanded to the point where they dream about riding the train you wrote about."

As I reached the corner on the second floor, I encountered two more girls, also holding copies of "Hope," huddled together discussing something. One of them said, "I don't quite understand this poem," while the other replied, "Poetry is supposed to be incomprehensible to give it a sophisticated feel."

Lin Shubai almost lost his composure.

The two walked into the classroom. Liu Yang was already in his seat, holding a copy of "Hope" magazine like a flag. When he saw Lin Shubai come in, his eyes lit up, and he rushed over with the magazine in hand.

"Shubai! Guess what happened this morning?"

Lin Shubai put down his schoolbag: "What is it?"

"Someone in the second year of high school copied down the opening remarks of the school's curriculum, 'Speaking of Hope'! They copied it across three whole pages! And posted it next to the bulletin board! I just saw it with my own eyes in the lobby!"

Lin Shubai was taken aback: "Copy the opening remarks?"

"Yes! It's handwritten! The handwriting is quite nice! There's even a sun drawn next to it!" Liu Yang's expression was as if he were reporting a major archaeological discovery. "Don't you think this is what you call 'spontaneous dissemination by the public'? I said yesterday that your publication could make money, and today the foreword has been handwritten. What does this mean? It means that your articles have entered the 'handwritten copy stage'."

Su Wan took the textbook out of her bag and said without turning her head, "Handwritten copies usually refer to banned books."

Liu Yang argued confidently, "That's even more impressive! What's banned is always the best! Look at those classic works, many of them have been banned!"

"Do you know who copied it?" he asked Liu Yang.

Liu Yang scratched his head. "I don't know. I asked around, but no one admitted it. Maybe some artsy young man did it, doing good deeds anonymously. But think about it, who would spend time hand-copying an opening statement? That would take an hour, right? What does this mean? It means your article is worth someone copying for an hour."

Su Wan turned around and said seriously, "This shows that what you wrote was very important to that person."

Liu Yang turned to the foreword of the magazine, pointed to a passage, and said, "Yesterday I saw this sentence, 'Hope is the second soul of the disheartened,' and I was thinking—I've been failing English for years, does that make me a 'disheartened person'? If so, then I also have a second soul? Does that mean I have two souls? Does that mean I fail English because my first soul didn't understand, and my second soul is asleep?"

Su Wan finally couldn't help but laugh out loud: "The logic in your statement is even more chaotic than your English essay."

"What's wrong? I have two souls, one listening to the lecture and the other sleeping. We take turns, which is very efficient."

During the second break, Lin Shubai went to the activity room.

When I pushed the door open, there were already two people sitting inside—Yu Xingzhi and Zhao Lei. Yu Xingzhi had a copy of "Hope" and a small notebook open in front of her, and she was writing something in the notebook. Zhao Lei was leaning against the window, also holding a book in his hand, engrossed in reading it.

"What are you doing here?" Lin Shubai walked in.

Yu Xingzhi looked up: "I'm summarizing the feedback. Several people in our class said that the opening remarks were well written, just like the articles in the textbook."

Lin Shubai was taken aback: "It's like an article in a textbook—is this a compliment or an insult?"

"They praise you because they think the articles in textbooks are all classics. The fact that you can write like that shows that you have entered the 'textbook preparation' stage."

"Textbook preparation"—this phrase almost made Lin Shubai laugh, but he knew in his heart that it was not his own achievement. The person who wrote these words was Mr. Liang. He just brought them from another world. But then he thought that without him, readers in this world might never have read "A Young China" and "On Hope". From this perspective, what he did was meaningful.

Zhao Lei walked over from the window, put the magazine in his hand on the table, and pointed to the few lines of the opening remarks: "Lin Shubai, after reading the sentence you wrote, 'The sun rises in the east, the dawn is blazing, shall I command the sun and shine brightly to illuminate the world,' I have a picture in my mind. It's like this—the sun has just risen, you are standing on the mountaintop, and the whole sky is red."

Is this a positive or negative review?

"Great job, but I feel like you were quite excited while writing this? The pace of these sentences gets faster and faster, like a sprint."

Lin Shubai thought about it. He was indeed quite excited when he wrote it. The rhythm of Mr. Liang's original text was just like that, with each sentence faster and higher than the last, like waves pushing upwards. He just replicated that rhythm. But the fact that Zhao Lei could read this "excitement" showed that his words conveyed the power of the original text.

Yu Xingzhi chimed in from the side: "When Zhao Lei was writing his essay last week, he also said that he was very excited and wrote 300 words, but the teacher criticized it as 'incoherent and nonsensical'."

Lin Shubai watched them bickering and suddenly remembered something: "By the way, how's the feedback collection from each group going?"

Yu Xingzhi opened her notebook. "In the Campus Story Group, three people from our class said they wanted to submit stories for the second issue, all about family relationships. Two other people asked if we could write serialized stories."

Lin Shubai nodded. "Be careful with serializations. If the author stops writing halfway through, the publication will be left with nothing. Tell them that they should at least finish two-thirds of the story before submitting it, otherwise they won't accept it."

Yu Xingzhi wrote down in her notebook: "Good."

Zhao Lei also spoke up: "As for the Hoshino group, two high school sophomores came to ask about submitting their work yesterday. They said they wanted to try writing science fiction after reading 'Night on the Galactic Railroad.' I gave them the submission requirements and told them to write it first and then show it to me when they're done."

"Okay, you decide, but don't overwork yourself. Aren't you planning to submit your own work too?"

Zhao Lei nodded: "I know, I'll write my article this weekend, it won't be a problem."

The door to the activity room opened again, and Shen Yue walked in. Seeing three people there, she took the milk carton out of her mouth and said, "You didn't call me for your meeting?"

"It wasn't a meeting, it was a chance encounter."

"The kind where you bump into three people?"

"A small-scale chance encounter."

Shen Yue rolled her eyes, sat down next to Yu Xingzhi, took out a piece of paper from her bag, and spread it on the table. It was a hand-drawn sketch, a concept for the second issue's cover—a boy standing in front of a window, with a starry sky outside and a book on the windowsill.

"I've drawn a first draft of the cover for the second issue. Take a look."

Yu Xingzhi leaned over and took a look: "This windowsill is painted too high, the proportions are wrong."

"I know, it hasn't been changed yet."

Zhao Lei chimed in, "There could be more stars. Right now, it looks like ceiling lights, and the arrangement of the lights is too neat. It doesn't look like a starry sky; it looks like a conference room."

Shen Yue glared at him: "If you're so good, then you draw it."

Lin Shubai glanced at the sketch: "The direction is good, but the second phase is still a long way off. You can refine it first; there's no rush."

Shen Yue put the sketch away, then suddenly remembered something, "Oh right, after the first issue was released, someone asked me if the cover could be made into a poster. They said they wanted to put it on their dorm wall."

"Make it into a poster?"

"Yes, she said the boy's profile on the cover is very handsome and she wants to put it on her bedside table. I think that's a good idea. If the response is good, we can print more cover posters for the second issue and include them with the magazine."

Yu Xingzhi thought for a moment: "Won't the cost be too high?"

"We won't be printing many copies, so the cost should be manageable," Shen Yue said, looking at Lin Shubai. "What do you think?"

Lin Shubai thought for a moment and said, "We'll talk about the second episode later. Let's focus on making good content first. The poster is icing on the cake, not a necessity."

The four chatted in the activity room for a few more minutes. Yu Xingzhi mentioned that a girl in her class wanted to write an article about her grandmother, but didn't know how to start. She asked if she could talk to Lin Shubai. Lin Shubai told her to come to the activity room during break. Zhao Lei said he found a first-year high school boy who had great ideas for science fiction, but his writing was terrible and full of typos. He was helping him revise it. Shen Yue said she planned to make two versions of the cover for the second issue and let everyone vote on which one to choose.

As Lin Shubai listened to them explain their plans one by one, a feeling suddenly welled up in his heart. This literary society had grown from nothing, from a blank form to a printed publication. Every step of the process was not accomplished by him alone. When Yu Xingzhi was summarizing feedback, when Zhao Lei was helping newcomers revise their manuscripts, and when Shen Yue was designing the cover, they were not "doing things for him." They were doing their own things. This publication was a product of their collective efforts.

The last class in the morning was Mr. Chen's Chinese class. "Today we won't teach anything new, we'll go over the composition from last time."

A chorus of wails erupted from below.

Old Chen pulled out a stack of composition books from his lesson plan and flipped through them: "The topic last time was 'My New Semester.' After grading them, I found a problem—everyone's 'New Semester' was pretty much the same, either 'I want to study hard' or 'I want to get rid of my bad habits.' Out of more than forty students in the class, more than thirty wrote those two things."

He paused, his gaze sweeping in Liu Yang's direction: "Liu Yang, what did you write?"

Liu Yang stood up, his voice a little weak: "What I wrote... 'I'm going to sleep less this semester.'"

The whole class burst into laughter. Su Wan laughed so hard she was slumped over her desk, her shoulders shaking. Lin Shubai suppressed his laughter and looked down at his textbook.

Old Chen couldn't help but chuckle, but quickly suppressed it: "Your goal is specific, but don't use it next time."

The bell rang, and Old Chen closed his textbook and walked out. As he left, he glanced at Lin Shubai and said, "The publication is quite good. If the literary society needs any support from the school, let me know."

"Thank you, Teacher Chen."

The cafeteria was busier than usual at lunchtime.

Halfway through their meal, an unfamiliar boy carrying a tray walked over and stopped next to Liu Yang. He was wearing round-framed glasses and holding a copy of "Hope".

"Lin Shubai, hello, I'm from Class 4, Grade 11. I wanted to ask, did you see that handwritten copy of 'Talking About Hope'?"

Lin Shubai nodded: "I saw it."

"That... I copied it."

Lin Shubai was stunned. He didn't expect the person who copied would admit it, let alone that it would happen in the cafeteria while he was eating. He originally thought that this matter would remain a mystery forever, becoming a story of "someone doing a good deed but not leaving their name" in the campus legend.

The boy's face was a little red, but his tone was still relatively calm: "I copied it during evening self-study yesterday. After I finished copying it, I felt that it was not interesting to just look at it by myself, so I posted it on the bulletin board. The main thing is that sentence, 'Hope is the second soul of the disappointed.' I did very poorly on my final exams last semester, and I was quite depressed during the winter break. When I saw this sentence, I suddenly felt that I was not really finished, but only temporarily."

When the boy said this, Lin Shubai noticed that his fingers were trembling slightly.

Lin Shubai put down his chopsticks and looked at him: "Thank you."

The boy paused for a moment, then asked, "Thank me?"

"Thank you for taking the time to copy my article. And thank you for telling me that this sentence was helpful to you."

The boy's face turned even redder. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he only said, "Then I'm going to eat," and quickly walked away with his tray. His gait was a little stiff, as if he didn't know which foot to step with.

During the last self-study period in the afternoon, Lin Shubai went to the activity room.

When he arrived, Yu Xingzhi and Zhao Lei were already there.

Yu Xingzhi looked up and said, "Lin Shubai, I have an idea. Could we hold a themed call for submissions for the second issue? For example, 'Summer' or 'Graduation'? That way, the submissions would have more direction, and the authors would know what to write about."

"Yes, but the theme can't be too narrow, otherwise too few people will write about it. 'Summer' is fine, but 'graduation' can only be written about by senior high school students, not junior high school students."

Zhao Lei put down the magazine in his hand. "Lin Shubai, I'd like to organize a small science fiction writing contest for the Hoshino Group. It'll be held within our school, without any awards. It's just to give everyone a reason to write. The deadline is set for early April, just in time for the second issue."

Lin Shubai glanced at him: "What are you planning to do?"

"Write a call for submissions and post it on the bulletin board. There's no word limit, but science fiction is the only acceptable genre. The more submissions we get, the more choices we'll have."

"Okay, show it to me when you're done writing it."

Zhao Lei nodded.