Chapter 33: A Campus Celebrity Yet Again

It is well known that an author cannot possibly distill their own central themes. Zhou Shuren surely didn't think that much about it back in the day. A jujube tree is next to another jujube tree—if I wrote about the first one and forgot the second, is it really that strange to add a sentence later?

This is why textbooks prefer the works of dead authors. Because dead men tell no tales, and they can’t refute your interpretations.

Thus, an unprepared Zhai Da was forced to embark on an impromptu, over-the-top literary analysis.

"Here, the author expresses disdain for worldly standards, revealing a warm and powerful core."

"This part ties back to the main theme, illustrating that the author has a tiger in his heart, sniffing the rose."

"And here, we have a parallel structure combined with double-rhyming; this is pure showing off—don't try to learn it, you won't be able to."

After about seven or eight minutes, Zhai Da finally finished the task Ding Rong had assigned him. He breathed a sigh of relief and looked out at the class, only to be met with dead silence.

The cringe was terminal.

But then, thunderous applause erupted in the classroom.

Everyone looked on with a hint of disbelief. They might have been genuinely surprised by the quality of the essay, but more than that, they seemed stunned that a peer could stand on the podium and express himself with such fluency and confidence.

Like a real speech.

Yes, that was the word. Among high school students, there is a special "dimension of merit"—because so few can speak in public without being nervous, they view "giving a speech" as an incredibly dazzling virtue.

Yang Fan clapped, though his eyes looked a bit dull. Chu Xiang pursed his lips, saying nothing. Fan Junwei clapped the loudest, despite not understanding a single word. Lin Shuyao’s gaze flickered, looking rather complex. Even Wu Yue cracked the door open and stuck his head in, grinning foolishly as if he were the one in the spotlight.

"Wu Yue! Are you a hamster? Get out!"

***

Zhai Da’s Chinese test score of 130 meant nothing at Maofang Middle School; in the elite classes, that level was a dime a dozen.

But that 68-point essay was truly explosive.

Because Ding Rong wasn't sure how to grade it, she had asked other Chinese teachers in the research group to evaluate it early on. With their unanimous praise, the article began to circulate throughout the entire grade.

***

Teachers didn't necessarily expect students to imitate it, but they wanted them to experience the brilliant writing to perhaps spark some inspiration, or at least show them that high schoolers could indeed write good prose.

In Class 11, Lu Siwen sat up straight like a Teletubby receiving a signal, her eyes shining.

"I hide the rose behind my back; when the wind rises and the petals fall, I gift the flowers to myself, riding my horse toward freedom."

On the podium, the elite class Chinese teacher couldn't stop praising this passage. In a cultural backwater like Maofang Middle School, it had been a long time since such pleasing prose had appeared. Of course, he didn't mention the author's name, only saying it was written by a student from another class.

Lu Siwen immediately struck a pose like Ultraman, raising her hand high.

"Lu Siwen, do you have a question?"

She was probably the teacher's favorite student: good grades, cute, and well-behaved. Her family was also quite influential; every holiday, a driver would arrive with gifts.

Lu Siwen’s eyes glowed. "Teacher, was this written by Zhai Da from Class 8?"

In the elite class, a question popped up in many minds: Class 8? A student from a regular class?

The middle-aged male teacher was surprised. "How did you know?"

He hadn't mentioned it intentionally, but there was no need to invent someone else.

Lu Siwen said proudly, "We are pen pals! He’s teaching me how to write!"

The teacher hadn't actually met Zhai Da in person, so he just smiled. "That's great. Your own essay still has room for improvement, too."

In a single day, Zhai Da became a minor celebrity on campus.

Again.

Ever since he fainted during the second mock exam, it seemed like he was in the spotlight every few days. The incident regarding Lin Shuyao’s "confession" hadn't even been settled yet when a new legend was born. Even students who buried their heads in their studies and never participated in gossip heard the name "Zhai Da" over and over again.

For a time, he was the talk of the school.

Zhai Da ignored the chatter. Apart from Chinese class—where he had to pay attention because Ding Rong kept batting her eyes at him—he spent all his time copying notes.

Over two hundred vocabulary words and two mandatory modern Chinese texts, along with their corresponding testing points, were already etched into his memory.

One day... this efficiency was terrifying.

He keenly realized that if the "Young Girl" and the "Old Man" could work in tandem—like two swords fighting in harmony—the results might be even more exaggerated. Within a month, he could probably take off on his own.

As it turned out, no matter how much effort it took, getting Lu Siwen’s fountain pen was worth it. Although, for now, it was only "temporarily in his possession"... but he hadn't said when he would return it, had he?

On the way home from school, Zhai Da didn't run into Lu Siwen again. He was a bit afraid she would block his path on the pedestrian bridge again.

***

This made Zhai Da breathe a sigh of relief. He had obtained the pen under the pretext of "writing a novella and needing the pen to find inspiration," so he would eventually have to give her something; Lu Siwen had only agreed because she wanted to read what he wrote.

He had to think of a way to write something for her to stall for time. Now that his study efficiency was so high, he could manage to squeeze out some time.

Think of it as paying his dues.

When he returned home, Zhai Da saw Ms. Yu busy in the kitchen. Although he knew via text that he was coming home for dinner, he asked curiously, "Off work early today?"

In the kitchen, Yu Xiaoli was chopping pork ribs. Her knife rose and fell with such force that the cutting board practically jumped.

"Don't even ask. The factory had received a big foreign trade order from Japan and we prepared for a long time, but for some reason, the deal fell through two days ago."

Zhai Da paused while taking off his shoes.

Yu Xiaoli grumbled to herself, "The factory prepared for this order for ages, and now it's all in vain. There are no orders scheduled for the next half-month, so I guess I'll be able to come home and cook every day."

Though her salary was modest, she relied on performance bonuses. When the factory had plenty of orders, she took home more. If there were no orders, she only got the base salary of a little over a thousand yuan. If there were no orders for a long time... the factory might even go under. After all, the textile mill had been struggling for years, at the stage where if you pulled the catheter, it would be all over.

A Japanese trade order...?

Although he couldn't be one hundred percent sure, why did Zhai Da feel like it was related to those two Japanese men he had reported to the police for gambling?

"Uh... in this situation, shouldn't there be a penalty for breach of contract?"

"That's for the factory leaders to worry about. But I doubt there's much. The people in sales have to beg for business on their knees these days..."

Yu Xiuli began to console herself. "Forget it... people have their fates, and factories have theirs. The textile mill has been around for so many years, and it's had plenty of bad luck. It should be fine."

Zhai Da smiled stiffly.

I kept mocking the textile mill, saying it would go under sooner or later.

Did I actually cause it to go under?

However, no matter how difficult things were at the factory, Yu Xiaoli didn't cut corners on the family's meals. Even though she complained about Zhai Da being fat, she never skimped when cooking.

Two people, three dishes: braised spare ribs, stir-fried spring vegetables with pork cracklings, and stir-fried bean dregs—all Zhai Da’s favorites. Especially the stir-fried bean dregs, which were only found in northern parts of the province and neighboring regions; one bite was full of savory, salty goodness.

When it came to culinary skills, Ms. Yu was no restaurant master, and among all the mothers, she might not be the top-tier chef either.

But the taste of home.

It isn't in a spoonful of salt, a pinch of sugar, or a few sprinkles of scallions...

It is actually just in a mother’s fingertips.