Chapter 7

Eighth Chapter of the Main Text

After Zhang Xiaotong rejected the "co-option" from the school, various reports about her began to flourish. Her cousin had never had a black mark on her record at school and was practically a model student excelling in both character and learning, and everyone was amazed at why such a good student would write works whose thoughts were so complex and not sufficiently positive, healthy, and uplifting.

People's curiosity was infinite, and before long Zhang Xiaotong's name had become synonymous with teenage writers, with even more students taking Zhang Xiaotong as their role model.

I, the mastermind plotting behind the scenes, chuckled coldly to myself. Never mind how lively it was now; after a year, who would still remember who Zhang Xiaotong was? Wasn't Han Han, who had been famous nationwide back then, just like that? Later on, he could only appear in the entertainment sections, and even then only because his looks were somewhat passable.

Zhang Xiaotong's time began to be occupied by various people.

First came the letters-some praising, some criticizing, some self-introducing as members of some writers' association and demanding a 250-yuan membership fee, others full of admiration and seeking romance, and still more asking to collaborate on novels or become pen pals... Every day I accompanied Zhang Xiaotong to fish out interesting stamps from large piles of envelopes, and then threw them all into large woven bags to save for our elder uncle and second uncle to burn in the stove during the winter.

During this period I also had to take my final exams, while Zhang Xiaotong's entrance exams had ended long ago. She was still first in her academic year and had become a municipal merit student. However, municipal merit students didn't have much of a reward this time-just a certificate and a fountain pen; upon appraisal, the Hero-brand fountain pen seemingly cost no more than 5 yuan to make.

Under my guidance, Zhang Xiaotong could also write some things on her own. On the eve of my exams, she took on some short-story commission requests by herself, and also wrote a bit about how she cultivated her own writing hobby. Counting the days and yearning for it, I finally welcomed the final exams; as soon as they were over, I immediately started writing the next full-length novel I had already conceived for Zhang Xiaotong.

This time I didn't write science fiction, but instead wrote a story about campus life, recounting the joys and sorrows of retakers. I first made up a bunch of nonsense for Zhang Xiaotong-something about finding out through an older cousin in the family that there was such a special group of people called retakers, developing an interest, and going to find material to start writing, and so on... In short, I wanted to make the media believe that a person lacking life experience could make up for their deficiencies through source material. This was yet another challenge to the definition of traditional teenage writers; the most powerful weapon that traditional writers previously used to criticize teenage writers was "lacking life experience," and I was determined to prove that "lacking life experience" could produce entertaining things just the same.

The serialization of "In the Wind, In the Rain" was more popular than before, and although it was only serialized in a single newspaper, the writing fee had already reached 80 yuan per 1,000 characters. At the same time, "The Day the Black Hole Came" had already been slated for publication by a publishing house, and another entry appeared in Zhang Xiaotong's savings passbook.

Actually, I quite hated savings passbooks, but the problem was that China Merchants Bank only established its personal banking business department in 1995, and savings cards from other major banks were only truly formed on a basic level by 1998, with the trend of card-swiping consumption gradually taking shape. Prior to that, probably only the Bank of China's Great Wall Card could be used, so I advised Zhang Xiaotong to get a Great Wall Card as soon as possible.

Discussions about Zhang Xiaotong also gradually subsided. On the surface, "In the Wind, In the Rain" looked more like a traditional novel, making the old pedants very satisfied. When I was more than halfway through writing it, my writing style took a sharp turn, directing the conflict toward the pressure brought upon retakers by schools and families. This theme could probably only be accepted in the early nineties; by the late nineties, thick-skinned students were as numerous as teachers.

Throughout the second half of '91, Zhang Xiaotong and I were kept constantly busy. Zhang Xiaotong dressed up specially, putting on makeup that made her look not like a little vixen but a big vixen, and used her ID card to get a new Great Wall Card. We bit by bit transferred our previous money into the new account, and I bought Zhang Xiaotong a set of the Concise Britannica Encyclopedia, having her flip through it whenever she had free time; once she finished the Chinese encyclopedia, it was time to look at foreign ones.

Writing novels was the easiest job to let time slip away. I buried my head and wrote for nearly three more months, during which time I continued to exercise, got harassed by Zhang Xiaotong, bantered with classmates at school, listened to songs, and read novels, with hardships too numerous to mention.

A month after the start of school, which was close to the October long holiday, "In the Wind, In the Rain" was finally wrapped up by me. Having not written campus-themed material for a long time, it was inevitably a bit rusty, and some details were still modified based on feedback Zhang Xiaotong gave after reading it. I estimated that if things went on like this she really would turn into a teenage writer; during the summer vacation there were no fewer than ten writing workshops and summer camps inviting Zhang Xiaotong to visit, all of which Zhang Xiaotong declined using the excuse of wanting to write in peace. For this reason, editors from several youth magazines declared they would no longer publish her works, yet even more adult magazines began to take an interest in Zhang Xiaotong. This was the same as initially expected: the title of teenage writer was ultimately useless, and becoming a professional ghostwriter was the goal.

The October long holiday was right around the corner, and seeing that the novel in my hands was finished, I proposed to Zhang Xiaotong that we go out to play. Zhang Xiaotong was now a first-year junior high student, and coupled with the lenient policy following the previous family tribunal, her degree of freedom had increased significantly. We two siblings set off from Beiguan City and toured three coastal cities within the province. Zhang Xiaotong's figure was by then showing full curves, and changing into a swimsuit at the seaside left me dazzled for a good while. As a primary school third-grade student, I had physiologically reached the age where I could fantasize, and psychologically I was an absolute wolf. Zhang Xiaotong's straight, slender long legs almost made my saliva drop, and recalling all the various ways Zhang Xiaotong wore short skirts and teased me in front of me, I told myself that anyway there was no blood relation, so if she pulled this routine on me next time I might as well just let her little brother take advantage.

Zhang Xiaotong was unaware of what was in my heart and pulled me around everywhere. I casually glanced twice at her slightly protruding chest, my heartbeat growing slightly fast.

My cousin classmate was as observant as a hair, and looking at me with a grin, she asked, "Is it pretty?"

"Uh... pretty."

I knew that answering honestly was best at this moment.

"If it's pretty, then look." Zhang Xiaotong linked her arm with mine. "Usually I ask you to look and you refuse, how come you're dropping the act of false modesty now?"

"You're a lot more transparent now." Facing her, I dared to say anything. "I just realized your figure is really nice..."

"What use is it being nice when someone won't even look me straight in the eye?" Zhang Xiaotong sighed faintly, pulling me down to sit on a rented chair by the seaside, looking somewhat unhappy.

Seeing her like this, I had no choice but to place my hand on hers and say, "Don't fret over these things. I behave myself around you not because you lack attractiveness, but because you're too attractive. There are some things I've always wanted to say to you, but I felt it was a bit awkward to bring up. We are the closest family, and also the best of friends. I'm still young right now, and I don't want to cross higher thresholds yet. We have plenty of time, don't you think?"

Zhang Xiaotong nodded, pulling my hand over and placing it on her thigh. The moment my hand touched her thigh, I could feel a slight tremor run through both her and me.

"Promise me, no matter what dreams you have, you'll let me accompany you to make them all reality."

Zhang Xiaotong's voice was very soft, but I heard it very clearly. I slowly raised my hand and gripped hers. "Of course, I promise you."

After playing outside for a few days, both Zhang Xiaotong and I were dumbfounded upon returning. The letters were so numerous that they had become too much to bear, and among them were even invitations for her to participate in film and television scriptwriting. Regarding this, my advice was: "Turn them all down. Claim that you need to focus on your junior high studies and wait for a period of time before talking."

Following my instructions, Zhang Xiaotong posted a statement in several periodicals where she had serialized novels, stating that she would not continue writing for half a month and attaching a photo of herself studying attentively in the classroom. I figured this hype was sufficient at the present stage, and we began to settle our minds. Actually, this was also another form of training; Zhang Xiaotong had already surpassed her peers far too much in knowledge and insight, and the only thing left to train was perhaps just a composure that remained unfazed by favor or humiliation. Of course, her new work was also quietly underway. Zhang Xiaotong had learned her lesson this time and merely helped me buy snacks, no longer reaching out with kicks and legs or striking seductive poses.

I changed my approach this time and started writing fantasy material, copying the worldview of DND outright. Zhang Xiaotong was now a "celebrity author"; even if she really wrote so-called beautiful female authors sniffing white powder to swap men, people would still be willing to publish it, but considering the era, I decided to bring entertaining things to the surface first. My cousin was a model student and didn't need to use dark circles and cigarettes as gimmicks. Dungeons & Dragons stuff didn't become widely popular domestically until after '97 at the earliest, and if someone used translation-style writing to pen Western fantasy novels now, it would definitely cause another wave of turbulence. Anyway, as long as the work was published, I was absolutely not afraid of polemics.

Winter drew gradually closer, and those bags upon bags of letters finally came in handy. Every day I hunkered down to write in the study room specially prepared for us two siblings. Even without save-scumming, my academic performance had always been very good, and my parents basically left me alone, acting like many later corporate leaders who didn't look at the process and only asked for results. This was my greatest convenience; to live up to my parents' trust, I took first place in the whole class on the midterm exams. Ever since then, my parents became even more laissez-faire about whatever I did, as long as I could become capital for the neighbors to boast about to one another.

My emotions toward my own parents had always been very detached, and even now that everything had started over it was the same. Their parenting toward me when I was young forced me to expend a great deal of effort to adjust my mentality when seeking out my own life later on. I thanked them for raising me, but I likewise considered it a mistake for them to leave the grievances of the older generation for the next generation to bear. In three years they would get a divorce; where they should head was crystal clear to me, though I wondered if it was clear to them.

Years of wandering had made my temperament grow somewhat close to unfeeling. I executed my plan with near-cruelty, marching toward my goal step by step.

Yang Yuanzhe and Ge Jinqiu still frequently came over to play with me. I hung out with them between several video game arcades, and along the way talked more than once about my dreams of designing games, instilling elementary game design concepts in them.

When they heard that the planning for certain games could lead to tens of millions or even hundreds of millions of dollars in revenue, I saw a trace of yearning flash in the eyes of the two. Right now in this world, only I knew that their passion should all be born for games. I firmly believed that given good conditions everyone was a talent, and the failure of these two to shine in the past that I knew of was solely due to a lack of a good environment.

When chatting with them about the Japanese gaming industry, I exaggeratedly talked about the Japanese Nintendo empire's one-time devastating blow to the SEGA company's gaming console, the MD, mentioning various game genres, mentioning the company SQUARE-which wasn't very famous at the time-and EA, a company hardly anyone in China knew about yet, as well as some groups of individuals creating games using simple computer equipment. In 1991, world video games were just starting out, and remarks like these were unheard of by many even if taken to Japan, leaving the pair with glowing eyes and wishing they could all make a living from gaming in the future.

This was precisely the effect I wanted. After some consideration, I decided to buy an SFC for them within '92, letting them adapt to various gaming styles first. I had never felt worried about technical issues; it was already the 90s, and when it came to really playing with technology it was never going to be our turn-others had ready-made things to use. Ideas, ideas were the most important thing.

Upon hearing that there were home game consoles with the same level as arcade cabinets to play, the two of them were so happy they didn't know what to do with themselves. As for matters of the future, I didn't spell them out either, and everyone just talked about how the weather was really nice today, hahaha. To be honest, I felt Yang Yuanzhe already knew what I hoped they would do; at this age, having become smart to such a degree, I had nothing more to say.

In the blink of an eye it was the end of the year, and I felt it was time to get to know another friend, though this person was probably still hanging out with a bunch of gang members right now, so I wasn't in a rush. At worst we could talk in '94; anyway, following the chronological order, I wouldn't meet him until '97 at the earliest.

Zhang Xiaotong and I fooled around like unsupervised children, and December 1991 arrived. The Soviet Union dissolved, and Little Aunt and Little Uncle began planning to resign and go do border trade.