Chapter 13: Choosing Which One to Write

Lin Junsheng sat before his worn, old desk, the evening sunlight streaming through the window casting a contemplative glow across his face. His thoughts surged like restless waves, crashing repeatedly against the shores of his memory, striving to retrieve those literary treasures buried deep within his heart.

His purpose was clear—to find a renowned domestic novella that could truly touch the soul.

First, his mind drifted to Lu Yao’s *Life*.

That work had been published in 1982 in *Harvest* magazine and later won the National Excellent Novella Award.

Yet Lin Junsheng shook his head softly, murmuring to himself, “No, this was written back in '81, and Lu Yao finished it in just twenty-one days. Using it now would be tantamount to plagiarism.”

Thus began a procession of names of contemporary literary masters in his mind.

Liu Zhenyun, Yu Hua, Mo Yan, Su Tong, Jia Pingwa, Wang Xiaobo—these names shone like brilliant stars in the literary night sky.

Their works ranged from profound and weighty to sharp and incisive, or witty and humorous; each carried its own unique emotional resonance.

“Dinner’s ready.”

Just as Lin Junsheng was immersed in this ocean of memories, attempting to grasp a flicker of inspiration, Li Aimei’s voice gently pulled him back from the depths of his reverie.

And with that, the spark of creativity vanished, to be summoned again later.

Lin Junsheng responded with a nod and rose to head toward the kitchen.

Dinner was sweet potato porridge—simple, yet the addition of rice made it far tastier than pure sweet potato alone.

He lifted the bowl, blew softly on the steaming surface, then took a hearty sip.

The sweet fragrance of sweet potato intertwined with the soft, glutinous rice, creating a distinctive flavor that pleased both palate and soul.

Mostly, it was the rice that truly staved off hunger.

As the last rays of the setting sun slipped quietly behind the mountain’s silhouette, the sweet potato porridge was long since devoured, leaving only a few lonely empty dishes on the table.

It was then that Lin Junwan strolled leisurely home under the moonlight.

Li Aimei stood in the doorway, hands on hips and brow slightly furrowed.

“Xiaowan, why are you coming home so late?”

Lin Junwan chuckled lightly, a playful and slightly apologetic smile playing at her lips. “Mom, I went to Yonggang’s place for dinner. They made my favorite—braised fish—and I just couldn’t resist staying to eat.”

She deliberately licked her lips, as if the lingering taste still clung to her mouth.

At that moment, Lin Junsheng poked his head out, his brow knitted, eyes serious.

“Comrade Lin Junwan, I must remind you, staying out late isn’t a good habit. You’re making the family worry, you know?”

He shot her a meaningful glance.

Lin Junwan immediately caught on, adopting a solemn expression, hands raised in a mock salute, striking an exaggerated pose of self-criticism.

“Yes, Comrade! I deeply recognize my mistake. I’ll correct it and promise to come home on time, never giving the organization cause for concern again!”

She winked and gave Lin Junsheng a mischievous glance in return.

Then, like a nimble kitten, she dashed into her room, leaving a trail of clear laughter echoing in the air.

Li Aimei watched the scene and shook her head helplessly.

“Sigh, these two kids really do keep me on my toes.”

Lin Junsheng and Lin Junwan huddled in a corner of the room, whispering.

A flicker of concern crossed Lin Junsheng’s eyes as he lightly tapped his sister’s arm and asked softly, “Xiaowan, did Li Yonggang do anything special to you today?”

Lin Junwan raised an eyebrow, looking puzzled. “Huh? What special thing could he have done? We were just working in the fields, nothing else.”

Lin Junsheng pressed on, “You didn’t go into the cornfield? Or sneak into the woods?”

At this, Lin Junwan’s cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, and she shot her brother a playful glare. “Brother, what are you talking about? We haven’t reached that point yet!”

Lin Junsheng laughed heartily and patted her shoulder. “Alright, alright, I’m just joking. But seriously, that kid Li Yonggang—since I’ve entrusted you to him, if he dares mistreat you, I’ll know how to deal with him!”

A warm wave stirred in Lin Junwan’s heart. She knew her brother cared deeply for her.

Yet she also understood that matters of the heart were her own to manage.

So she smiled and told Lin Junsheng, “Don’t worry, brother. Li Yonggang treats me well. We can handle our own affairs.”

Seeing the determined look in his sister’s eyes, Lin Junsheng’s worry deepened.

He furrowed his brows, silently pondering, “Has Li Yonggang not quite grasped my meaning? I’ve hinted so clearly, yet he still hasn’t made a move.”

With that thought, Lin Junsheng resolved to find an opportunity to have a serious talk with Li Yonggang.

He needed to make sure that young man understood: entrusting his sister to him was no mere formality.

The hints had been obvious—why was there still no action?

After all, he wasn’t going to execute him for some petty offense.

But if he didn’t make a move on his sister, Lin Junsheng half-joked that he might just do away with the boy himself.

So, after Lin Junwan retreated to her room, Lin Junsheng prepared to visit Li Yonggang the next day for a proper conversation.

By now, darkness had fallen, and it was nearly impossible to see his own hand.

Lin Junsheng lit the oil lamp, picked up his pencil, and began contemplating the novel he intended to write.

In the era of print media, many magazines had emerged.

The *Story Meeting* magazine, where he was currently submitting, was of uncertain rank.

Later generations would see major print media such as *Readers*, *Youth Digest*, *Zhiyin*, *Story Meeting*, and *Yilin* rise in popularity.

But there were no articles yet about Germany’s sophisticated sewer systems, the Japanese custom of washing dishes seven times in restaurants, the absence of garbage and trash cans on Japanese streets, or free healthcare in America—essays that would become widespread knowledge later.

Nor were there stories of a gambling father, a sick mother, a younger brother attending school, or a woman struggling to make ends meet.

At this time, the widely recognized print publications included *People’s Literature*, *October*, *Poetry Journal*, *Contemporary*, *Sprout*, and *Harvest*.

Local magazines like *Kyoto Literature* and *Shanghai Literature* could not yet match these in circulation, though they were among the best in regional literature.

*Kyoto Literature* favored content that connected with the common people, imbued with realism and a sense of the times.

*Shanghai Literature* leaned toward high-quality, avant-garde urban literature and cultural studies.

Lin Junsheng aimed to submit to *Shanghai Literature* and hoped to win the top prize, so he needed to select more captivating subject matter.

Though unpublished at the time, some novellas that later gained fame included Li Cunbao’s *Garland Under the High Mountain*, Zhang Xianliang’s *Descendants of the River*—the author of the film *The Herdsman*—and Lu Wenfu’s *The Gourmet*.

There were many works still to consider, and he needed to carefully choose one suited to *Shanghai Literature*.

Perhaps he would continue writing Ah Cheng’s trilogy: *Chess King*, *Tree King*, and *Child King*.

Yet such efforts might not guarantee awards—experience had shown this.

*Chess King* had not won any prizes but earned the highest payment.

Even without prizes, there was still the matter of remuneration.

Given the time spent pondering, it seemed wiser to simply write more novels and earn more from the manuscripts.